Killing Mr Lebanon

Killing Mr Lebanon
The assassination of Rafik Hariri and its
impact on the Middle East

Nicholas Blanford
 Published in 2006 by I.B.Tauris & Co Ltd

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Palgrave Macmillan a division of St. Martin’s Press
175 Fifth Avenue, New York NY 10010

Copyright © Nicholas Blanford, 2006

The right of Nicholas Blanford to be identified as the author of

this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988.

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or any part thereof, may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced
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ISBN 10: 1 84511 202 4 HB

ISBN 13: 978 1 84511 202 8 HB

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 Contents

Preface vii

CHAPTER ONE
Countdown 1

CHAPTER TWO
The Fixer 13

CHAPTER THREE
Pax Syriana 40

CHAPTER FOUR
The Breach 71

CHAPTER FIVE
Showdown 100

CHAPTER SIX
The Beirut Spring 128

CHAPTER SEVEN
A New Lebanon? 174

CHAPTER EIGHT
Epilogue: The Return of War 212

Notes 220

Index 231
 Preface

I was working at home when the explosion that killed Rafik Hariri blasted
through my quiet neighbourhood two kilometres from the St George
Hotel, rattling windows and sending a few loose panes of glass smashing
onto the street outside. I telephoned my United Nations peacekeeping
contacts in south Lebanon, assuming that the thunderclap was produced
by an Israeli Air Force jet flying a low-level supersonic run over Beirut, a
muscle-flexing gesture that often meant trouble along Lebanon’s southern
border with Israel. But all was quiet in the south, they said, although they
were hearing from their colleagues in Beirut that there was smoke rising
from the hotel district on the downtown seafront.
Minutes later I was waving my Lebanese press card and pushing
through the cordon of soldiers who were trying to seal off the site of the
explosion. I had driven past the St George Hotel just an hour earlier with
my wife and two children, a routine Monday morning trip to the Hamra
shopping district in the western half of the city. But the carnage and chaos
on the street outside the St George was anything but routine. For many in
the West, the name Beirut may still conjure images of Hobbesian violence,
but not for me. Beirut had been my home for over a decade. The 16-year
civil war had ended in 1990, four years before I moved to Lebanon.
Although blood continued to be shed throughout the 1990s in the stony
hills and wadis of the south where Hizbullah’s resistance fighters battled
Israeli occupation forces, Beirut was a city at peace. Watching the firemen
gently pry loose blackened, rubbery corpses from the smoking shell of a
car and trying not to trip over the chunks of asphalt and clods of earth
littering the road while blinking away the tears brought on by the acrid
smoke, I was reminded not of Beirut but of Baghdad, or one of the bloodier
days in south Lebanon in the 1990s.
There were only two people who could warrant a bomb assassination
of this magnitude, so I thought – Walid Jumblatt, the head of the most
viii Preface

prominent Druze dynasty and outspoken critic of Syria’s long hegemony

over Lebanon, or Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah, the secretary-general of Hiz-
bullah. But Nasrallah rarely left his stronghold in the southern suburbs of
Beirut, and the Beirut hotel district was an unlikely location to dispatch
the leader of Hizbullah.
It was Mohammed Azakir, a veteran photographer for Reuters news
agency, who told me. With an anguished look on his face, he said ‘They
got Hariri.’
Hariri? Gone? Impossible.
When I arrived in Lebanon, Rafik Hariri had been prime minister for
two years, and his larger-than-life presence dominated the country. His
national reconstruction programme was moving into action and Solidere,
the private company reconstructing the city centre, had just begun dyna-
miting the war-scarred ruins of the old downtown. His energy and
enthusiasm were obvious. When he opened the brand new Beirut Inter-
national Airport terminal in 1998, I was one of a pack of reporters hurry-
ing after Hariri as he marched around the empty gleaming halls and
corridors, his entourage struggling to match his pace. Every now and
then, he would stop to examine a new luggage conveyor belt, snip a
ribbon, smile for the photographers and then march on. One could almost
sense him mentally ticking off the airport from his list of ‘things to do’.
In interviews, Hariri would give stock answers to political questions
such as the Lebanon–Syria relationship or the resistance war in south
Lebanon. But switch the conversation to reconstruction, and his eyes
would light up. In 1996, in one of my interviews with Hariri, I asked him
how he saw Lebanon at the turn of the century. This was the sort of
question Hariri loved.
‘The country’s infrastructure will be finished,’ he said with a broad,
satisfied smile. ‘I see lots of light industry in the free zones. I see the roads
and hotels finished and the marinas functioning. I see Beirut as a jewel lit
up at night.’
But the realisation of his vision was to be thwarted by the grinding
political realities of Lebanon. From 2000 onwards, Hariri was locked into
an increasingly fraught and bitter struggle for control of Lebanon, one
pitting him against his nemesis, Emile Lahoud, the Lebanese president
and former army commander, and the Syrian regime of President Bashar
al-Assad.
The battle for Lebanon intensified with the onset of the Bush adminis-
tration’s ‘war on terrorism’ and the invasion of Iraq in 2003. With pressure
mounting on Syria, Bashar adopted President Bush’s maxim of ‘either you
are with us or against us’, in his dealings with the Lebanese. Stoked by a
 Preface ix

pernicious whispering campaign by pro-Syrian Lebanese, the regime in

Damascus increasingly came to regard Hariri as a threat, a powerful
Sunni who was plotting with the Americans and French against Syria. But
Hariri was a compromiser, an appeaser, who only sought to place rela-
tions between Beirut and Damascus on a more equitable footing and away
from one dominated by the Syrian and Lebanese intelligence agencies. He
cut a deal with Hizbullah over its weapons and was willing to use his
international contacts to ease the pressure on Damascus. Hariri simply
wanted to deal with fellow politicians in Damascus, not a general in the
Syrian military intelligence headquarters in the Lebanese town of Anjar.
Hariri wanted to be Syria’s friend, but the Syrians believed he was their
enemy.
The drama that unfolded was, at its heart, a Shakespearean tragedy of
misunderstanding.
When I.B.Tauris and I first discussed the idea of a book on the Hariri
assassination and its impact on Lebanon and beyond, Syrian troops were
still on Lebanese soil and Lebanon’s parliamentary elections were more
than a month away. I would be writing the book as the story unfolded,
but it was a compelling tale to relate, one which, although rooted in the
tangled complexities of Levantine politics, contained universal themes of
greed, power, fear, rivalry, suspicion and murder, fundamentals of the
human condition which transcend region, language and culture.
I interviewed over 70 people for the book, many of them close to Hariri
either professionally or personally. What became evident early on in my
research was the remarkable effect Hariri had on those who knew him.
Several interviewees wept when recalling their memories of Hariri; one
broke down in tears in a café and sobbed quietly for several minutes; a
serving cabinet minister choked up and called a halt to the interview.
Even Hariri’s staunch enemies would interject their criticisms of his eco-
nomic and political policies with brief eulogies and assertions that they
had always liked him on a personal level.
I would like to express my heart-felt thanks to all those who gave of
their time to be interviewed for this book, both on and off the record, some
of them over several sessions. The dates of the interviews appear in the
notes to the text. I have not included the dates of my interviews with
sources who requested anonymity to avoid identification.
Additionally, I would like to thank Shahir Idriss of Future Television
who was enormously helpful and generous in unloading her impressive
directory of contacts and helping facilitate interviews; I am also indebted
to Amal Mudallali for helping arrange key interviews with the Hariri
family and staff; enormous thanks go to Joshua Landis, professor of
x Preface

history at the University of Oklahoma and author of syriacomment.com,

and Scott MacLeod, Middle East correspondent of Time, two good friends
who doggedly waded through the manuscript chapter by chapter and
provided solid advice, comments and corrections. Special thanks also to
Abigail Fielding-Smith, my editor at I.B.Tauris, whose common sense and
experience curbed my wilder flights of fancy and helped fashion what is
hopefully a readable, informative and enjoyable book.
Thanks and apologies to my children, Yasmine and Alexander, who
saw too little of their father in the eight months it took to write this book.
Most of all, I would like to thank my wife, Reem. Without her unflinching
support, patience and kindness, this book would not have been possible.
It is to her that this book is dedicated.

Nicholas Blanford
Beirut
 Countdown
1
Monday, February 14, 2005. 7.10 a.m.

Adnan Baba was feeling troubled.1 For 28 years he had served as Rafik
Hariri’s personal secretary, handling the details of the billionaire politi-
cian’s exhausting schedule, from organising overseas trips to selecting
which tie he would wear each day. Baba spent more time with Hariri than
with his own family, and knew his moods, tastes, habits and mannerisms
intimately. But he had noticed to his unease that his employer and friend
had changed. In the space of just one week, Hariri’s thick dark hair
and moustache, which had been steadily greying for years, had turned
uniformly silver, a telling indicator, Baba thought, of the pressures Hariri
was under.
Hariri had not slept well and was already awake when Baba tapped
gently on the door of his bedroom on the seventh floor of the massive
mansion that doubled as Hariri’s home and headquarters in the Koreitem
district of Beirut. He was in good spirits, though, and telephoned Hani
Hammoud, a close advisor, to join him.
Hariri’s wife, Nazek, was in Paris, so he ate breakfast alone, his usual
light repast of thick strained yogurt mixed with olive oil known as labneh,
a little toast, fresh tomatoes and cucumbers. He was trying to lose weight
again and his doctors were always pestering him about his high blood
pressure.
Riffling through a closet, Baba selected a dark blue suit, white shirt and
striped blue and white tie for Hariri to wear. Hariri was sitting in the salon
attached to the bedroom, sipping his customary double espresso and
scanning the newspapers. He noticed that the scandal of the olive oil
arrests had been given prominence on most front pages. Some workers
at one of Hariri’s charities had been arrested on Saturday and charged
with bribing potential voters with bottles of olive oil four months before
2 Killing Mr Lebanon

the scheduled parliamentary elections. His charity distributed food

parcels, including bottles of olive oil, each year to needy families as a
gift during the holy fasting month of Ramadan. In 2004, Ramadan fell
during the olive harvest, so the food parcels had contained notes promis-
ing the oil would be delivered once prepared and bottled. Hariri con-
sidered the arrests ridiculous, a transparent and clumsy attempt by
the authorities to further intimidate him. Even Sheikh Mohammed
Qabbani, the highest Sunni authority in the country, had condemned the
arrests.
But the incident reflected the escalating pressure he faced from his
political opponents in the government and among Syria’s Lebanese allies.
In the past week, the hostility from the loyalist camp toward the opposition
had reached new heights, particularly toward Hariri and his close ally
Walid Jumblatt, head of the most prominent Druze dynasty in Lebanon.
The intensity of the public attacks, coupled with repeated death threats
and warnings from the international community, was creating genuine
unease. Hariri laughed off the dangers in front of concerned friends,
family and staff, but the stresses of the past months had taken a physical
toll. Normally plump and jovial, he had became more thoughtful and
was beginning to look his 60 years. And, as Baba had noted, his hair had
turned silver almost overnight.

7.30 a.m.

Hariri’s security team had already begun their first routine bomb sweep
of the day as Amer Shehadi arrived at the mansion in Koreitem to report
for duty. A tough, stocky man in his 40s with a clipped moustache and
grizzled crew cut, Shehadi had worked for Hariri since 1983 when he had
provided security at the Hariri Foundation headquarters in Beirut. The
100-strong security team was headed by Yehya Arab, more commonly
known as Abu Tarek. Abu Tarek had served as Hariri’s personal body-
guard since the late 1970s, a familiar figure to many Lebanese, forever
shadowing his boss, unsmiling, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses. His
team was responsible for protecting various members of the Hariri family
as well as securing Hariri’s residences in Lebanon – the Beirut home in
Koreitem, the house in the mountain resort of Fakra, the beach chalet
in Naameh, south of Beirut. Most of the bodyguards had years of experi-
ence and all of them were professionally trained by British, French and
Jordanian police. Some of the team on duty that day had just completed a
month-long refresher course of fitness and weapons training at the chalet
in Naameh.
 Countdown 3

Shehadi was told he would be driving the lead vehicle when Hariri
departed Koreitem later in the morning. As usual, Shehadi would not
learn of their destination until the convoy was about to leave. But he knew
that today was the first of a three-day session at parliament to discuss the
electoral law under which the parliamentary elections would be held in
May, and the boss would not want to miss that.
Hariri’s mansion was in reality a fortress. The three-metre-high stone
walls surrounding the building were topped with coiled barbed wire and
canvas screens which, with a dense row of pine trees, prevented the curi-
ous from peering inside. Security cameras and floodlights maintained a
24-hour vigil on all the approach roads. Bodyguards accompanied by
sniffer dogs paced slowly along the street, checking for hidden explosives.
It was a task the team fulfilled at least three times a day, examining the
entrances to the building and the surrounding streets for a distance of
about 200 metres.
Hariri’s personal vehicle, a black Mercedes S-600, was also searched
inside and out and scanned with a chemical explosive detector. The
armoured Mercedes was rated to the maximum B6/B7 protection level, its
steel and hi-tech fibre armoured bodywork and layered polycarbonate
windows capable of withstanding military-grade rifle fire with armour-
piercing rounds, and blasts from hand grenades. It was also equipped with
a self-sealing fuel tank and run-flat tyres allowing the vehicle to quickly
escape an ambush even if the tyres were shot out. The bodyguards drove
unarmoured Mercedes S-500s. Each of the three convoy protection vehicles
carried four gigabyte jammers, the strongest available on the market to
counter electronic signals which could be used to detonate bombs.

8.45 a.m.

Carole Farhat was 15 minutes late for work at the seafront St George Hotel
in the Minet al-Hosn district of Beirut. She blamed the party she had
attended the night before which had lasted until late. A slim woman in
her late thirties with streaked blond hair, Carole entered her office on the
first floor of the St George Annexe, a 10-storey building with a façade of
flesh-coloured stone on the other side of the busy seafront road from the
gutted ruins of the hotel. The St George was once the most famous hotel in
Beirut, if not the Middle East, a legendary watering hole for diplomats,
journalists, spies and assorted lowlifes who wheeled and dealed during
Lebanon’s golden years in the 1950s and 1960s. But the 1975–1990 war had
left the hotel a bullet-scarred skeleton used as a billet by Syrian soldiers
for most of the 1990s. The square, flat-roofed, five-storey building of dull
4 Killing Mr Lebanon

pink walls and delicate, white-trellised balconies had yet to be restored,

but the adjacent swimming pools and outdoor restaurant of the St George
Yacht Club and Marina had resumed its pre-war role as the essential
beach club for discerning Beirutis.
Carole was organising a St Valentine’s Day dinner for 150 guests that
evening. It would mark the first time the newly glassed-in pool-side
restaurant had opened for business during the off-season winter months.

9.15 a.m.

Hariri took the lift from his private quarters on the seventh floor to his
office on the fifth floor. A group of 10 to 15 people, mainly advisors and
political colleagues, were waiting in the hall as they did every morning.
Among them was Fadi Fawaz, a close aide who had been heavily involved
in the post-war reconstruction process in the 1990s.
‘He was in an excellent mood,’ Fawaz recalls. ‘He was smiling and
talking about his latest diet and asking who would like to have lunch with
him that day.’
They discussed the latest amendments to the electoral law and Hariri
joked about the olive oil scandal.
‘You do well in this country and they take you to court,’ he told
Fawaz with a smile. ‘They have nothing on me now except this olive oil
business.’
Basil Fleihan arrived at Koreitem at 10 a.m. A former economy minister
under Hariri and a pillar of Lebanon’s small Protestant community,
Fleihan had returned to Beirut the night before from Geneva where his
family had been staying as a consequence of the heightened political ten-
sion in Lebanon. His wife, Yasma, had urged him to stay in Switzerland,
but he had wanted to attend the parliamentary session. He told Yasma
he would return to Geneva in two weeks. At only 41, Fleihan was an
accomplished and respected figure in Lebanon, an example of the smart
technocratic Lebanese professional with whom Hariri liked to surround
himself.
Hariri, his hands in his pockets, strode up and down the hallway,
chatting to Fleihan before sitting down and having a cup of coffee.
‘Adnan,’ Hariri called to Baba. ‘Do we have anything on Friday?’
Baba told him he had some appointments on Friday and Saturday.
‘Hind’s birthday is on Friday,’ Hariri said, referring to his only daughter,
who was staying with her mother in Paris. ‘Cancel all my appointments
and tell the captain to have the plane ready to fly to Paris on Friday for the
weekend.’
 Countdown 5

Hariri looked at his watch. It was after 10.30 a.m. He asked Baba to
alert the security detail to have his car ready to go to parliament. The
parliamentary session was not due to start until noon, but Hariri wanted
to arrive early. He turned to Fleihan and said with a smile, ‘Come on,
Basil, let’s go to parliament and have some fun.’

10.35 a.m.

The security detail and sniffer dogs were still waiting on the street. They
would stay there keeping an eye on the area until Hariri and his convoy
had departed. Amer Shehadi was already at the steering wheel of the first
Mercedes in the convoy when Hariri walked out of the upper entrance of
the house accompanied by Basil Fleihan. The two men climbed into the
armoured Mercedes, Hariri taking the driving seat as usual. He always
drove himself, enjoying the feeling of independence. Baba hurried out of
the house and handed Hariri his reading glasses which he had left on the
desk in his office.
‘I’ll be back at one o’clock,’ Hariri told Baba. He had invited some Beirut
politicians to lunch.
‘Maa Salameh’ (Go in peace), Baba replied. The convoy swept through
the front gate and sped along the narrow streets eastward toward the
downtown district.

10.45 a.m.

Ghattas Khoury, a plump, bespectacled surgeon and MP for a Beirut con-

stituency in Hariri’s political bloc, drove to parliament in his wife’s small
blue Audi. It was a deliberately nondescript car that was less conspicuous
than his usual black Mercedes saloon. Like many of Hariri’s political
allies, he and his wife had been receiving death threats for months.
Khoury thought Hariri’s sense of confidence was misplaced. After all,
only four days earlier, Hariri had been warned by Terje Roed Larsen, a
senior United Nations envoy, that the situation was very bad and that he
should be careful. Also Basil Fleihan had told them on arriving in Beirut
from Geneva the day before that he had heard of some fresh threats
against Hariri and his allies.

11.00 a.m.

Abu Tarek, the chief bodyguard, mentioned to Hariri that Nejib Friji, the
United Nations spokesman in Beirut, and some journalists were in Café
6 Killing Mr Lebanon

de l’Etoile facing the parliament on the other side of the cobble-stoned

Nijmeh Square. Hariri told Abu Tarek he would join them shortly. He
was sitting in the main chamber of parliament with Marwan Hamade,
a former minister and Druze MP close to Walid Jumblatt, and several
other colleagues. Hamade still walked with a cane, a legacy of the injuries
he had received in a car bomb assassination attempt four months earlier.
The electoral law dominated conversation. The law was almost
unchanged from the previous elections in 2000, except for a proposed
amendment that would see Beirut split into three constituencies, a
move that Hariri and his allies recognised as an attempt to dilute his
representation in the capital.
Since Hariri had stepped down as prime minister in October, he had
been building a nationwide network of political alliances ahead of the
parliamentary elections. He had flirted with the Christian and Druze-led
opposition, known as the Bristol Gathering, but until now had resisted
openly siding with them, wary of losing the support of his Sunni constitu-
ency if he was seen moving too close to the more outspoken of Syria’s
Lebanese adversaries. Furthermore, Hariri was a man of compromise
and, although his relations with Damascus had never been worse, he was
still open to the possibility of a rapprochement. Indeed, there were three
separate mediation efforts under way to achieve a reconciliation between
Hariri and Bashar al-Assad, the Syrian president.
Even if a rapprochement was not possible, the Lebanese political land-
scape was likely to undergo a dramatic transformation at the elections.
No matter how the government fixed the electoral law to suit loyalist
candidates, all the data Hariri was receiving predicted a triumph for the
opposition at the polls. If the pro-Syrian majority in parliament was over-
turned as expected, Syria would have little choice but to reach a new
modus vivendi in its dealings with the Lebanese, one which should place
bilateral relations on a more equitable footing.
Let the government produce any law they want, Hariri told his
colleagues, we will still win.

12.00 p.m.

As Fady Khoury, the owner of the St George, approached the hotel, his
chauffeur, Yussef Mezher, asked him ‘Left or right?’ Left would take him
to the office in the St George Annexe or right to the beach club next to the
hotel.
It was a beautiful day, brilliant sunshine, a deep-blue sky and mild for
this time of year. The office could wait while he took a cup of coffee and
 Countdown 7

observed the workmen putting the final touches to the newly renovated
restaurant, his pet project during the winter months.
‘Right,’ Khoury said.

12.15 p.m.

Café de l’Etoile is a five-minute stroll from the modern, eight-storey,

glass and stone United Nations headquarters. Nejib Friji, a dapper, cigar-
smoking Tunisian who headed the UN Information Office, had arranged
to meet some of Lebanon’s top journalists to brief them on the results
of a meeting in Damascus the previous Thursday between Terje Roed
Larsen and President Bashar al-Assad. Larsen was tasked by the UN with
overseeing the implementation of UN Security Council Resolution 1559.
The US- and French-sponsored resolution included demands for a free
and fair Lebanese presidential election, a withdrawal of Syrian troops
from Lebanon and the disarming of the Shiite Hizbullah organisation. It
was adopted by the UN Security Council in early September, 24 hours
before the Lebanese parliament rubber-stamped a three-year extension
to the mandate of Emile Lahoud, the Lebanese president and Hariri’s
political nemesis. Resolution 1559 was deeply controversial in Lebanon,
with its critics insisting that it represented an unwarranted interference in
Lebanese affairs.
Sitting around the table with Friji were four prominent journalists,
among them Ali Hamade of Lebanon’s An Nahar newspaper, the brother
of Marwan Hamade, and Walid Choucair of Al-Hayat. As they chatted,
Abu Tarek, Hariri’s bodyguard, entered the café and told Friji that Hariri
would be with them in a few minutes. Friji and Hariri occasionally took
advantage of chance meetings to compare notes and swap information.
Friji thought it would be a good opportunity to ask Hariri’s advice on a
couple of pressing issues.

12.25 p.m.

Ghattas Khoury walked out of the parliament building with Hariri into
Nijmeh Square where they stopped briefly to discuss the possibility of
setting up a meeting with the Bristol Gathering to elicit its support over
the olive oil arrests. Hariri agreed and asked where the meeting should
be held.
‘What about the Tayyar Mustaqbal office?’ Khoury suggested, referring
to the headquarters of Hariri’s ‘Future Tide’ political movement.
8 Killing Mr Lebanon

Hariri grimaced. He was preparing to formally announce his alliance

with the opposition, but the timing was not yet right to host a meeting at
his political headquarters. Was there not a more neutral setting where
they could meet? Khoury insisted on the Tayyar Mustaqbal office, and
Hariri said they would discuss the matter again later. Khoury departed
for the American University Hospital where a patient with a perforated
stomach ulcer was awaiting his attention.

12.30 p.m.

It was the first time Samer Rida had been in the St George neighbour-
hood for a month. A slim, dark-haired, 25-year-old supervisor at the
distribution department of Al-Wasit, a free weekly newspaper carrying
classified adverts, Rida was showing a trainee the delivery route in the
area. They stopped off at several shops along Phoenicia Street facing
the towering Phoenicia Hotel before turning right down a small lane
past a branch of HSBC bank toward the seafront road and the St George
Hotel.

12.35 p.m.

Hariri walked across Nijmeh Square to the Café de l’Etoile, pausing

momentarily to chat to a group of women who were lobbying for greater
female representation in parliament. As he entered the café, two of the
reporters who were sitting with Friji moved to another table, hoping
Hariri would join them.
Walid Choucair, the Al-Hayat correspondent, turned to Hariri and,
pointing at Friji, said playfully ‘If you sit with him, it means you are with
Resolution 1559. But if you sit with them,’ he said indicating the Lebanese
journalists at the other table, ‘you are with Taif’, the 1989 accord that helped
end the Lebanese civil war and paved the way for Syria’s domination of
Lebanon.
Hariri smiled and walked over to a third table lying between the
other two and sat down, whereupon Friji and the four journalists joined
him. Hariri enjoyed the company of reporters. When he had been prime
minister, sometimes he could be found in the evenings spending more
time deliberating on the content of his Al-Mustaqbal newspaper than
concentrating on affairs of state.
They discussed the coming elections and the tensions in the country.
Hariri told them that he was dropping from his parliamentary bloc
several pro-Syrian MPs that he had been obliged to include in 2000,
 Countdown 9

the ‘back-stabbers’, he called them. It was a bold move and reiterated

to Friji just how sour relations had grown between Hariri and the
Syrians.
‘All I need are seven solid MPs on my list and the rest will join us,’
Hariri said.
He motioned to Friji that he wanted to speak to him alone. The two men
stepped outside and sat at an empty table.
Friji asked Hariri for some advice on an awkward diplomatic incident
that had occurred on the sidelines of Larsen’s meeting with Bashar al-
Assad four days earlier involving Major General Rustom Ghazaleh, the
head of Syrian military intelligence in Lebanon and as such Damascus’s
most powerful representative. Hariri listened to Friji’s account of what
had happened, and then said, ‘Forget about Ghazaleh. Don’t give him any
importance. Don’t go and see him. He’s useless.’
Friji then changed the conversation to Hizbullah, which was obliged to
dismantle its military wing under Resolution 1559. Hariri advised Friji
that the UN should deal directly with the Shiite group. Even though much
of the West considered Hizbullah a terrorist organisation, it was an
important political actor in Lebanon and should be treated carefully.
‘Make sure that you tell the Americans before you go; otherwise
they will be upset,’ Hariri said. ‘But definitely you should speak to
Hizbullah.’
The two men returned inside the café and were joined by Basil Fleihan
and Samir Jisr, a Sunni MP from Tripoli in the north and an ally of
Hariri.
Hariri made a brief phone call asking to meet with an advisor before
lunch and then notified the security team he was ready to leave.

12.48 p.m.

The convoy was waiting on a side street beside the parliament building.
Abu Tarek briefly discussed with the police escort and his assistant Talal
Nasser which route to take back to Koreitem. They had three choices. The
first was the longest, heading south out of Nijmeh Square and following
the highway toward the airport before looping around the western half of
the city to the mansion in Koreitem. The second route took the convoy due
west, next to the restored Ottoman-era military barracks that now housed
the prime minister’s offices, then past the derelict 32-storey Murr Tower,
once a favourite vantage point for snipers during the war. The convoy
would then head into the busy Hamra shopping district before reaching
Koreitem. The third route ran along the coast, north of Nijmeh Square,
10 Killing Mr Lebanon

past the new marina and the St George Hotel along the seafront corniche.
They picked the seaside route. It was a little longer than heading through
Hamra but the boss wanted to be back at Koreitem by 1 p.m. and at this
time of day it would be faster.
The convoy eased out of the side street and took up position on the
cobble-stoned square beside the café.

12.53 p.m.

The conversation in Café de l’Etoile broke up and Hariri, accompanied by

Basil Fleihan, walked outside to the waiting convoy. Fleihan climbed into
the Mercedes’ passenger seat as Hariri paused to smile and wave at Friji
and the reporters.
Friji remarked to Ali Hamade on the peculiar black hearse-like vehicle
waiting at the rear of Hariri’s six-car convoy.
‘That’s no hearse,’ Hamade said. ‘That’s one of the most sophisticated
ambulances in the world.’
In the back of the ambulance, a converted Chevrolet, sat Rashid
Hammoud. A respiratory therapist with the American University Hospital
in Beirut, he had served as a paramedic on Hariri’s medical team since
1993. A wooden board separated him from the front compartment,
although through a narrow opening he could see Mohammed Awayni,
the driver, and Mazen Zahabi, the second paramedic, who had begun
working with the team just three months earlier. The ambulance was
always located at the rear of the convoy and when moving it would hang
back, where traffic allowed, about 30 metres. If the convoy ran into an
ambush, it was essential for the ambulance to remain out of harm’s way.
The lead vehicle in the convoy was a Toyota Land Cruiser carrying four
policemen from the Internal Security Forces followed by the Mercedes
driven by Amer Shehadi who was accompanied by two bodyguards,
Mohammed Dia in the passenger seat and Hassan Ajouz in the back.
Hariri’s armoured vehicle was third, followed by two more Mercedes
carrying another three bodyguards each. Abu Tarek sat in the passenger
seat of the fourth vehicle, which was tasked with covering the right
flank of Hariri’s car. The fifth Mercedes hung to the left-hand side of
the road to protect Hariri’s left flank. The three bodyguards sitting in
the passenger seats carried Heckler & Koch MP5 machine pistols, small,
lightweight weapons with collapsible stocks that could be discreetly
hidden beneath a suit jacket. The other three men sitting in the rear seats
of the convoy protection vehicles were armed with heavier M-16 rifles.
Each bodyguard carried a 9mm automatic pistol in a shoulder holster, a
 Countdown 11

choice of either a Beretta or a Glock with which they practised at least

twice a week at the shooting range in Naameh. All the security team
carried four magazines of ammunition for each weapon, one loaded and
three spares.
There was no internal chit-chat over the short-wave radio when the
convoy was on the move. Radio silence was strictly observed although the
powerful electronic jammers in the boots of the three Mercedes S-500s
made communication difficult anyway.
As the convoy swung around the clock tower in the centre of the
square and headed down the street beside the Italian embassy toward
the seafront, a pair of eyes noted the direction and a telephone number
was punched into a mobile phone, the first of four calls the watcher
would make in the next few seconds.2 All the recipients were in the
vicinity, covering Hariri’s potential routes to Koreitem. The watcher’s
pre-paid mobile phone line was one of eight activated just over a month
earlier and since then the only calls they had made were to each other.
And when these calls were concluded, the lines would never be used
again.
Fady Khoury at the St George glanced at his watch. It was almost 1 p.m.
He had spent long enough enjoying the sunshine at the restaurant. He
called to Youssef, his chauffeur, and to Carole Farhat to accompany him to
the office on the other side of the busy road. Carole had finished prepar-
ations for the evening’s dinner. She picked up her bag and some files to
work on in the office. Maria Deeb, her sister-in-law and close friend, had
already gone ahead.
Clutching a bundle of newspapers, Samer Rida and his trainee walked
down the short staircase leading from the main road into the St George
beach club. He handed a copy to one of the staff and then turned to go
back up the stairs.
One of the four people contacted by the watcher in Nijmeh Square was
the driver of a white Mitsubishi Canter van who had been lingering near
the St George Hotel while awaiting the call. Now the van inched slowly
down the main road, cars and trucks whipping past as the driver hugged
the right-hand side travelling at a mere 8 kilometres per hour. A grey
sheet shrouded the contents in the back of the fully laden vehicle. It
passed the small covered entrance leading to the St George beach club,
and came to a halt a few metres further on, double-parking beside a line
of cars.
As Fady Khoury and Carole Farhat began climbing the stairs from the
beach club to the main road above, Khoury’s mobile phone rang. He
asked Carole to wait while he took the call, but Carole guessed he would
12 Killing Mr Lebanon

be chatting for several minutes and she was weighed down by her bag
and several heavy files.
‘I’ll see you in the office,’ she said.
Khoury nodded and turned his attention to the phone call.
Hassan Ajouz, the bodyguard, sitting in the rear of the first Mercedes
S-500, saw a car edging too close to the approaching convoy. One of his
responsibilities when in the rear seat was to keep other vehicles away
from the convoy. Ajouz thrust his arm out of the window and gestured
aggressively for the motorist to move out of the way. The motorist
mouthed a curse as he braked and swung his car out of the path of the
convoy.

12.55 p.m.

Carole Farhat stepped onto the road and noticed to her right a light-
coloured, commercial-looking van. Curiously, the driver had chosen to
double park beside the only car parked next to the hotel, so the van
protruded unnecessarily into the busy street. Its presence puzzled her
briefly; she was not expecting any more deliveries for the dinner.
She hurried across the broad busy street to the Annexe building on the
other side. As she crossed the sand verge before the entrance to the
Annexe, she missed seeing to her left a line of sleek black Mercedes
limousines racing toward the St George Hotel.
But another pair of eyes saw the convoy, a pair of eyes belonging to the
driver of the white Mitsubishi van who would have been staring intently
at the left-hand wing mirror from the moment he parked beside the St
George Hotel less than two minutes earlier. The driver would have seen
the policemen’s grey Toyota Land Cruiser first, growing larger in his wing
mirror as it sped around the broad sweep of road beside the St George
marina and flashed past his van, followed a fraction of a second later by
Amer Shehadi’s Mercedes. The next car to pass the van, the third in the
convoy, was Hariri’s Mercedes, the armoured S-600 model which its
makers boasted could withstand blasts from hand grenades. As it drew
alongside, an unseen hand pressed a switch, a simple physical gesture
that was about to alter the course of Lebanese history.
 The fixer
2
‘This area once was all orchards,’ says a wistful Ibrahim Antar, sitting
beneath a trellis of grape vines that shaded the courtyard of his home in
Sidon from the intense summer sun.1 ‘Just trees with a few small houses
where the farmers and their families lived. We grew everything, oranges,
lemons, grapes, mandarins, clementines. Life was much better back
then.’
A paunchy man in his sixties wearing a white vest and blue tracksuit
trousers, Antar ruffles the head of his three-year-old granddaughter as he
reminisces.
‘You want to know where President Hariri was born?’ he asks, using the
Arabic term, ‘rais’, to describe the former premier. ‘Look.’ He indicates a
spot lying 50 metres away on the other side of his small orchard of fruit
trees. ‘That’s where Hariri’s house stood. We were the only two families
around here.’
The flat-roofed, two-storey stone building where Rafik Hariri spent his
childhood disappeared long ago, as have all the orchards and along with
them Sidon’s former agrarian way of life. Today, where the Hariri home
once stood, there is a telephone exchange, a squat ugly building with a
façade of blue tiles and an imposing tower of bare concrete surmounted
by antennae and satellite dishes. The surrounding streets are choked with
traffic and lined with drab multi-storey buildings, occupied by banks and
trading companies. The ground-floor shops sell cheap furniture or plastic
household goods, such as mops, buckets, fans and brooms, which spill
out onto the pavement. Rows of uninspiring apartment blocks lie next to
each other in uncomfortable proximity, like so many bowling pins, bal-
conies either shaded by ubiquitous green and white striped curtains or
festooned with laundry hanging limply in the humid air.
The distant hills overlooking the coastal city are barely visible through
the midsummer haze of dust and exhaust fumes.
14 Killing Mr Lebanon

Antar’s house is one of the few surviving farm dwellings that once
dotted the thick, verdant belt of orchards that ringed the old port town of
Sidon 60 years ago. His home is protected from the urban sprawl by
towering eucalyptus trees and an empty car park flanked by thick under-
growth. The scent of roses, gardenias and jasmine floats through the
courtyard, and it is just possible to imagine how the area might have
looked more than half a century ago.
‘This jasmine bush belonged to the Hariris,’ Antar says, plucking a
slender white flower and sniffing it appreciatively. ‘I replanted it here
when their old home was torn down.’
Lebanon was days away from marking its first year of independence
when Rafik Hariri was born on November 1, 1944, the eldest of three
children. Raised in an environment of hardship and poverty, the family –
Rafik, his sister Bahiya, brother Shafik and their parents – shared two
small rooms on the upper floor of their rented home while the ground
floor housed cows and chickens. His father, Bahieddine, was a farmer
who worked two orange orchards, one he owned, the other he rented.
He earned just enough money to provide for his family and satisfy an
unsympathetic landlord, but it was a precarious living and subject to the
whims of nature. After one particularly bad harvest, Bahieddine was
forced to give up the rented property and earn extra income as a labourer
in other orchards. Many years later, Hariri would purchase all those
orchards and hand them to his father as a gift.
Hariri was a gregarious child and quick to make friends. The orange
groves which surrounded his home were his backyard where he and his
friends played, scampering along the dusty paths that criss-crossed the
orchards. During the hot, languid days of late summer, he and his friends
headed to the Iqlim al-Touffah, or Apple Province, in the mountains east
of Sidon, where he would camp out and earn money picking fruit.
He excelled at the King Faisal I school in Sidon, becoming one of three
students to win a high school scholarship from the Makassed Islamic
Philanthropic Association.
Politics took hold of Hariri at a young age. By the time he was 13,
Hariri, like many of his Muslim contemporaries in the 1950s, became
captivated by the revolutionary zeal of Arab nationalism, a powerful
new force preaching self-determination and unity which was sweeping
through the Middle East toppling monarchies and ousting the lingering
influence of Europe’s colonial powers.
Sidon in the 1950s was particularly susceptible to the clarion call of
Arab nationalism because of its traditionally intimate relationship with
Palestine and sympathy for the some 110,000 Palestinian refugees who
 The fixer 15

had fled their homes during the Arab–Israeli war of 1948 when the Jewish
state was established. Some 5,000 Palestinian refugees had settled in a
makeshift camp three kilometres south of Sidon among the orange trees
and banana groves of an area called Ain al-Hilweh. Hundreds of other
more fortunate refugees had moved in with friends and relatives in the
town.
The arrival of the Palestinian refugees and the growing support for
Arab nationalism, particularly among Lebanon’s Muslims, began to strain
the National Pact, the delicate sectarian power-sharing system under
which Lebanon had been governed since independence in 1943.
The National Pact was an unwritten modus vivendi reached between
Lebanon’s Maronite and Sunni leadership shortly before independence
from France. It essentially allocated key positions within the state to
different sects on a proportional basis using a 1932 census as a guide.
The census – which to this day has never been officially updated –
recorded that 51 per cent of the population was Christian and 49 per
cent Muslim with the Maronites representing the largest confession – or
sect – at 29 per cent, followed by the Sunnis and Shiites at 22 per cent
and 20 per cent respectively. Accordingly, the powerful presidency and
the key security positions were given to the Maronites while the prem-
iership fell to the Sunnis and the parliamentary speakership to the
Shiites.
The National Pact was a fragile system of checks and balances that
allayed Christian fears of being overwhelmed and marginalized in a pre-
dominantly Islamic region, and reassured Muslims of Lebanon’s ‘Arab
face’ and freedom from Western interference. The flaw in Lebanon’s
unique political model was that it lacked a mechanism enabling it to
adapt to evolving population demographics. Lebanon’s greatest export is
its people. The tiny nation has been haemorrhaging its population since
the nineteenth century, mainly Maronites who sought a better life in the
United States, South America and Africa. Christian emigration combined
with a higher Muslim birth rate gradually eroded the demographic
advantage of the Maronites. Consequently, it was no oversight that the
1932 census was the last held by any government. The Maronites feared
that their privileges in time would be stripped from them if it was
confirmed that their percentage of the overall population had declined
compared to that of the Sunnis and Shiites.
During the early post-independence years, the National Pact held
together, but by the mid-1950s the arrangement was beginning to buckle
under the burden of its inherent inequities aggravated by the stresses of
regional developments.
16 Killing Mr Lebanon

In the mid-1950s, Lebanon found itself drifting closer to the Western

orbit, partly in reaction to what many Lebanese Christians regarded
as the threat posed by the radicalism of the emerging Arab republics
in Egypt and Syria. Lebanese Muslims, however, drew inspiration from
the example of Jamal Abed al-Nasser, a colonel in the Egyptian army
who seized power in 1952 and articulated a populist anti-Western,
anti-colonial rhetoric.
Lebanon’s crisis came to a head in 1958 when Syria and Egypt merged
to form the United Arab Republic, galvanising Lebanese Muslims who
favoured joining the UAR. Street battles erupted in the northern city of
Tripoli and Muslim areas of Beirut, pitching the mainly Muslim Arab
nationalists against Christian parties.
The presence of a Palestinian refugee population radicalised by the
experience of 1948 had a powerful influence on Sidon’s young Sunnis,
many of whom were enthusiastic recruits for the numerous political
parties spawned by Arab nationalism.
‘We were the generation of 1958,’ recalls Adnan Zibawi, a childhood
friend of Hariri who still lives in Sidon.2 ‘We were only 12 or 13 but it was
impossible not to get caught up in the atmosphere.’
Hariri and Zibawi were both members of the Arab Nationalist Move-
ment (ANM) founded by George Habash, a Palestinian student at the
American University of Beirut who would later achieve fame and notori-
ety as the leader of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine. The
two teenagers absorbed politics, discussing the latest developments at
the Jihad Club, a venue for ANM members. They went out into the streets
ostensibly to teach Arabic to illiterate bakers and fishermen, but quickly
turned each language lesson into political instruction, spreading the
gospel of Arab unity.
‘Politics was in his heart and blood from his early teens. Until the day
he died he believed in the Arab cause and the cause of Palestine,’ says
Samir Bsat, a journalist and a contemporary of Hariri from Sidon.3 ‘He
would become so excited at demonstrations that his friends would carry
him on their shoulders as he yelled out slogans of support for
Palestine.’
But as Hariri grew older, he was forced to temper his political activism
so that he could concentrate on his school studies. Given his poor
background, politics was a luxury he could ill afford. Family and friends
recall that, even at a young age, Hariri was driven by ambition and a
determination to escape his destitute childhood.
‘His mind was very clear,’ recalls Fouad Siniora, a classmate of Hariri at
the King Faisal I School and fellow member of the Arab Nationalist
 The fixer 17

Movement.4 ‘He had a very strong character. He was highly outspoken

and determined.’
Hariri’s parents encouraged his studies, instilling in the teenager the
importance of education as a means of widening his future prospects. It
was a lesson that Hariri appeared to take to heart and in later years
spurred the establishment of the Hariri Foundation which awarded
scholarships to Lebanese students to study at universities overseas. A
school report for 1958 records Hariri as one of three students in his class of
33 whose academic performance for the year was marked as ‘very good’.
He graduated from the Makassed school four years later.
Hariri left Sidon and enrolled at the Arab University in Beirut where he
studied accountancy. Here he fell in love with Nida Boustani, an Iraqi
student, whom he married while still at the university.
‘He was shocked when he realised that he had to start making
some money, especially after his wife got pregnant,’ Adnan Zibawi
recalls.5
Hariri juggled his university studies with proof-reading jobs at Al-
Sayyad magazine published by Al-Anwar daily and with Al-Hurriyeh
magazine. But there was little money to be made in journalism, so Hariri
abandoned his university studies in 1964 and like many other Lebanese
left his family in Beirut and moved to Saudi Arabia hoping to earn a
steady living in the Gulf kingdom.
They were lean years for Hariri and his family in Beirut whom he
would visit every six months. He taught mathematics in Jeddah and
worked as an accountant before taking on small subcontracting jobs and
then setting up his own company, CICONEST, in 1969. Hariri’s marriage
to Nida eventually fell victim to his long absences, and in 1976 he married
Nazek Audi, a Palestininan Lebanese whom he met in Saudi Arabia.
The modest fortunes of CICONEST and another firm in which he was
partner, the Saudi Establishment for Roads and Buildings (SERB), were
badly hit by the oil boom in 1973 which brought a massive cash bonanza
to Saudi Arabia. The desert kingdom became one of the fastest-growing
economies in the world, with the oil profits used to fund a series of multi-
billion-dollar development programmes. Despite the construction boom,
however, Hariri’s companies saw profit margins tumble due to the rapid
rise in the costs of raw materials such as cement and steel, which tripled
and quadrupled in price.
‘They were very tough circumstances,’ recalls Farid Makari, a Lebanese
engineer employed by Hariri in 1974.6 ‘We were not really making any
money because we had signed our contracts before the prices of raw
materials soared.’
18 Killing Mr Lebanon

The determination to overcome the financial hurdles in Saudi Arabia

meant that Hariri saw little of his growing family in Lebanon. His
children, Bahaa, Saad and Hussam, lived in Sidon in a two-bedroom
apartment with their grandparents, an aunt and an uncle.
‘We used to heat the water over a charcoal fire. It was before my father
made it [financially],’ recalls Saad Hariri, Rafik’s second son.7 ‘It was
actually nice because we didn’t have to worry about much.’
Hariri’s luck began to change from 1976 when he teamed up with
Nasser Rashid, a construction tycoon who was close to the Saudi royal
family, to build three luxury blocks in Riyadh for the wife of Saudi King
Khaled. The profits from that project allowed Hariri to repay all his debts
and purchase his first private jet.
At the end of 1976, King Khaled asked Rashid to build the Massara
hotel in the resort city of Taif. The monarch told Rashid that he planned
to spend the summer in Taif and before he returned to Riyadh wanted to
officially open the hotel in time for an Islamic summit.
Rashid discussed the project with Hariri who recognised that if the
perilously short nine-month deadline could be met he would win the
favour of the royal family, opening up a limitless horizon of opportun-
ities. Hariri approached an ailing French construction company called
Oger and proposed it handle the $100 million project. Oger’s parent com-
pany approved the deal, considering it a final, make-or-break chance for
its subsidiary.
‘We worked 24 hours a day, shipping materials in by air, no expense
spared,’ says Farid Makari, who was the project manager.8 ‘Hariri knew
how to seize an opportunity.’
The construction of the hotel, which was completed less than a week
before the expiry of the nine-month deadline, marked a turning point in
Hariri’s life. A grateful King Khaled bestowed upon Hariri the rare hon-
our of Saudi nationality and handed him more construction projects. In
1978, Hariri and Oger formed a partnership, Saudi Oger, to handle the
lucrative new projects. The following year, Hariri bought out his French
partners, merging Oger and Saudi Oger to form Oger International,
through which in a stunningly short period of time he accumulated
enormous wealth.
‘It was his moment,’ Fouad Siniora recalls.9 ‘He was at the station when
his train came in. If he had been a minute late, it could all have been
different.’
By 1982, just five years after the Taif hotel contract, Hariri had emerged
as one of the richest men in the world, a multi-billionaire presiding over a
business empire which ranged from banks and construction companies to
 The fixer 19

light industry and publishing. But developments in Lebanon during the

late spring of 1982 would spur Hariri to refocus his energies on his home-
land, gradually kindling his dormant political ambitions and within a
decade propelling him from relative obscurity to the perceived saviour of
Lebanon.
While Hariri had been building his fortune in Saudi Arabia in the latter
half of the 1970s, Lebanon had collapsed into a bitter and bloody conflict
that by 1982 had cost thousands of lives, destroyed the infrastructure and
partitioned the country into militia-controlled cantons.
The catalyst for the outbreak of war in April 1975 was the Palestinian
presence in Lebanon, in particular the thousands of armed Palestine
Liberation Organisation fighters. The Palestinian population had swelled
to around 400,000 by 1975, the result of immigration and natural growth.
Lebanese Muslims were sympathetic to the mainly Sunni Palestinians,
regarding the growing power of the PLO as potential leverage in pressing
for greater representation and political reforms. The Maronites naturally
feared that the absorption of hundreds of thousands of Palestinians
would upset Lebanon’s delicate sectarian balance to Muslim advantage.
Lebanon’s unbridgeable sectarian divisions, exacerbated by worsening
socio-economic conditions, plunged the country into war in April 1975.
What the Lebanese refer to as the ‘civil war’ lasted from April 1975 to
October 1976 and pitted the National Movement composed of leftist
groups led by Druze leader Kamal Jumblatt and their PLO allies against
the Phalange party of Pierre Gemayel and other Christian militias.
The savagery of the conflict reached its apogee in a series of brutal
massacres in late 1975 and 1976 during a bloody process of cantonisation
that cemented the sectarian fissures running through the country. By
March 1976, the Christian militias were losing ground to the National
Movement. They were driven eastward from their stronghold in central
Beirut and their leftist enemies were advancing northward into Christian
areas of Mount Lebanon.
In neighbouring Syria, developments in Lebanon were being closely
scrutinised by Hafez al-Assad, the shrewd, patient, yet ruthless, 45-year-
old president. Assad had snatched power from his rivals in the ruling
Baath party in 1970 and since then had achieved some welcome stability
in Syria after three decades of political upheaval and recurrent coups.
Assad recognised that the turmoil in Lebanon represented both a threat
and an opportunity. His chief concern was that Israel might be tempted to
intervene on behalf of the Christians, who were dangerously close to
defeat. Damascus lay only 30 kilometres from the Lebanese border and
Assad was forever wary of Israel launching a flanking attack on his capital
20 Killing Mr Lebanon

via Lebanon. On the other hand, he saw an opportunity to exert influence

over Lebanon which would have a practical value in thwarting Israeli
designs and an ideological bonus of restoring the errant Lebanese state to
the Syrian motherland.
Although the state of Syria within its current borders was as much
a creation of the European mandatory powers as the state of Greater
Lebanon, Syria’s rulers never accepted the notion of an independent
Lebanon. What had become the Republic of Lebanon, they claimed, was
in fact no more than a small component of Bilad ash-Sham, the traditional
name given to the culturally and geographically homogeneous region
bordered by the Taurus mountains to the north, the Euphrates river to the
east, the Arabian desert to the south and the Mediterranean to the west.
The state of Greater Lebanon was an aberration, they argued, a result of
Maronite particularism and French indulgence that was not even
accepted initially by many of its citizens. That Syrian view of Lebanon
hardened when the Baath party – which espouses a secular, socialist Arab
nationalism – took power in 1963.
Assad tried diplomatic means to resolve the crisis in Lebanon, exhort-
ing Kamal Jumblatt to ease his military campaign against the Christians.
But Jumblatt, scenting victory, was determined to smash the Christians
into submission as a means of forcing through comprehensive political
changes.
Syria intervened militarily after receiving approval from the US, the
consent of Suleiman Frangieh, the Lebanese president, and the grudging
acquiesence of Israel, which insisted that Damascus observe some ‘red
lines’ – no troops south of Sidon, no use of aircraft in Lebanon and no
deployment of anti-aircraft missile batteries. Syrian troops entered Leba-
non on the night of May 31, 1976, and swiftly gained the upper hand
against the National Movement and its Palestinian allies. But it cost Assad
significant political capital in the Arab world. Critics claimed Assad’s
onslaught against the PLO was intended to benefit Western-leaning
Maronites, a group which aroused little sympathy among Muslim Arabs.
By October, the Lebanese leftists and the PLO were defeated and the
Syrian military presence legitimised by the Arab League as part of a
30,000-strong Arab Deterrent Force (ADF) to help restore the Lebanese
government’s authority over the country. Although the ADF was sup-
posed to be a temporary measure, it would be 29 years before the last
Syrian troops departed Lebanese soil.
A semblance of normality slowly returned to Lebanon over the following
months. In January 1977, banks re-opened for the first time in 10 months,
foreign diplomats returned, reconstruction aid poured in, and the
 The fixer 21

government announced the establishment of the Council for Develop-

ment and Reconstruction to repair and upgrade the war-damaged infra-
structure. But the return of stability was pricked by occasional bursts
of violence, including car bombs and assassination attempts. In April
1977, Kamal Jumblatt was murdered near his ancestral home in the
Chouf mountains. His death, which was widely blamed on Damascus,
effectively ended the last anti-Syrian opposition.
As Hariri’s wealth increased in the late 1970s, he began playing a public
role in Lebanon, although it remained humanitarian in nature rather than
political. After earning his first million Saudi riyals (about $300,000), he
rebuilt his old school in Sidon, and in 1979 founded the Islamic Institute
for Culture and Higher Education, a non-profit institution that offered
loans to Lebanese university students to pay tuition costs. The Institute,
which five years later was renamed the Hariri Foundation, would become
the cornerstone of Hariri’s extensive charitable endeavours, helping edu-
cate over the next two decades more than 35,000 students in Lebanese and
foreign universities. The same year, Hariri began construction on an
ambitious $150 million educational and vocational training complex on
2 million square metres of land near Kfar Falous, a small village in the
hills east of Sidon. The Kfar Falous project was to include a teaching
hospital, a university and schools. The location was chosen deliberately
because it lay between Sunni Sidon, the Shiite south, the Christian Jezzine
district to the east and the Druze Chouf mountains to the north. It was
to be a melting pot of Lebanese confessions where students from all over
the country could learn and interact with each other in a non-sectarian
environment.
‘He felt a social responsibility because he was born into a poor back-
ground,’ says Adnan Zibawi, Hariri’s childhood friend.10 ‘He went to
poor schools and knew the importance of a good education. That’s why
he began giving scholarships and building the Kfar Falous project.’
Although Hariri took an interest in the tangled and violent politics of
Lebanon, his involvement remained limited to discussing general ideas to
end the war and using his contacts with Muslims and Christians to win
the release of hostages kidnapped by rival militias. Hariri’s emerging
profile in Lebanon was the subject of much debate. Who was this fabu-
lously wealthy Sunni businessman from Sidon with close ties to the
Saudi royal family and what did he want? By 1982, Hariri had piqued
the interest of Bashir Gemayel, a charismatic and ruthless young man
who had clawed his way to power over the bodies of his rivals to head the
Lebanese Forces, grouping several Christian militias. In January 1982,
Gemayel dispatched to Paris two aides to learn more about Hariri.
22 Killing Mr Lebanon

‘We had dinner with Hariri and then he drove us back to a hotel and
he talked throughout the night, until 4 a.m., telling us his origins and
how he had made his money, his beliefs, his relations with the Saudis,
everything,’ recalls Michel Samaha, one of Gemayel’s envoys.11
By the spring of 1982, Lebanon was bracing itself for what looked like
an inevitable full-scale invasion by Israel organised by Ariel Sharon, a
headstrong and rash yet occasionally brilliant former general in the Israeli
Army whom many Israelis revered as a national hero. Sharon devised a
bold plan to invade Lebanon, crush the PLO, force out the Syrian Army,
and hand the presidency to Bashir Gemayel. In exchange for the presi-
dency, Gemayel would sign a peace treaty with Israel, thus securing
Israel’s northern front. It was an audacious scheme that possessed a fatal
flaw: success depended entirely on Gemayel. Sharon had no Plan B if
Gemayel was to die or turn on his Israeli allies.
After months of rising tension, Israel launched the invasion on June 6,
1982, seizing upon the shooting of an Israeli diplomat in London to
justify the assault. Outnumbered and outgunned, most PLO units in the
deep south simply fled north. On June 13, Israeli forces linked up with
Gemayel’s militiamen at the presidential palace in Baabda in the hills
overlooking Beirut. With the encirclement of Beirut complete, the siege
began of the western half of the city where the PLO was holed up.
Sidon was badly damaged during the invasion. Some 1,500 residents
died in the city of 180,000, with an estimated 4,000 homes destroyed in the
Sidon region and damage totalling at least $300 million. Hariri’s Kfar
Falous development was destroyed in the fighting, just one year after the
university, teaching hospital and school had opened. The Israeli Army
was ill prepared to handle the humanitarian needs of the city, and there
was unlikely to be any Lebanese government assistance until at least after
the siege of Beirut had been lifted. Hariri saw that his financial and logis-
tical resources could be used to help alleviate the dire humanitarian con-
ditions in besieged west Beirut as well as Sidon where his children were
living with their aunts in the new Hariri family home which had become a
refuge for homeless Sidonians.
‘We used to have as many as 1,500 people staying with us,’ recalls Saad
Hariri.12 ‘It was exciting in a way. We were young and didn’t feel the fear
that other people did. There were always other children running around
the house. It was only scary when the Israelis came to search the house.’
During that long, hot summer, Hariri repeatedly telephoned Lebanese
officials with offers of material and financial aid or Saudi diplomatic
assistance to persuade the Israelis to allow water and food supplies to the
civilians under siege.
 The fixer 23

He purchased 700 tons of food and blankets and organised a ship to

carry the supplies from Limassol in Cyprus to Sidon. But the Israelis
refused to allow the ship to dock in Sidon’s port. Undaunted, Hariri tele-
phoned Ghassan Tueni, Lebanon’s ambassador at the United Nations, and
asked for his help.
Could Tueni persuade the UN secretary-general to authorise the deliv-
ery or reflag the ship under the UN colours? Tueni said he would try.
Kurt Waldheim, the UN secretary-general, accepted Tueni’s proposal. The
ship was fitted with the UN flag and sailed that day from Cyprus for
Sidon. This time, the Israelis gave permission for it to dock in the port and
unload its supplies.
In the middle of August, the siege of Beirut drew to an end with the
evacuation of the PLO under the protection of a three-nation Multi-
National Force. With the PLO removed from Beirut, the second stage
of Ariel Sharon’s masterplan began to unfold with the election of his
Maronite ally Bashir Gemayel as the new Lebanese president.
Hariri believed, however, that electing Gemayel under the protection of
Israeli guns would only perpetuate the violence. On his own initiative, he
began exploring the feasibility of extending the mandate of President
Elias Sarkis and establishing a government of national unity.
Johnny Abdo, the head of Lebanese military intelligence in 1982, recalls
listening to a recording of a phone conversation in which Hariri was
trying to persuade Saeb Salam, a former Lebanese prime minister and
head of a powerful Sunni family in Beirut, against supporting Gemayel’s
presidency.
‘I got the impression that he might be a tough adversary against Bashir
Gemayel, using his Saudi influence to pressure Saeb Salam and other
Sunni MPs. I later realised that this was an incorrect image after I listened
to several more telephone calls, and I thought that he could be one of the
most important Sunni leaders,’ he says.13
Gemayel was duly elected president on August 23 and, with the PLO
departing Beirut, Lebanon appeared to be on the verge of a new era of
stability. But just as Israel’s fortunes seemed to be at their zenith, the
flaw in Sharon’s grand plan was exposed. On September 14, Gemayel
was killed in a bomb blast. The bomb was planted and detonated by a
pro-Syrian activist. It appeared that Assad, whose strategic position in
Lebanon had eroded with the Israeli invasion, had found and exploited
Israel’s Achilles heel. In that one instant, Sharon’s ambitions in Lebanon
collapsed. The gamble had failed to pay off and Israel began its long
painful retreat from Lebanon, one that would take another 18 years to
complete.
24 Killing Mr Lebanon

Following Gemayel’s death, Israeli troops moved into west Beirut

accompanied by their Christian militia allies. Ordered into the Sabra/
Shatila Palestinian refugee camps, the militiamen, fuelled by revenge for
their slain commander, embarked on a three-day orgy of killing in which
over 1,000 Palestinian and Lebanese residents were slaughtered.
The massacre shocked the world and compelled the return of the Multi-
National Force which had departed two weeks earlier after the last PLO
fighters left Beirut. Amine Gemayel, Bashir’s older brother, was elected
president on September 23 and, after the trauma of the previous two
weeks, Lebanon set its sights once more on the future.
Hariri offered his services to the president, bringing in dozens of bull-
dozers and trucks and employing hundreds of workers to clear the streets
of central Beirut of the detritus of seven years of war.
Elie Salem, the foreign minister in the new government established in
October 1982, recalls Hariri arriving at the presidential palace in Baabda
and unloading from the back of a truck a scale model of downtown
Beirut.14
‘What’s that?’ Salem asked.
‘It’s my plan for the city centre,’ Hariri replied. Hariri’s attachment to
his model of central Beirut would bemuse friends and colleagues in the
following years who would come across it variously in the tycoon’s
homes in France and Saudi Arabia and even on his private jet.
Salem remembers Hariri as a ‘very strange man’.
‘He was very self-confident. Lebanon was and remains a series of prob-
lems and Rafik was the kind of guy who wanted to be involved in every
problem with a view to solving it,’ he says.
On December 28, Lebanese and Israeli negotiators began discussing
an agreement that would allow for the withdrawal of Israeli troops. The
Israelis wanted a deal that was a peace agreement in all but name that
would justify the costly and domestically unpopular invasion. But the
Lebanese government was being squeezed by a resurgent Syria and
its allies in Lebanon who rejected the notion of any arrangement that
rewarded Israel.
‘We were under a very heavy American pressure to sign the agreement,’
says Gemayel.15 The hapless president desperately wanted the Americans
to stay involved in Lebanon because he knew that the country was too
weak to stand up to the Syrians and Israelis alone. But Israel and Syria
resented US influence in Lebanon, believing it undermined their own
separate interests.
Time was running out for the Reagan administration’s Lebanon policy.
On April 18, 1983, a truck bomber destroyed the American embassy in
 The fixer 25

Beirut, killing 63 people, a stark warning that the US was becoming

increasingly unwelcome in Lebanon. Like the Israelis, the Americans also
needed a deal.
In early May, the Israeli government agreed to a US-brokered arrange-
ment and it was signed on May 17. Yet, at the last moment, the Israelis
introduced a side letter that effectively killed the agreement at birth. The
side letter stated that Israel would only withdraw its troops after the
Syrian Army had pulled out from Lebanon. That gave Assad an effective
veto over the agreement’s implementation. If Assad refused to with-
draw his forces, then the Israelis would stay and months of tedious and
frustrating negotiations would come to naught.
Syria mobilised its Lebanese allies against the May 17 accord and
during the summer fierce fighting flared in the northern Chouf between
Christian and Druze militias. King Fahd of Saudi Arabia formally
appointed Hariri his envoy, an indication of the close relationship which
had developed between the two men since Hariri had become the chief
construction agent for the royal family. With his new appointment,
Hariri’s role in Lebanon began to shift from reconstruction to mediating
between the warring parties. He brokered ceasefires around Beirut Inter-
national Airport after artillery barrages between the warring militias
in the overlooking mountains forced the closure of the runways and
endangered the US marines who were deployed there. According to Elie
Salem, Hariri’s principal motivation for keeping the airport open was
so that he could fly between Beirut and Riyadh in his private jet to
consult with King Fahd and bring fresh ideas back to Lebanon. At the
end of August, Israel began preparing to withdraw its forces from the
Chouf southward to Sidon. The Israeli withdrawal threatened to create
a security vacuum in the Chouf which would be filled by the Druze
militia of Walid Jumblatt, son and heir of the slain Kamal Jumblatt,
and the Christian Lebanese Forces. Hariri arranged a meeting in Paris
between President Gemayel and Jumblatt but was unable to broker an
agreement between the two rivals. On September 1, the so-called Moun-
tain War began in earnest, pitting Jumblatt’s Druze against the Lebanese
Forces and units of the Lebanese Army in one of the bloodiest episodes of
the war.
Believing that the Americans were losing interest in Lebanon, Gemayel
switched to the Saudis, beseeching King Fahd to help resolve the mess.
Braving intense artillery fire around the airport, Hariri returned by heli-
copter from Cyprus to Beirut in early September accompanied by Prince
Bandar bin Sultan, a favourite nephew of King Fahd who was at the
forefront of a new Saudi peace drive.
26 Killing Mr Lebanon

Two weeks of intense shuttling and negotiation between Beirut and

Damascus resulted in a ceasefire in the Chouf and a promise of a Saudi-
sponsored national reconciliation conference. But even deciding on the
location of the conference proved to be problematic and took up much
of Hariri’s time following Bandar’s departure to Washington to take up
the Saudi ambassadorship. The original site for the conference in Saudi
Arabia was changed to Beirut International Airport. But Jumblatt rejected
the airport, saying it would not be safe ‘and wouldn’t be relaxed with all
those planes coming and going’. Gemayel suggested the presidential
palace, and Rashid Karami, a former prime minister from Tripoli in the
north, recommended a boat. Hariri won a consensus for the Intercontin-
ental Hotel in Geneva as the venue and he arranged all the logistics,
including travel and accommodation. The conference opened on October
31 amid tension and distrust. Although the Saudis were formally repre-
sented by a minister of state, none of the attendees were in any doubt that
Hariri was the real voice of King Fahd. He proved a tireless negotiator,
‘commuting from room to room 24 hours a day trying to convince the
various partners to take a conciliatory position’, Gemayel says.16
Five days of negotiations ended with Gemayel pledging to find a new
formula for an Israeli withdrawal in exchange for recognition of his presi-
dency by his Lebanese opponents. Reagan was reluctant to give a coup de
grâce to the only political ‘success’ his administration could point to in
Lebanon. But Washington’s ability to influence events in Lebanon was
steadily waning. The US Marine barracks at Beirut International Airport
had been destroyed in October in a massive suicide truck bomb blast
in which 241 American servicemen perished. Then on February 6, the
Lebanese Army collapsed in west Beirut, the soldiers deserting to join
their co-religionists in the militias of the Shiite Amal movement led by
Nabih Berri and Jumblatt’s Druze, which overran the western half of the
city, cutting off the US marines who were dug in around the airport.
Hours later, Reagan decided to pull the plug on his Lebanon debacle.
Eleven days later, the last US marines departed Lebanon, bringing an
end to what Caspar Weinberger, the US defence secretary, called ‘a
particularly miserable assignment’.
For Hafez al-Assad, the collapse of Washington’s Lebanon policy was a
moment of triumph after the tribulations of the previous two years. The
1979 Israeli–Egyptian peace agreement had isolated and weakened him
regionally at a time when he was facing mounting domestic pressure from
the rebellious Muslim Brotherhood which was waging a campaign of
bomb attacks and assassinations against Baathist rule. He crushed the
Muslim Brotherhood’s rebellion in early 1982 and then had to contend
 The fixer 27

with Israel’s invasion just four months later. In November 1983, when the
struggle against the Americans for Lebanon was at its height, he had
collapsed from nervous exhaustion, spurring his younger brother, Rifaat,
to lead an attempted coup, believing Assad was incapacitated by a heart
attack. It took Assad until April to head off Rifaat’s challenge, by which
time the battle against the Americans in Lebanon was won, allowing
him the opportunity to enjoy the ignominious departure of the US from
Lebanon and gleefully watch his Israeli enemy become further ensnared
in the quagmire of south Lebanon where a Shiite resistance was inflicting
ever deadlier blows. Now operating from a position of strength, Assad
rejected a Saudi peace initiative that called for the abrogation of the May
17 Agreement and for the withdrawal of Israeli and Syrian troops (he saw
no reason why he should withdraw his forces), and pressured Gemayel
into meeting him in Damascus in an act of public submission. Gemayel
bowed to the inevitable. On February 29 he travelled to Damascus and
promised to annul the May 17 Agreement in return for Syrian support for
his presidency.
Hariri teamed up with Elie Salem, the foreign minister, to craft a
document that would terminate May 17 to Syria’s satisfaction.
‘We had to abrogate the agreement because we couldn’t do anything
without Syria’s permission at that time or we would reap very bad results
on the ground,’ Salem says.17
Hariri shuttled between Beirut and Damascus, consulting with Abdel-
Halim Khaddam, a tough Sunni from the small coastal town of Banyas
who had been a childhood friend of Assad and was in charge of Syria’s
Lebanon portfolio. After 11 years as foreign minister, Khaddam had just
been promoted to vice-president. Within days, the Syrians were satisfied
and Gemayel signed the abrogation.
Hariri, pleased at the result of his arbitration, wanted to take the
document to Damascus straight away to show Assad, according to
Elie Salem.18 He contacted the American ambassador in Beirut and asked
to borrow a helicopter to fly to Damascus. Taken aback by the request,
the ambassador said it was impossible. He would have to call the State
Department, which would have to contact the Pentagon, which would
have to call the Sixth Fleet in the Mediterranean. Undaunted, Hariri
offered to buy three US military helicopters there and then and have
them stationed at Beirut International Airport. He would also pay to
have three helicopter crews permanently on standby. The ambassador
stared at Hariri incredulously. ‘You are a one-armed bandit,’ he said.
Hariri helped organise a second reconciliation conference in
Lausanne on March 12, seven days after the Lebanese government
28 Killing Mr Lebanon

formally abrogated the May 17 Agreement. But the Lausanne conference

was a tense, unhappy affair and, after 12 days of bickering, it ended with-
out agreement.
One evening toward the end of the conference, Hariri left the room
where the delegates were arguing and headed back to his suite. He was
joined by Sarkis Naoum, a Lebanese journalist who was covering the
conference for his paper, An Nahar. As they entered the hotel suite, Hariri
took off his jacket, sat down and began to weep. An embarrassed Naoum
asked what was the matter. But instead of replying, Hariri continued
crying and then began talking to himself.
‘What are these people doing?’ he sobbed, shaking his head slowly.
‘Don’t they realise they are destroying the country? What’s the matter
with these people?’
‘Two things became clear to me then,’ Naoum recalls.19 ‘First that
the Lebanese were not yet ready to reach a compromise to end the war.
The second thing was that I realised that Rafik was not doing this for
prestige or to get a position. He was genuinely sincere in wanting to end
the war.’
Despite the failure at Lausanne, Hariri was fast proving himself an
indispensable component of wartime mediation. He commanded respect
and attention by virtue of his connection to King Fahd, as well as his
wealth.
‘Hariri had real power,’ recalls Elie Salem.20 ‘When Hariri was talking
it was King Fahd talking. He would come up with ideas that were
very forceful and say that this is what King Fahd wants. And what Fahd
wants is what Hariri tells him. Fahd, of course, was not interested in
the details. Any other person might have made nothing out of it. But
Hariri was a catalyst in Lebanese politics. He befriended every-
body, through me Gemayel, Berri, Jumblatt. He was very close to
the Syrians. He was always playing the role of conciliator to bring
consensus.’
Hariri had concluded from the collapse of the Lausanne conference that
the war could not end and no meaningful constitutional reforms could be
implemented unless the three main militias – the Lebanese Forces, headed
by Elie Hobeika, the Amal Movement of Nabih Berri and Walid Jumblatt’s
Druze Progressive Socialist Party – could be persuaded to cease fighting
and disarm. He badgered friends and colleagues for ideas, distributing
paper and pencils at brainstorming sessions so they could jot down their
thoughts and proposals.
‘He was a man who would never accept defeat,’ recalls Fouad
Siniora, his childhood friend who by 1982 was running Hariri’s Groupe
 The fixer 29

Mediterranee banking interests.21 ‘If he doesn’t succeed in one way, he

goes around it, tries to develop other ways and means to re-explain his
point of view. He would always try and find some way around a problem.
That really was a very important trait in him. And that’s how he dealt
with Lebanon’s problems.’
Syria already had Walid Jumblatt and Nabih Berri as loyal allies, but
Hariri spent months coaxing the suspicious Elie Hobeika into accepting
an alliance with Damascus, arranging for the exchange of letters between
the militia leader and Abdel-Halim Khaddam, hosting secret meetings in
Crete and his residence in Paris and sweetening the negotiations with
millions of dollars. Hobeika finally accepted the rapprochement with
Damascus, which led to a series of ‘tripartite’ negotiations with Berri and
Jumblatt which were supposed to end the war.
‘Of course, Hariri followed up every bit of the agreement,’ says
Marwan Hamade, who was Jumblatt’s representative at the talks.22
‘Most of the text of the agreement was written in his house, often
in his own handwriting. He was always trying to accommodate
things.’
The Tripartite Accord was signed on December 28, but lasted less than
three weeks. It was bitterly opposed by the traditional political class, who
resented the infringement of the militia upstarts. Many in the Lebanese
Forces also were deeply unhappy with what they thought was Hobeika’s
sell-out to the Syrians and in a bloody coup evicted Hobeika from the
leadership, shattering the Tripartite Agreement and leaving months of
intensive negotiations in ruins.
The collapse of the Tripartite Accord was another bitter disappointment
for Hariri, but after three years of close involvement in Lebanon’s tortured
and unforgiving political environment he was hooked.
Abdullah Bouhabib, the then Lebanese ambassador to the US, remem-
bers meeting Hariri in New York in early 1983 and listening to the tycoon
enthusiastically describe his reconstruction activities in Lebanon. When
the conversation turned to politics, Hariri fell silent, but by 1985 ‘it was all
politics with him’.
‘Politics in Lebanon is like an addiction. Once you are in, you cannot
leave,’ Bouhabib says.23
Yet many of his interlocutors in Lebanon could not understand why
someone as rich and powerful as Hariri would persist with the thankless
and dangerous task of Lebanese peacemaking. It was a question that was
once put to Hariri by Johnny Abdo, who was Lebanese ambassador to
Switzerland and then France after retiring as head of military intelligence
in 1983.
30 Killing Mr Lebanon

‘I once spoke to Hariri using coarse Arabic to say that Lebanon is like a
pool of shit and why did he insist in swimming in it when he didn’t have
to,’ Abdo recalls.24
Hariri replied by asking Abdo how many years he had served Lebanon
in the military and then as a diplomat.
‘Ten or 11 years. Why?’ Abdo said.
‘What are your dreams now? To earn maybe $10 million?’ Hariri asked.
‘Sure. Why not.’
‘Well, I have one hundred times your dream, so why shouldn’t I now
follow my dream of helping Lebanon as you have already done?’
‘I accepted the logic of what he said but I told him that Lebanese politics
can be very dangerous,’ Abdo says.
Friends and colleagues maintain that Hariri’s initial motivation to
intervene in Lebanon’s war stemmed from memories of his humble child-
hood among the orange groves of Sidon and the Arab nationalist ideology
that he absorbed in his teenage years. He also took his religious obliga-
tions as a Muslim seriously, which served as further stimulus to help
resolve Lebanon’s problems. Marwan Hamade recalls Hariri telling him
that, after making his first million dollars, he had looked at himself in the
mirror and said ‘Rafik, you are a millionaire now. You are a millionaire,
but you are still Rafik Hariri.’25
‘What distinguished Hariri from all the other Lebanese millionaires . . .
was that he never forgot his modest origins and he used to talk with some
nostalgia about the times he was in the mountains carrying boxes of
apples for five Lebanese lira a day,’ says Marwan Hamade. He was
motivated by ‘religious belief, Arab nationalism and a sense that some of
his money was owed to the people’.
Indeed, money was one of Hariri’s most useful assets in his mediation
efforts. A few suitcases stuffed with US dollars were often more per-
suasive and achieved swifter results than patient dialogue. For Hariri,
money was a tool in negotiation much as a plumber uses a wrench to stop
a leak or a sculptor uses a chisel to fashion a block of wood.
‘He was a corrupter, rather than corrupt,’ says one acquaintance from
the 1980s.26
Hariri distributed his own funds lavishly on his philanthropic projects
and had a reputation for personal generosity, although others would say
he was a ‘soft touch’. Explaining once the purpose of his largesse to a
Lebanese politician,27 Hariri asked what he would gain if he had $100
million and gave $50 million to his family and the other $50 million to
help people. A lot of friends, the politician replied. Exactly, Hariri said.
And Hariri was winning a lot of powerful friends – presidents, kings,
 The fixer 31

politicians, warlords, statesmen and diplomats from the Arab world to

Europe, the Far East and the United States. In Paris, he had befriended the
charismatic mayor, Jacques Chirac, to whom he had proved useful in
buying up ailing French companies or helping them secure lucrative
contracts in Saudi Arabia.
In Damascus, Hariri was forging close ties to some members of the
regime. He attempted to ingratiate himself with Assad by building him
a luxurious palace on the airport road, but the unimpressed Syrian
president chose to remain in his smaller Rowda palace and turned
Hariri’s gift into a hotel. Hariri developed a good working relationship
with Abdel-Halim Khaddam and with Hikmat Shehabi, the Syrian Army
chief of staff, a relationship allegedly cemented by extensive financial
contributions. Like Hariri, his two main Syrian interlocutors were Sunnis,
among the most senior in the Alawite-dominated regime.
‘He was closer to Khaddam than Shehabi because Shehabi was a mili-
tary man and it was impossible to have the same warmth of relationship,’
says Nohad Mashnouq, a close advisor to Hariri in the 1990s.28 ‘Shehabi
was used to deliver the tough message from Damascus and Khaddam
delivered the softer normal message.’
The Saudis traditionally relied on middlemen to ‘buy’ Lebanese politi-
cians and journalists – the ‘Saudi way’ of doing business, as one former
Lebanese official put it. But Hariri soon became the sole conduit of Saudi
funds in Lebanon, which increased his value as a serious negotiator.
Hariri used cash and gifts to build a network of informants, becoming
a ‘one-man mukhabarat,’ according to Gemayel, with information on
everyone.29 Secretaries of powerful figures would receive gifts of new cars
or jewellery so that Hariri could be assured of a sympathetic ear when he
telephoned to speak to their employers.
His wealth and prestige also underpinned an extensive logistics network
which helped facilitate his mediation.
‘He established an infrastructure of capable men, political scientists,
economists and so on to advise him and write position papers,’ Gemayel
says.30 ‘It was essential to have someone who could talk to everyone,
Christians, Muslims, the left and the right.’
Elie Salem recalls being at the Lebanese embassy in Paris when Hariri
telephoned to say he had an important message for him from King Fahd.31
Would Salem come down to Monaco where Hariri was staying on his
yacht? Salem said he would, but he had to be back in Beirut the next day.
No problem, said Hariri. There would be a car waiting for Salem outside
the embassy in ten minutes. The car arrived on time and Salem was
driven to the airport. He was ushered onto Hariri’s private jet which took
32 Killing Mr Lebanon

off for Nice. On arrival in the south of France, he was picked up in a white
helicopter for the short flight to Monaco. When Salem landed at Monaco,
there was a white Rolls-Royce and two of Hariri’s staff dressed in white
waiting on the runway to collect him. They drove the bemused foreign
minister to the yacht where Hariri, also dressed in white, was waiting to
greet him.
‘How could anyone from Sidon have such a system?’ Salem asked
Hariri.
‘This is not a Sidon system. It’s the Hariri system,’ he replied. ‘If it’s not
done this way, it will never work.’
During his premiership in the 1990s, Hariri’s critics would accuse him
of having deliberately funded rival militias to prolong the war and the
destruction of Beirut so that he could profit from post-war reconstruction.
Certainly, many political figures, including Elie Hobeika of the Lebanese
Forces, benefited from Hariri’s financial largesse, although Hariri main-
tained that the money he distributed was not intended to perpetuate the
war but to bring it to an end. Despite being the Saudi envoy of King Fahd,
the only way Hariri was going to get a seat at the table with the high
rollers was if he could bring a very large bag of cash with him. After all,
the respect for King Fahd in Lebanon was not down to his personal charm
and ability to tell a good joke. It was because his kingdom sat on the
largest deposits of oil on earth.
‘You want to operate in this country, you have got to pay, otherwise
you can’t come in,’ says Abdullah Bouhabib, Lebanon’s then ambassador
to Washington.32 ‘You had to pay Berri, Jumblatt, the Lebanese Forces,
everybody. Hariri couldn’t come to Lebanon without paying everyone.’
The funds allocated by the Saudis were scrupulously recorded by
Hariri in a ledger. ‘King Fahd won’t open it, but I have to keep the book to
maintain his confidence. And it’s accurate,’ he told a friend.33 ‘That’s why
I love them and they love me.’ It was a relationship of ‘absolute clarity,
loyalty and respect’ for the Saudi royal family.
Not all the Saudi funds were distributed as sweeteners to politicians
and militia leaders. King Fahd donated millions of dollars to charity and
helped prop up the ailing Lebanese pound with huge transfers of cash to
the Banque du Liban, the central bank. In February 1985, Hariri arranged
for $500 million of Saudi money to be pumped into the Lebanese treasury
after the pound, buckling under the strain of 10 years of war, dropped
16 per cent in value to the dollar in a single day.
According to Johnny Abdo, Hariri channelled $500,000 a month to
the Lebanese Army to help pay the salaries of soldiers to prevent them
deserting and joining militias.34 Fouad Siniora says that, by the late 1980s,
 The fixer 33

Hariri was buying schools to keep them open and paying the salaries of
university professors and tuition fees of students at the American Uni-
versity of Beirut, and Beirut University College (now called the Lebanese
American University).35
By the mid-1980s, however, it was clear to those close to Hariri that
he had his eye on the premiership. He was a wealthy Sunni with a power-
ful patron in King Fahd who enjoyed extensive contacts across the sectar-
ian divide in Lebanon and friendships in Syria and the West and was
untarnished by affiliation to any particular militia. Hariri saw himself as
an ideal candidate for the premiership. The same drive that had sustained
him during the difficult years in Saudi Arabia also underpinned his polit-
ical ambitions which, in the view of many of those who worked with him,
made him overly susceptible to compromise.
‘He was very ambitious and he knew he couldn’t be prime minister
without the Syrians,’ says Gemayel.36 ‘The ambition factor was essential
with Rafik Hariri and it led him to make many compromises at the
expense of the national interest.’
Abdullah Bouhabib, the Lebanese ambassador to Washington, recalls
dining with Hariri in the south of France in August 1987 during which the
tycoon aired a bold ploy to end the war in one fell swoop.37 Amine
Gemayel, Hariri said, would be offered $30 million to resign the presi-
dency in favour of Johnny Abdo, then the Lebanese ambassador in
Switzerland. Hariri would be appointed prime minister under Abdo.
Bouhabib expressed scepticism and doubted that Gemayel would
accept the proposal. But Hariri said that with another $500 million he
could dissolve the militias, satisfy the Syrians and retain the presidency
for the Maronites. If Gemayel agreed to the plan, Hariri added, he would
bring King Fahd of Saudi Arabia to Damascus to persuade the Syrians.
Gemayel says he learned of Hariri’s proposal but ignored it and noth-
ing more was said. Abdo, however, insists that the offer was not serious
and that the tale was an example of Hariri’s political immaturity.
‘He repeated the same story to me in Basel,’ Abdo recalls.38 ‘It was a
joke. He was a beginner in politics at that time. People used to call him
“the Cheque Book”.’
Four years later the conversation came back to haunt Hariri when
Abdullah Bouhabib referred to it in his memoirs.39 According to Bouhabib,
King Fahd allegedly refused to talk to Hariri for three months after the
book was published, insulted by the notion that he was at the beck and
call of his Lebanese envoy.40
Syria, meanwhile, was reasserting itself in Beirut. In February 1987,
some 7,000 Syrian troops entered the city for the first time since Israel’s
34 Killing Mr Lebanon

invasion five years earlier. The Syrians stamped out fighting between
warring militias, and a semblance of calm descended over the western
half of the capital.
General Ghazi Kanaan, the Syrian military intelligence commander
who would play a key role in future developments between Hariri and
Syria, called for the re-opening of embassies and the return of foreigners,
most of whom had fled with the beginning of a kidnapping campaign by
Shiite militants. ‘Your ordeal is over,’ he said in a radio message to Beirut’s
residents, promising that the stabilising Syrian troop presence was open-
ended. Kanaan even went jogging along the seafront corniche each day
without bodyguards to demonstrate just how safe Beirut had become
under Pax Syriana.
A tough and wily Alawite from the sect’s stronghold in the coastal
mountains of western Syria, Kanaan was a rising star in the Syrian mili-
tary. He had commanded an army unit on the Golan Heights in the 1973
Arab–Israeli war. He was promoted colonel and served as head of mili-
tary intelligence in the Syrian city of Homs. When the Muslim Brother-
hood rebellion erupted in early 1982, he calmed the seething tensions in
Homs by striking a deal with the Sunni militants. In contrast, the rebels in
the neighbouring city of Hama were crushed with ruthless excess by an
elite Syrian Army brigade in which as many as 20,000 people died and
large areas of the city were razed to the ground. Kanaan was appointed
military intelligence chief in Lebanon following the Israeli invasion
months later.
Syria’s strengthening grip on Lebanon failed to bring the war to an end,
however, with sporadic negotiations invariably ending in deadlock and
acrimony.
In June 1987, Hariri persuaded Elie Salem and a reluctant Amine
Gemayel to join him in an overnight session to discuss some proposals
from Saudi King Fahd on board his private jet as it ploughed through
thunderstorms high above the Mediterranean Sea. The document that
emerged, known as the Hariri Working Paper, included agreements on
key points of contention such as the Arab identity of Lebanon, equal
representation in parliament between Christians and Muslims, a phased
removal of sectarianism, disbanding the militias and ending the war, with
‘the assistance of sister Syria in the realisation of all these objectives’.
Although the agreement hammered out on Hariri’s jet won Assad’s tepid
endorsement, it was not translated into action.
In September 1989, Amine Gemayel’s six-year term came to an end
amid political deadlock over the choice of a suitable successor. Minutes
before his term expired at midnight on September 22, Gemayel appointed
 The fixer 35

General Michel Aoun, the commander of the Lebanese Army, to head an

interim six-man military government pending presidential elections.
Gemayel’s departing decision was rejected by the Lebanese government
headed by Salim Hoss in west Beirut. Several other senior army officers
refused to side with Aoun, including General Emile Lahoud, the head of
operations at the defence ministry. The city was split between a Syrian-
controlled western half and a Christian enclave centred around Baabda
presidential palace where Aoun set up his headquarters.
Aoun was a unique phenomenon during the war. His unflinching
nationalism and ‘clean’ reputation resonated with many Lebanese who
had grown revolted at the brutality and cynicism of the militias and
weary of the toothless and moribund political class. A populist who
evoked passionate support from his followers, Aoun lacked the necessary
pragmatism and guile to fulfil his ambition of breaking the power of the
militias and removing Syrian troops from Lebanon. He moved against
the Lebanese Forces in early 1989, uprooting the militia from parts of east
Beirut and closing its illegal port. He then imposed a blockade on the
illegal Druze- and Shiite-run ports in west Beirut. Alarmed at Aoun’s
boldness, the Syrians began shelling his east Beirut enclave in a bid to
break his will. Instead, Aoun responded by launching his ‘war of liber-
ation’ in March, a quixotic bid to drive the Syrian Army out of Lebanon in
which the two sides traded artillery fire and skirmished along the edges of
the enclave for seven months at a cost of 1,000 lives.
The fighting between Aoun’s forces and the Syrians came amid
renewed Arab diplomatic efforts to bring the war to an end. Relations
between Damascus and other Arab states were fragile in 1989, a con-
sequence of Arab irritation at Syria’s transparent ambitions in Lebanon
and its support for Iran against Iraq during the 1980–1988 Gulf War.
Assad, feeling squeezed by Aoun’s durability and the unwanted Arab
diplomatic intervention, dug in his heels, determined to repulse all
challenges over Lebanon. He had thwarted Israel’s ambitions in Lebanon
and foiled the American intervention in 1983. Both had represented far
graver challenges to Assad than Arab displeasure at Syria’s behaviour in
Lebanon. Aoun represented the last obstacle to Assad exerting full control
over Lebanon, and it was unthinkable that at this late stage the Syrian
leader would yield to the will of the Arabs, particularly to his arch-enemy
Saddam Hussein of Iraq who was gleefully supplying Aoun and the
Lebanese Forces with heavy weapons to use against the Syrians.
Assad’s persistence paid off. The Arabs dropped a demand for a Syrian
troop withdrawal from Lebanon and called instead for a ceasefire fol-
lowed by a reconciliation conference in the Saudi Red Sea resort of Taif.
36 Killing Mr Lebanon

Hariri played an instrumental role in the logistics of the conference,

arranging for the ageing members of the Lebanese parliament to be flown
to Saudi Arabia while he shuttled back and forth to Damascus with Saudi
foreign minister Prince Saud al-Faisal to relay developments to Assad. Of
Lebanon’s original 99 MPs elected in 1972, only 62 survived, 20 of them
very old or sick. Corralled in a hotel in Taif, denied access to the media
and with former prime minister Saeb Salam’s warning that ‘failure is
not permissible’ ringing in their ears, the parliamentarians spent an
acrimonious month arguing over a charter for national reconciliation
drawn up by Lakhdar Brahimi, the secretary-general of the Arab League,
based largely on Hariri’s Working Paper. After 22 days, they reached an
agreement and the National Reconciliation Accord, known as the Taif
Accord, was born. The Taif Accord was the most important political
agreement since the National Pact of 1943 and would provide the consti-
tutional foundation for post-war Lebanon. Among its provisions, the
accord called for the phased abolition of political sectarianism, but set no
deadlines, leaving its implementation open-ended. Indeed, the 1943
power-sharing agreement was implicitly enshrined by Taif through a
more equitable distribution of parliamentary and cabinet seats where
representation went from a 6 to 5 ratio in favour of the Christians to a
50:50 balance. Executive power was transferred from the presidency to the
cabinet in an attempt to whittle away a key Maronite privilege. The
increased powers of the Sunni premier and Shiite parliamentary speaker
at the expense of the Maronite president effectively produced a troika
system of rule comprising the three most powerful positions in the
country.
Crucially, Syria’s role in Lebanon was enshrined by the accord. It stated
that Syrian forces would assist the Lebanese government in restoring
sovereignty throughout the country. Two years after the ratification of
the accord, Syrian troops would redeploy from the coastal littoral to the
Bekaa. The timeframe and extent of further redeployments would be
decided by a Lebanese and Syrian military committee. But the accord
hinted at deeper ties between the two countries. The ‘distinguished rela-
tions’ between Lebanon and Syria and the ‘roots of kinship, history and
common fraternal interests’ would be manifested in ‘agreements . . . in
various domains’.
Aoun rejected the Taif Accord, describing it as an ‘unforgivable crime’
for not defining a clear timetable for a Syrian troop withdrawal. But
most Lebanese generally welcomed the agreement, seeing it as the most
realistic means of ending the bloodshed. After 14 years of war, there
was a recognition that Lebanon’s woes could not be unpicked from the
 The fixer 37

Gordian knot of the Arab–Israeli conflict and inter-Arab relations and

that temporary Syrian hegemony was an acceptable price for stability.
On November 5, Rene Mouawad, a veteran MP and former minister
from the northern village of Zghorta, was elected president, ending a
presidential vacuum of over a year. Hariri, who was angling for the
premiership, gave Mouawad the use of his Oger building in west Beirut
as a temporary presidential residence while Aoun clung to the shell-
pocked Baabda palace. He also handed Mouawad an armour-plated Mer-
cedes to travel the violent streets of Beirut. Abdel-Halim Khaddam, the
then Syrian vice-president, recalls Hariri’s name coming up for the first
time in Damascus as a serious contender for the premiership.
‘It was decided that it would be better to make him prime minister after
legislative elections had been held in Lebanon,’ Khaddam recalls.41
Mouawad told Hariri that his organisational talents were needed to run
the Council for Development and Reconstruction which would play a
pivotal role in the post-war redevelopment of Lebanon.
‘Don’t worry, Rafik, your time will come,’ he reassured Hariri.
However, on November 22, Lebanese independence day, and just
17 days after being elected, Mouawad was killed in a bomb blast which
struck his motorcade as it passed through the Sanayeh district of Beirut
en route to his residence in the Oger building. Although Mouawad’s
security team had cleared all parked cars from the streets along the
motorcade’s route, the assassins had come up with an ingenious trick of
planting the 350-kilogramme shaped-charge bomb in a small building
separated from the street by a tall concrete wall. The killer triggered the
blast by remote radio control from the roof of a building overlooking the
street below. The shaped explosive charge concentrated the blast in a
single direction, smashing through the wall and cutting Mouawad’s
armour-plated Mercedes in half, hurling the president’s mutilated body
50 metres down the road. It was a chillingly proficient assassination and
the latest to join a long list of unresolved political murders in Lebanon.
Travelling in the lead vehicle, some 200 metres in front of the convoy, was
a major in Syrian military intelligence called Jamaa Jamaa. As future dep-
uty chief of Syrian intelligence in Lebanon, Jamaa’s name would become
linked to the equally professional and ruthless assassination of Rafik
Hariri.
Mouawad’s murder was a devastating blow to those in Lebanon and
around the world who believed that the country was on the road to
recovery.
‘Whenever we take one step forward, we take five steps back,’ said a
despairing Arab League ambassador.
38 Killing Mr Lebanon

Elias Hrawi, an MP from the Bekaa town of Zahle, was elected presi-
dent two days later and he re-appointed Salim Hoss as prime minister.
Hrawi formally dissolved Aoun’s government and ordered the maverick
general to depart from Baabda palace. Aoun refused and a tense stand-off
marked the following months. Ultimately, the event that precipitated
Aoun’s downfall did not occur in Lebanon but several thousand kilo-
metres away in the Gulf where on August 2, 1990 Saddam Hussein
launched his invasion of Kuwait.
For Assad, the timing of Iraq’s invasion was fortuitous. The Iraqi inva-
sion marked a juncture for the converging interests of the US and Syria.
Assad understood that, with the decline of his Soviet backer, he would
have to undertake a major strategic realignment involving cooperation
with the United States. Following the election in 1988 of President George
H.W. Bush, the cold, distrustful relations of the mid-1980s had improved,
with Assad encouraged by Washington’s support for the Taif Accord and
opposition to Aoun’s obstinate hold-out.
The Bush administration, on the other hand, had come to accept that
Syrian involvement in Lebanon was unavoidable if the country was to
achieve any long-term stability. Damascus remained key to securing
the release of the American hostages held in Lebanon by Shiite groups.
Furthermore, if Syrian support could be harnessed against Iraq, it would
give added credibility to the international coalition being assembled
against Saddam Hussein.
At the request of the US, Assad dispatched an initial 3,000 troops to
Saudi Arabia and another 1,000 to the United Arab Emirates followed
by a 9,000-strong mechanised division to the Gulf. The decision provoked
some domestic opposition. Many Syrians sympathised with Iraq, particu-
larly the tribal areas in the east whose territory spanned the border
with Iraq and whose Sunni inhabitants shared the same roots. In the
border town of Abu Kamal, midway along the remote 400-mile border, a
mini insurrection broke out with residents chanting ‘Long live Saddam
Hussein. Long live Iraq.’ Assad deployed an armoured division to crush
the protests, and dozens were rumoured to have been killed and many
more arrested. The hostility shown by the inhabitants of eastern Syria in
1991 toward foreign aggression against their Iraqi neighbours was a fore-
taste of what was to come when America launched its second war against
Iraq 15 years later.
Assad was rewarded for his commitment to the coalition by tacit US
approval for Syria and the Lebanese Army units loyal to Elias Hrawi to
move against the Aoun enclave, expelling the general from Baabda and
reuniting the two halves of Beirut.
 The fixer 39

What would be the last major battle of the war began at dawn on
October 13 with an air raid by Syrian jets against Baabda palace and the
nearby defence ministry in Yarze. Aoun, who a day earlier had pledged to
fight to the death, fled from Baabda and sought refuge in the French
embassy. To avoid further bloodshed, he contacted his commanders and
told them to surrender to the Lebanese Army. But it was a grim and
bloody conclusion to Aoun’s adventure. Syrian troops committed a num-
ber of atrocities when they overran positions held by Aoun’s soldiers,
killing dozens, perhaps hundreds, of Aounist soldiers as well as civilians.
Another 200 residents of the Aoun enclave simply disappeared. The
bloody legacy of the war’s denouement would fester over the next 15
years, an open wound for Christian opponents of Syrian tutelage.
Aoun remained in the French embassy for another 10 months before
being granted asylum in France. But his expulsion from Baabda signalled
the end of the war and the dawn of the Pax Syriana era in Lebanon.
It had been a long and bitter struggle, but it was a moment of triumph
that perhaps Assad quietly savoured in the Rowda presidential palace in
Damascus. Since his 1976 intercession in Lebanon, Assad had faced
numerous challenges to his usurpation of Lebanon but had repulsed them
all through a combination of perseverance, guile, determination and luck.
The decisive routing of Aoun and the establishment of a compliant regime
in Lebanon under President Elias Hrawi cowed any prospect of further
serious domestic challenges to Syrian rule in Lebanon. Israel’s position in
Lebanon was at its weakest since 1978, its army of occupation in the south
caught in a small but vicious guerrilla war against the Lebanese resist-
ance. Furthermore, Assad’s control of Lebanon was tacitly accepted by
Washington, a reward for Assad’s decision to join the US-led coalition
against Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait.
As for Hariri, he had emerged from the war as a major new political
force, a powerful Sunni baron whose wealth and enviable array of inter-
national contacts, especially in Damascus, meant that it was only a matter
of time before his ambition to be prime minister would be realised.
 Pax Syriana
3
After 16 years of war, the once bustling centre of Beirut was reduced to
a wasteland of shell-scarred ruins and overgrown streets inhabited by
families of destitute squatters and packs of prowling wild dogs. It was
a sobering experience to wander through the near-deserted streets of
post-war downtown Beirut, split by the infamous Green Line, the front
separating the eastern and western halves of the city. Countless bullet
holes pitted the sandstone façades of Ottoman-era houses lining streets
named after First World War generals such as Foch, Weygand and Allenby,
evocative of a bygone era of imperial attention. The gaunt, pock-marked
skeletons of these once-graceful buildings looked as though they were
suffering from some vile stone-eating leprosy, a terrible contagion that
had swept through the entire district, leaving barely a single building
untouched. The once sharply defined edges of doorways and window
openings, favoured vantage points for gunmen, were ground away and
smoothed by years of unrelenting firepower.
Interior walls were daubed with graffiti drawn by bored militiamen,
crude childlike depictions of battles with tanks and aeroplanes with party
flags prominently displayed. Sandbags, rock hard with age, still filled
windows that faced now-dormant enemy lines. The streets had turned
into tangled thickets of small trees and bushes. Pools of stagnant sewage
nourished clouds of fat mosquitoes and patches of sickly green grass.
Piles of bulldozed rubble lined some of the main roads leading to Martyrs’
Square, the focal point of the downtown district. Here, idle Syrian soldiers
sat in the shade, smoking cigarettes and chatting, their rifles hanging
limply from their hands. Tired old men sold tiny plastic cups of Turkish
coffee from tall brass pots or plastic thermos flasks. Barefoot urchins
peddled postcards depicting a pre-war Martyrs’ Square of palm trees,
tramcars and crowded roadside cafés.
 Pax Syriana 41

Although the devastation wrought on central Beirut was the most

tangible consequence of the Lebanese war, it paled in comparison to the
human cost exacted by 16 years of fighting. Some 144,000 people died
from 1975 and more than 184,000 were wounded, including 13,000 who
were permanently handicapped, staggering statistics for a country of only
about 3.5 million in 1990. Around 90,000 families were displaced from
their homes and at least another 17,000 people simply vanished. Over
45,000 homes were either partially or wholly destroyed and 71 towns and
villages were left in ruins.1 Some 800,000 Lebanese were estimated to have
emigrated between 1975 and 1990, mainly the middle classes who could
afford to leave and establish new lives for themselves in the West.
The electricity, telephone and water networks were severely damaged
by war, lack of repairs and outmoded technology. One-third of the elec-
tricity generating capacity was not working, explaining the daily roar
of portable generators in the streets of Beirut. With half the telephone
network out of order, making a call was an exercise in frustration. Eighty
per cent of the water table was polluted and half the hotels were not
operational.2 The United Nations estimated that Lebanon had suffered
$18 billion in damage and would require $5 billion just to repair the
infrastructure.
With the end of the war in October 1990, Hariri focused his initial efforts
on planning the reconstruction of central Beirut which he argued could
best be achieved through the establishment of a joint venture company of
landowners and investors. The company would become the Lebanese
Company for Development and Reconstruction, better known by its
French acronym Solidere. Rebuilding Beirut would be the fulfilment of a
vision he had nurtured for over a decade as manifested by the scale model
of the city centre that he liked to keep nearby.
‘He was dreaming of Solidere since 1982. This was his real dream,’ says
Nohad Mashnouq, a close former advisor to Hariri who helped market
the scheme to sceptical politicians in 1991.3
Although Hariri was impatient to begin, progress was hampered by
political infighting and squabbling in the government of Omar Karami,
the colourless younger brother of Rashid Karami, a former prime minister
who was assassinated in 1987. In early 1992, the Lebanese pound tumbled
from LP879 to the dollar to LP2,000 within two months, exacerbating
what was already the worst socio-economic crisis since independence.
Karami resigned in May when riots broke out in Beirut with rampaging
mobs blocking streets with burning tyres.
Damascus had paid little attention initially to Lebanon’s economy,
leaving general economic and fiscal policy to Karami’s government while
42 Killing Mr Lebanon

it concentrated on consolidating Syrian-imposed security around the

country. But the poor performance of the Karami government and the
ease with which angry Lebanese had taken to the streets of Beirut served
as a warning to the Syrians that their control over Lebanon was not as
secure as they had believed.
‘The Syrians realised that it was not enough to control the political
situation. They had to control the economy as well and Rafik Hariri
was the only man who could do that,’ says Fares Boueiz, who served as
foreign minister from 1990 to 1998.4
With his Saudi connections and high profile as a major financier of the
budding reconstruction programme, Hariri was regarded by many as
the only realistic candidate for the premiership. Although he had some
powerful allies in Damascus in Abdel-Halim Khaddam, the vice-president,
and Hikmat Shehabi, the Syrian Army chief of staff, other members of the
Syrian regime regarded Hariri’s ties to the West and Saudi Arabia as
threats rather than assets. Furthermore, Hariri had to contend with his
family, which had serious misgivings about his political ambitions.
‘The whole family was totally against politics,’ recalls Saad Hariri,
Rafik’s second son.5 ‘In 1992, when he was trying to take over the prem-
iership, we all tried to convince him not to, but when he decided to take it
on we all supported him.’
And why was the family against his move into mainstream politics?
‘Look what happened,’ Saad says with a grim smile. ‘We always felt
there was a danger toward him. In that part of the world, politics is not
something not to be scared of.’
Hariri would have to wait a few more months, however, as Assad
decided to appoint Rashid Solh, a veteran Lebanese politician, as an
interim prime minister to oversee the parliamentary elections in summer
1992, the first in 20 years.
The polls were a pathetic affair of last-minute Syrian-brokered alliances
and electoral districts gerrymandered to benefit Syria’s allies, contra-
dicting aspects of the Taif Accord but establishing a pattern that would
continue through the next two elections. The Christians boycotted the
elections to protest against Syrian interference; voter turnout was only
30 per cent, the lowest figure since independence. The Syrians wanted
an obedient parliament in place before September when the deadline
fell for the first phase of the Syrian troop redeployment in line with the
Taif Accord. Assad had no intention of staging the redeployment, but
he required a pliant parliament in Beirut to stifle any opposition and to
protect future Syrian interests. Although the elections reinforced Syria’s
political grip on Lebanon, another inept economic performance from a
 Pax Syriana 43

Lebanese government would risk undermining Syria’s hegemony and

that was something Assad could not afford. Assad was confident and
experienced enough to recognize that Hariri was a useful asset for
Damascus who could easily be controlled. Hariri would be given wide
latitude to pursue his economic policies while security affairs would
remain the prerogative of the Syrian and Lebanese intelligence and
military.
After months of economic decline, political uncertainty and a series of
lacklustre premiers, the Lebanese were electrified at this larger-than-life
billionaire businessman and confidant of the Saudi royal family becoming
prime minister. Within 24 hours of his appointment in October 1992, the
pound rallied from LP2,205 to the dollar to LP2,000.
When Hariri took office, a reporter is said to have asked him if he was
not too big for a tiny country like Lebanon.
‘So what do we do?’ Hariri replied. ‘Do we make Hariri smaller or
Lebanon bigger?’
Given the level of nationwide destruction, Hariri believed that, if his
vision of a revived and prosperous Lebanon was to take shape, he would
need a liberal hand in implementing policy. Indeed, the trademark of the
Hariri era was the domineering manner in which he ran the country as
if it was an extension of his personal business empire. He filled his first
cabinet with protégés and former employees, prompting one minister to
jokingly dub the government the ‘Hariri corporation’. But surrounding
himself with people he trusted was his management style – ‘the Hariri
system’ as he had once told Elie Salem.
Other than appointing people close to him to key positions, Hariri
sought to circumvent the bureaucratic inertia and inefficiency of some
ministries and state institutions by developing a shadow administration
of private companies and government agencies closely linked to the
premier charged with revitalising the economy and spearheading the
reconstruction programme. They included the Council for Development
and Reconstruction, which, although created in 1977 to handle national
redevelopment, was granted sweeping additional powers in 1992. It
became in effect a super ministry, reporting to the prime minister and
directing almost every facet of the $18 billion reconstruction programme.
However, the jewel in Hariri’s reconstruction crown was Solidere, the
property company established to tackle the daunting task of redeveloping
the war-shattered central district of Beirut.
Hariri hoped that rebuilding the city centre would be the first crucial
step in restoring Beirut’s pre-war reputation as the financial and services
entrepôt of the Middle East. Solidere’s mandate extended over 1.2 million
44 Killing Mr Lebanon

square metres of prime downtown real estate. A further 608,000 square

metres were to be reclaimed from the sea to provide open spaces, offices
and marinas.
To counter the potentially intractable problems of having one company
renovate properties owned by hundreds of different people and institu-
tions, Solidere came up with an innovative plan to involve owners in the
project by offering them shares in the company matching the value of their
respective properties. A heavily oversubscribed share offering in early 1994
raised $650 million of which Hariri bought $125 million, becoming Soli-
dere’s largest shareholder with a 6.5 per cent stake in the company. While
Hariri’s supporters argued that the prime minister was putting his money
where his mouth was, Solidere’s many critics complained of a serious
conflict of interest. That criticism was compounded by accusations from
property owners, including many of Beirut’s leading Sunni families, that
Solidere had deliberately undervalued their properties. Furthermore, tradi-
tionalists bemoaned what they considered the excessive destruction of
restorable buildings of historical value. Only 277 original buildings were to
be saved. The rest were to be torn down and bulldozed into the sea to form
part of the Normandy landfill site. However, Solidere renovated and pre-
served three districts with aesthetically pleasing if somewhat insipid
results. The messy, noisy melting pot that was the old centre of Beirut had
disappeared for ever, replaced by isolated pockets of a sterile urban ideal of
cobble-stoned streets, art galleries and boutiques where only the wealthy
could afford to live and shop, separated by wide patches of barren dusty
ground awaiting development.
As the bulldozers removed the ruined vestiges of the twentieth-century
city, a much older version of Beirut was gradually revealed. Beneath the
billowing clouds of dust and incessant roar of machinery, in pits a few
feet deep, teams of archaeologists could be found absorbed in a tiny
patch of earth, examining, measuring, scraping, brushing and collecting
fragments of Beirut’s rich and varied history. The excavations revealed
an archaeological goldmine – Hellenistic mosaics, Roman roads, a Roman
necropolis, Phoenician burial chambers, part of the original Canaanite
city wall, the foundations of a Crusader castle and medieval water and
sewage pipes.
However, what should have been embraced as a nationally enriching
bonus of the downtown reconstruction project instead turned into a raging
controversy, pitting the passion of archaeologists against the mercantile
interests of Solidere.
In the mid-1990s, Lebanese newspapers catalogued the apparently
wilful destruction by Solidere’s bulldozers of dozens of artefacts and even
 Pax Syriana 45

entire sites under excavation, often under the cover of darkness when the
archaeologists had gone home. ‘A massacre of heritage,’ opined Albert
Naccache, a Lebanese archaeologist and historian, an accusation echoed
by several international experts. For many Lebanese, Solidere’s cavalier
attitude toward the country’s historical legacy was emblematic of the
perceived rapacity and fast-buck mentality of the Hariri government.
The apparent disregard for Beirut’s pre-Islamic past merely buttressed
a belief among some Christians that having a powerful Sunni helm the
reconstruction process was resulting in a creeping Islamisation of the
city centre, an accusation that would dog Hariri until the end of his life.
Lebanon’s Phoenician heritage became politicised in the early twentieth
century when it was adopted by some Christian thinkers to support the
argument that Lebanon was culturally separate from the broader Arab
and Muslim world. ‘Phoenicianism’ was disputed by sceptical Muslim
historians who maintained that the seafaring race which inhabited the
Levantine coast 4,000 years ago had long since been assimilated into
the Arab world.
The accusations that the Hariri government was pushing an Islamisation
policy were probably an exaggeration; Hariri described such charges as a
‘calumny’. Solidere’s blundering manner in regard to the archaeological
finds was driven by the profit motive, not an Islamo-ideological desire to
spite Christians.
Still, Hariri was an observant Muslim and took his religious duties
seriously; he financed the building of several mosques, including the
massive Mohammed al-Amine mosque on the edge of Beirut’s Martyrs’
Square which was just nearing completion when he died. An ostenta-
tiously grandiose sandstone building with minarets tipped in gold and a
vast sky-blue dome, the mosque dwarfed the nearby Maronite cathedral
of St George’s as well as the restored Emir Mansour Assaf mosque. One
observer noted, shortly before Hariri’s death, that the imposing mosque
had ‘set back sectarian relations by ten years’. An overstatement, perhaps,
but such hyperbole was reflective of the lingering suspicions of some
Christians toward Hariri’s religious motivations.
Yet Hariri had a keen sensitivity toward Christian fears of being sub-
sumed into a predominantly Islamic society, and was a strong advocate of
Lebanon’s confessional model. In an interview with the author in 1996,
he stated that, given Lebanon’s sectarian nature, confessionalism had to
remain in place for the foreseeable future.
‘I am not for the cancellation of confessionalism unless the Christians
ask for it,’ he said. ‘I don’t mean just 51 per cent of them; I mean 75 or
80 per cent. Otherwise, I think it’s better to keep it going the way it is.’
46 Killing Mr Lebanon

Indeed, the charge that Hariri was Islamising Lebanon spoke more of
Christian discontent with the post-Taif order, where for the first time since
independence a powerful Sunni prime minister was helming the country
rather than a Maronite president. Even though the Taif Accord instituted
a ruling ‘troika’ system between the president, prime minister and par-
liamentary speaker, no one was in any doubt that Hariri was the first
among equals. And that inevitably ruffled feathers. Other than Christian
concerns at the diminished role of the presidency and hostility toward
Pax Syriana, the traditional Sunni elite, the powerful families of Beirut,
Sidon and Tripoli, resented the intrusion of this immensely wealthy
Saudi-backed newcomer. And the Shiites considered Hariri the van-
guard of a strengthened Saudi role in Lebanon, with the vast riches and
influence of the kingdom’s Wahhabi rulers counterbalancing the demo-
graphic advantage of the Lebanese Shiites and their growing political
mobilisation.
Yet many Lebanese politicians found themselves torn between opposing
Hariri’s policies and taking advantage of an alliance with the influential
premier.
The ‘Hariri experience’, wrote Samir Atallah, a columnist with the
London-based Ash-Sharq al-Awsat in May 1994, is ‘unprecedented in
Lebanon’.
‘This is . . . the first time since independence that everything – from the
state of the local currency, to the economy in general, reconstruction,
the standard of living, electricity, water and telephones – is linked to the
prime ministry, which in turn is linked to Rafik Hariri.’
Between 1992 and 1996, Hariri used his influence to build his own
network of loyalists, a new cross-confessional political elite on whom
he could count for support to push through his economic and reconstruc-
tion programmes. He also expanded his media interests, purchasing
shares in Lebanese newspapers, launching Future Television in 1993 and
Al-Mustaqbal daily in 1998.
Yet even those who derided Hariri’s ‘bulldozer’ tactics could not ignore
the fact that the country was making some rapid strides in the early 1990s.
Between 1993 and 1995, the GDP growth rate was averaging 8 per cent.
The soaring inflation of early 1992 had been brought to heel and the
pound was successfully stabilized, appreciating from LP2,000 to LP1,500
to the dollar by the end of the decade.
Hariri used his international connections to attract a raft of grants and
soft loans from Arab and international lending agencies. He released
high-interest treasury bills and Lebanon’s first ever Eurobond issues
to stabilise the Lebanese pound and swell the state’s coffers. Further
 Pax Syriana 47

revenues came from the Lebanese Diaspora which was estimated to

hold between $30 billion and $40 billion. By the mid-1990s, around $1
billion to $1.5 billion per quarter were being repatriated by overseas
Lebanese.
Hariri was determined to restore Beirut as the financial and services
entrepôt of the Middle East, a crown that had been snatched by the Gulf
emirate of Dubai during Lebanon’s war years. Beirut once more would
become the bridge between East and West, a cosmopolitan hub where
wealthy Arabs could escape the heat of the Gulf for the mild temperatures
of Lebanon, to conduct business, shop in gleaming malls and holiday
in the city’s five-star hotels and the resorts scattered along Lebanon’s
coast and mountains. However, the success of the reconstruction process
hinged on one big gamble. Hariri was banking on the Middle East peace
process, which began in Madrid in 1991, being concluded by 1996. Lebanon
would then be well placed to reap the dividend of a regional peace, allow-
ing the country to repay the enormous debt accumulated through the
massive spending spree Hariri oversaw in the early 1990s.
The government’s ten-year reconstruction plan, known as Horizon
2000, led to contracts to rehabilitate the telephone network and provide
one million new lines, an overhaul of the electricity system and the con-
struction of new power plants, the building of a brand new $486 million
airport, the expansion of the coastal roads and the construction of a new
Beirut–Damascus highway that would eventually connect the capital with
Baghdad. Hariri regularly worked 18 hours a day, beginning at 7.30 a.m.
with his closest advisors meeting him, often in his bedroom at Koreitem,
to discuss the progress of various projects.
‘There would always be a group of us gathered at Koreitem to see
him, but he would pick anyone with a map or blueprints or plans of one
sort or another to see first. He would close the door and talk for two to
three hours. He loved projects,’ says Fadi Fawaz, who was one of Hariri’s
leading development coordinators.6
Hariri’s tireless energy impressed even his harshest critics.
‘He was an exemplary government person in the first degree,’ recalls
Mohammed Raad, who headed Hizbullah’s ‘Loyalty to the Resistance’
parliamentary bloc, which was a staunch opponent of the premier’s eco-
nomic and social policies.7 ‘We never before found anyone working in
the government 18 hours a day. He used to follow all the files, including
all the details. There were continuous ideas coming from him. His brain
was working continuously. Sometimes, when you talk to someone you
get the impression they are not listening. But Hariri was listening all the
time.’
48 Killing Mr Lebanon

But reconstruction came at a price. The internal public debt rose dra-
matically from $1.5 billion when Hariri became prime minister in 1992 to
a staggering $18 billion by the time he left office in 1998. The policy of
high interest rates to protect the Lebanese pound was a massive drain
on the public purse. The standard of living steadily declined for the major-
ity of Lebanese as the gap between rich and poor widened. Antoine
Haddad, a Lebanese researcher, calculated that, according to 1995 figures,
28 per cent of Lebanese, about one million people, lived below the abso-
lute poverty line, measured at $618 per month for a family of five. Of this
figure, some 250,000 lived in extreme poverty – $306 a month for a family
of five. These bottom-rung families often lived in unsanitary, slum-like
conditions in decaying apartment blocks, the rattle of neighbourhood
generators compensating for the intermittent electricity supply. Families
would pool earnings to buy basic staples such as bread, tea and vegetables.
An average wage for basic white-collar work, such as secretarial or
teaching, was between $300 and $500 a month, forcing many people to
take on a second job to make a reasonable living. Despite the appreciation
of the Lebanese pound, the purchasing power of salary earners dropped
by 10 to 15 per cent due to inflation and the exorbitant prices of consumer
goods.
The anticipated return of the war emigrants failed to materialise.
Instead, another estimated 200,000 Lebanese left the country between
1991 and the end of the decade, most of them university graduates and
skilled workers. A graduate engineer or doctor could find a job in Europe
or the United States which would pay four or five times what he could
receive in Lebanon. Lebanon’s rural poor also left the country seeking
better opportunities elsewhere, heading for Africa, the Gulf and if they
could Europe, the US and Australia.
Rising public discontent peaked in July 1995 when the government
announced a 38 per cent increase in petrol prices, prompting a call for
a general strike by the country’s largest trade union. It was the first ser-
ious internal disturbance since the riots which had brought down the
Karami government in 1992. With Syrian backing, Hariri ordered a last-
minute curfew, the first in 12 years, and authorised the army commander,
General Emile Lahoud, to handle public security for the next three
months, a move described by the Lebanese media as a ‘partial declaration
of martial law’.
Although such uncompromising tactics stifled public unrest, the greatest
obstacle Hariri faced in pursuing his reconstruction and economic agenda
was the opposition from within his own cabinet as well as from his fellow
troika colleagues. Within two months of his assuming office, Hariri was
 Pax Syriana 49

embroiled in disputes with Nabih Berri and Elias Hrawi over civil service
appointments, with each of them attempting to promote his own allies to
key posts. Hariri sought to have the government granted special powers
to rule by decree, a move which would have smoothed the passage of
his reconstruction policies but at the expense of parliamentary endorse-
ment. To Hariri’s intense irritation, Berri rejected the proposal, ensuring
that as parliamentary speaker he would have a prominent say in how
reconstruction funds were disbursed.
The lack of cooperation from his cabinet colleagues was a continual
source of frustration. Driven by his vision of an energised and economic-
ally vibrant Lebanon, Hariri could not comprehend why some of his
ministers insisted on acting like an opposition rather than members of a
cohesive cabinet.
‘Rafik was like a bulldozer, a workaholic who never slept,’ recalls
Mikhael Daher, minister of education and youth in Hariri’s first govern-
ment.8 ‘But he didn’t have that governing touch at first. He thought
government was like a business where he could push a button and things
would happen. But governing is not like that. He didn’t realise that being
in government means having to compromise.’
He was constantly at loggerheads with his headstrong foreign minister,
Fares Boueiz, who was also Hrawi’s son-in-law. Hariri saw himself as a de
facto foreign minister because of his international influence and contacts.
On one occasion following an Israeli attack against south Lebanon,
Boueiz instructed the Lebanese ambassador at the United Nations to
lodge a complaint against Israel. The US ambassador in Beirut contacted
Boueiz and asked him to withdraw the complaint as it would only
‘contribute to the crisis’. Boueiz refused.
That evening, Boueiz heard on the radio that the complaint had
been withdrawn. The furious foreign minister called his ambassador in
New York and asked what had happened. The ambassador said that
Hariri had told him to withdraw the complaint and assumed that Boueiz
had been informed. Boueiz instructed the hapless ambassador to return
to Beirut to face disciplinary proceedings. Hariri called Boueiz to confirm
that the ambassador had been following his orders and that it was not
his fault. But Boueiz was undeterred and said he would make an example
of the ambassador to publicise the fact that Hariri had overstepped his
authority.
‘Our relationship from 1992 to 1998 was not good,’ Boueiz recalls.9 ‘He
was an inexperienced politician. He had no idea about laws and the
mechanism of state. He was trying to rule like in Saudi Arabia where
the king orders what he wants.’
50 Killing Mr Lebanon

In May 1994, a spat over a cabinet reshuffle prompted Hariri to go on

strike for a week, shutting himself up in his palatial residence in Koreitem
and saying he was prepared to resign ‘because I miss my children’, while
his critics accused him of ‘sulking’ and of being an ‘amateur’ in politics.
The Lebanese regarded the bickering and unseemly haggling with dis-
gust, even more so when the troika routinely trod the path to Damascus
like petulant children to be scolded, have their wrists slapped and be
told to behave by the Syrian parent. After one such spat, Abdel-Halim
Khaddam told Lebanese officials that Hariri was ‘here to stay until 2010’,
adding that ‘We in Syria have had no change [of leadership] since 1970.
Continuity leads to stability.’
Saad Hariri recalls his father grumbling one day about his political
difficulties in the presence of his friend and justice minister Bahij Tabbara
and several other ministers.
‘Then Bahij Tabbara told him, “You are the leader of the country. You
cannot be depressed. You cannot show people that you are upset.” And
I think something clicked with him at that moment and he realised that
he would have to keep going, and he did.’10
Hariri received his long-awaited permission to form a new, more
cohesive government in May 1995. The trigger for the government change
was yet another dispute with Berri, this time over Hariri’s desire to extend
Hrawi’s presidential mandate for an additional three years. Granting
Hrawi an additional term in office would require the amendment of
Article 49 of the constitution which decrees that Lebanese presidents
can serve only one six-year term. Hariri was pressing for a swift parlia-
mentary vote to amend Article 49. The stated reason at the time for
Hariri’s support for an additional term for Hrawi was that uncertainty
and tensions surrounding a new presidential election could hamper the
reconstruction programme. However, the main reason why Hariri was
so adamant that Hrawi should remain in office was to prevent General
Emile Lahoud, the Lebanese Army commander, becoming the next head
of state.
The relationship between Hariri and Lahoud was mired in mutual dis-
trust. Hariri regarded the army commander as a symbol of the rigid
security and military ties that bound Lebanon to Syria, the police state
mentality being the antithesis of the open, free market enterprise econ-
omy that the prime minister was attempting to kindle in Lebanon. Since
being appointed army commander in November 1989, and with the back-
ing of the Syrians, Lahoud had assumed control over military affairs
and, with Syrian backing, regarded himself as unaccountable to the
government.
 Pax Syriana 51

‘The Syrians established a division of labour in Lebanon,’ says Walid

Jumblatt.11 ‘The army is [their] responsibility. Hariri is the money man.
Hrawi is president under [their] orders. The army was a separate insti-
tution directly linked to Syrian orders and covered by Lahoud. From
that time on, the Syrian infiltration into the army was quite heavy and
substantial [as] they built the Lebanese Army their own way.’
The strength of the Lebanese Army was augmented from 20,000 in 1990
to 60,000 by the middle of the decade, drawn mainly from the pool of
demobilised militiamen as well as conscripts obliged to serve one-year
mandatory national service. The number of Lebanese officers attending
military courses in the US and France gradually declined in favour of
instruction in Syria, where they were trained on obsolete Soviet equip-
ment. Soldiers attending these courses, even senior officers, were incul-
cated with stultifying Baathist-style propaganda, extolling the ‘brotherly’
and strategic relations between the two countries. Senior Lebanese Army
officers attending the National Defence College in Damascus found them-
selves suffering the embarrassment of joining their Syrian counterparts
each morning with chants of ‘Yaeesh rais Assad. Yaeesh al-Baath’ (Long
live President Assad. Long live the Baath).12
A small handful of army officers opposed the Syrianisation of the
Lebanese Army, but they soon found themselves isolated, shunned
by fearful friends, their phones and movements monitored, until they
resigned or were forced to take early retirement.
The majority of serving soldiers resigned themselves to the new situ-
ation, relying on the monthly salary and extensive perks afforded to the
military to raise their families and educate their children. Indeed,
spending on defence represented the largest slice of the government’s
annual budget. In 1992, the defence budget was $271 million but by
2001 it had soared to $900 million, which along with another $433
million for the other state security organs represented about 25 per cent of
government expenditure that year. The bulk of the defence budget was
spent on salaries and benefits for a bloated officer corps, such as
vehicles for personal use, unlimited free petrol and free accommodation
in one of the army’s housing compounds with all bills paid by the
government, including land-line and mobile phone charges. Even the
children of officers received free education from primary school to
university.
The army command was granted a budget for allowances, ‘mukhassas-
sat’, which was supposed to be for entertaining, but served as a slush
fund. According to a former Lebanese intelligence officer, every year
on the anniversary of the Baath party revolution in Syria, as much as
52 Killing Mr Lebanon

$6 million was distributed from this fund as gifts to Syrian Army officers
in Lebanon.13
The swollen defence budget was a source of constant frustration for
Hariri and his finance minister Fouad Siniora, whose efforts to reduce the
figure were stiffly resisted by the army. In September 1994, the army put
in a demand with the finance ministry for a fleet of Ford Cherokee four-
wheel-drive cars for the use of officers. Siniora was obliged to carry out
the transaction but baulked at the army’s demand for next year’s model.
‘They wanted the 1995 model,’ Siniora recalls.14 ‘I negotiated a deal with
the agent to get them the 1994 model, brand new, but with savings of
$5,000 or so on each car. They told me the general [Lahoud] insists on the
1995 model.’
Siniora told two assistants to Lahoud that the army’s ‘spendthrift’
attitude was unacceptable and that he refused to purchase the more
expensive 1995 vehicle. He then left his office to give a lecture outside
Beirut. He returned to the ministry later that day to find the building
stormed by military intelligence officers and surrounded by troops. Hariri
was subsequently told by Michel Rahbani, the head of Lebanese military
intelligence, and his powerful deputy, Jamil Sayyed, that the incident had
been a ‘calculated mistake’.
‘This [behaviour] was the beginning of a coup d’état,’ Siniora says.
‘That incident was the beginning of the change toward a police state and
marked the end of the civilian regime.’
Lahoud considered Hariri politically unreliable and treated the gov-
ernment as little more than a ‘municipal council’, in the words of a serving
minister at the time. It was obvious in political circles that Lahoud was
being groomed to assume the presidency. His chief advocate in Syria
was Bashar al-Assad, the second son of the Syrian president.
Bashar had been forced to abandon a career in medicine which he was
studying for in London when his elder brother Basil and heir apparent
to the Syrian presidency was killed in a car crash in 1994. Assad had
been grooming Basil for the presidency since the mid-1980s. Now he had
to start all over again with Bashar, and he had to work with less promis-
ing material. A tall, slim, unassuming man, Bashar lacked his elder
brother’s steely edge. Where Basil had excelled at sports and was a
noted equestrian, Bashar preferred reading, took an interest in com-
puters and information technology and shunned the limelight. Bashar’s
first public appearance was in the summer of 1994 to inaugurate the first
Damascus international conference on information technology organised
by the Syrian Information Technology Association which was founded
by Basil.
 Pax Syriana 53

On being recalled to Syria, Bashar was enrolled at the military academy

in Homs in the first stage of a crash course to mould him from a shy,
28-year-old ophthalmology student into the leader of 17 million people.
Hariri’s renewed resignation threat in May 1995 was the first time that
Bashar interceded publicly in Lebanese affairs, usually the fiefdom of
Abdel-Halim Khaddam, the vice-president.
Hrawi’s term was due to expire on November 24 and, as the date drew
closer, there was feverish speculation in Lebanon on whether he would
serve another two or three years.
In early October, Brigadier General Ghazi Kanaan, the head of Syrian
military intelligence in Lebanon, told a gathering of Lebanese politicians
attending a party hosted by former premier Omar Karami that Hrawi’s
term would be extended for a further three years after all. Furthermore,
the amendment by parliament of Article 49 would be carried out by a
show of hands, not by the customary secret ballot. The London-based
Al-Hayat newspaper reported that the assembled party goers ‘looked as
if they had been through a cold shower . . . The party broke up early.
Presidential hopefuls departed with their wives, one complaining of
tiredness, another saying he had a headache.’
The widely publicised incident was later regarded as a trial balloon to
gauge the reaction of the United States to extending Hrawi’s mandate.
The silence of Washington reassured Damascus that Hrawi could be
retained for another three years without political cost. The speculation
ended on October 11 when Assad in an interview with the Egyptian daily
Al-Ahram casually declared that ‘in general everybody [in the Lebanese
leadership] was with the extension’. Assad had made his decision, and
the next day 22 MPs filed up to Baabda palace to congratulate Hrawi on
winning his extension. Eight days later, 110 of Lebanon’s 128 MPs duti-
fully voted to amend the constitution, with 11 voting against and seven
staying away from the session.
Assad was unconvinced that the time was right to allow the Lebanese
Army commander to move into Baabda palace. Syria was engaged in
hesitant and delicate negotiations with Israel over the return of the Golan
Heights captured by the Jewish state in 1967. Assad required continued
stability and calm on his western flank while the peace talks lasted. Hrawi
had proven a willing and pliable ally since 1989 and had helped ensure
that Lebanon’s transition from a state of chaos and war to a vassal of Syria
had proceeded relatively smoothly.
But most of all, Hrawi’s presidential extension was a victory for Hariri
and others who shared his distaste for Lahoud, among them Walid
Jumblatt. But Hariri was made to pay the price the following year when
54 Killing Mr Lebanon

his government was replaced with a less unified cabinet stuffed with
Syrian allies, such as Suleiman Frangieh, grandson of the former presi-
dent, and Talal Arslan, scion of a leading Druze family and fierce rival of
Jumblatt, both of whom were close friends of the late Basil al-Assad and
of Bashar.
Hrawi was not alone in having his mandate extended. Lahoud, who
was facing obligatory retirement in 1996, was granted an extra two years
as army commander, conveniently ensuring that he would leave the
military in 1998 at the same time as Hrawi left Baabda palace.
Nohad Mashnouq, a former advisor to Hariri in the 1990s, recalls meet-
ing Lahoud several times during the presidential extension debate at the
general’s residence at the seafront Bain Militaire army club in west Beirut.
‘Lahoud was sure he would be president. It was a real fight,’ he says.15
But not everyone in Damascus was enthusiastic about Lahoud. Two
of the most powerful Sunnis in the regime, Abdel-Halim Khaddam and
Hikmat Shehabi, the Syrian Army chief of staff, shared Hariri’s reserva-
tions over the army commander, arguing that the Lebanese would never
accept being ruled by a military man. Although an Alawite, Ghazi Kanaan
endorsed the misgivings of his Sunni contemporaries in the regime,
recognising Lahoud as a future problem for Syrian relations with Leba-
non. According to Walid Jumblatt, Kanaan had opposed Hrawi’s extra
three-year term, not because he wanted to see the Lebanese Army com-
mander installed in Baabda, but because it set a precedent that could see
Lahoud one day granted a presidential extension.
Instead, it was the younger Alawite component of the Syrian regime
that tended to favour Lahoud. This group allegedly was centred around
Basil al-Assad before his death and included his siblings, Bashar, Maher
and Bushra, the headstrong daughter and Assad’s eldest and favourite
child. Also part of the group was Assef Shawkat, an ambitious military
intelligence officer who used his charm and good looks to court and then
marry Bushra al-Assad, overcoming the initial objections of the Assad
family. Others included Mohammed Nassif, a senior intelligence officer,
known affectionately as ‘uncle’ by the Assad children, and the powerful
Makhlouf family headed by Adnan Makhlouf, the then head of the Syrian
Republican Guard and brother of Anissa Assad, the president’s wife.
Adnan Makhlouf’s son, Rami, a cousin of the Assad children, would
become the most powerful businessman in Syria. Then there were mem-
bers of the Shaleesh family, related to the Assads, who would later be
accused of earning millions of dollars in weapons and oil smuggling to
and from Iraq respectively. In 2004, the name of Zualhema Shaleesh,
a general in the Republican Guard, would be linked to the rumoured
 Pax Syriana 55

transfer of Iraqi weapons of mass destruction to Syria prior to the US-led

invasion of Iraq in 2003.
This powerful Alawite faction saw in Lahoud a figure who could
puncture Hariri’s aura of Sunni omnipotence, which they regarded as a
threatening trait given the Alawites’ minority status in Sunni-dominated
Syria. Some had argued against granting Hariri the premiership in
1992, accusing him of having deliberately engineered the economic crisis
that precipitated the downfall of Omar Karami’s government by
purchasing dollars in large quantities to lower the value of the Lebanese
pound.
The tussle over Hrawi’s presidential extension exposed an emerging
generational and confessional faultline within the regime, pitting the
younger, mainly Alawite, generation against the older, mainly Sunni,
contemporaries of Assad. The latter clique comprised Khaddam, Hikmat
Shehabi, Ghazi Kanaan, Walid Jumblatt and Rafik Hariri, whose wealth
was the glue that bound the group together. Some of the older generation
regarded Assad’s unspoken agenda of instituting a hereditary republic as
an affront not only to their own political ambitions but also to the Baath
party’s socialist ideology. Abdel-Halim Khaddam recalls that Assad first
considered bequeathing the presidency to a member of his family in 1980,
his choice then being his younger brother, Rifaat.
‘I had a discussion with President Assad for two hours on this matter,’
Khaddam says.16 ‘I advised him against it and he was convinced.’
But the idea resurfaced in 1983 after Assad was recovering from
nervous exhaustion, which almost cost him not only his life but the
presidency when his brother Rifaat took advantage of Assad’s ill health to
mount an unsuccessful coup. Basil al-Assad began taking on an increased
role in the regime, nominating some ministers and senior civil service
positions to the irritation of the Baath party politburo. Assad never dis-
cussed with his top lieutenants his intention to pass on the presidency,
keeping up a pretence until his death in 2000 of a presidential succession
based on the Syrian constitution. Khaddam and others had little choice
but to grit their teeth and play along.
‘After [Assad’s] illness [in 1983] this matter was too sensitive to be
discussed,’ Khaddam says.17 ‘His love for the family was even stronger
than his duty as president. The decision was very wrong. This decision
was in total contradiction to all laws and regulations in Syria. In the late
1990s, when he was becoming more and more sick, this sentiment grew
stronger and stronger.’
The succession issue and its implications in terms of who controlled the
levers of power and money in Syria underpinned the schism between the
56 Killing Mr Lebanon

older ‘Sunni’ faction and its younger ‘Alawite’ rival, a split that would
continue to fester during the 1990s as the latter assumed more authority,
eventually threatening the stability of the regime itself.
Hariri was initially reluctant to deal with the sons of Assad, believing,
somewhat naively, that maintaining good ties with the Syrian president
was sufficient for his needs. He only met Basil al-Assad once, when pro-
moting the Solidere project in Damascus. According to former Hariri aide
Nohad Mashnouq, it was an uncomfortable encounter. Hariri dressed in
casual clothes for his meeting against Mashnouq’s advice, and Basil made
plain his opposition to the Solidere scheme. Hariri then went over Basil’s
head and secured Assad’s support for the project.
‘The chemistry didn’t work between Hariri and this young group. He
was too powerful for them. He felt that he was dealing with people the
age of his sons,’ Mashnouq recalls.18 The younger Syrian generation, he
adds, ‘hated Khaddam and Shehabi, which affected Hariri himself. They
hated all this old group. They wanted to handle everything themselves.
That’s why after 2000 [when Bashar became president] the doors to
Damascus were closed to Hariri.’
The depth of hostility among the Alawites for Hariri and the older
Sunni leaders in Damascus was made clear to Fares Boueiz, the foreign
minister, during an incident at the Islamic Conference in Tehran in
December 1997. Boueiz’s relationship with his prime minister was going
through one of its periodic low points because of what he considered
unwarranted meddling by Hariri in foreign affairs.19 Boueiz was in Tehran
with Hariri and Hrawi. Assad and a large delegation of military officials
were also attending. As Boueiz walked down a corridor past the large
salons where delegations were gathered, he heard a voice call behind
him, ‘You hero! You are the man of courage!’ He turned to see Adnan
Makhlouf, the head of Syria’s Republican Guard, striding towards him,
his arms outstretched. Makhlouf grabbed the startled Boueiz, kissed him
on both cheeks and congratulated him for standing up to Hariri.
‘That son of a bitch is buying up the regime around me,’ Makhlouf
grumbled, referring to Hariri. ‘He’s bought Khaddam, Shehabi and his
dog Ghazi Kanaan.’
Boueiz, stunned by the outburst from the Syrian general, mumbled that
his problems with Hariri were different and walked away.
‘These men Makhlouf was talking about were just 50 metres away in
the next room. It told me how much the Alawites really hated them,’
Boueiz says.
Following the extension of Elias Hrawi’s mandate, Raymond Edde, a
Lebanese Christian leader living in exile in Paris, succinctly summed
 Pax Syriana 57

up the view of most Lebanese, commenting that ‘Lebanon has become a

Syrian colony in reality’. Indeed, Assad had voiced Syria’s covetous atti-
tude toward its neighbour in a 1976 speech, shortly after his 30,000-strong
army had crossed the border into Lebanon for the first time. He repeated
the historical claim that ‘Syria and Lebanon are one state and one people
. . . and have shared interests and a common history’.
Lebanese officials dutifully defended Syria’s control of Lebanon,
deflecting criticism of the Syrian military presence by mechanically repeat-
ing the mantra that it was ‘necessary, legal and temporary’. The emptiness
of the phrase was hinted at in an interview Hariri gave with Lebanon’s
English-language Daily Star newspaper in 1998 when he stumbled over
the correct order of the adjectives and had to be helped out by a cabinet
minister.
Between 1991 and 1994, Assad turned Syria’s latent irredentism into
practice through a series of political and economic agreements with
Lebanon that essentially bound the two countries together into something
resembling a quasi-confederation. The sweeping Treaty of Brotherhood
and Cooperation, signed in May 1991, gave a foretaste of what the
Lebanese could expect under Pax Syriana. Article I called for the ‘highest
degree of cooperation and coordination . . . in all political, security, cul-
tural, scientific and other concerns in pursuit of the interests of the two
brotherly countries’.
The treaty set the tempo for a whole raft of further agreements on
security and economic issues. The Defence and Security Agreement in
September 1991 called for a ban on ‘all military, security, political and
media activity that might harm the other country’.
Further agreements were signed in 1993 and 1994 covering social and
economic cooperation, health, agriculture, cross-border traffic of goods and
people, labour, water sharing, tourism and cultural cooperation. The 1994
Labour Agreement legitimised the entry of Syrian workers into Lebanon.
Employers readily recruited Syrians because they took round about half the
wages of a Lebanese worker. The cash earnings, of which almost all were
repatriated to Syria, made a significant contribution to the Syrian economy,
with some estimates placing the figure as high as $4 billion a year by the
end of the 1990s. Yet the unfettered inflow of Syrian workers was a contro-
versial issue, with critics railing against the loss of millions of dollars from
the Lebanese economy. Lebanese labourers complained bitterly that the
Syrians were stealing jobs from them and that they could not afford to work
at the more competitive rates of the Syrians.
What Lebanon gained in Syrian workers it lost in Lebanese water. The
1994 water-sharing agreement apportioned rights to the Orontes river
58 Killing Mr Lebanon

which rises in the Bekaa, flows into Syria and on into Turkey. Lebanon
was allocated 60 million cubic metres a year, or about 22 per cent of the
annual flow. The agreement was touted as a success by the Lebanese
government, even though in the 1950s Lebanon had proposed to Syria
that it receive 40 per cent of the river’s waters.
The flurry of agreements and treaties produced a veneer of legitimacy
to what was a creeping annexation of Lebanon by Syria. Indeed, in at least
one agreement, on tourism, Lebanon and Syria were referred to as the
‘twin provinces’ (al-qutrayn al-tawamayn).
The three members of the troika – Hrawi, Hariri and Berri – handled
Syrian hegemony in separate ways. Berri’s attitude was ‘Syria right or
wrong’ and as such was an indispensable ally of Damascus. Hrawi was an
old-school Lebanese politician, a ‘fox’, according to one former Lebanese
politician, who used the Syrians to help win his own parochial battles but
was less than discreet in voicing his views. At a dinner party he hosted in
Baabda, which was attended by the American ambassador, Ryan Crocker,
the politician recalled Hrawi grumbling that the Syrians ‘don’t let me
breathe’.20 Hariri was the eternal pragmatist, the compromiser who would
do what was necessary to ensure political and diplomatic calm so as not to
upset Lebanon’s reconstruction and economic revival.
Simon Karam, Lebanon’s ambassador to Washington in the early
1990s, found himself a victim of Hariri’s appeasing nature. The Syrian
authorities distrusted Karam, a soft-spoken lawyer from the Maronite
town of Jezzine in south Lebanon who was known to have little sym-
pathy for Pax Syriana. In July 1993 when Israel launched a punishing
seven-day air and artillery blitz on south Lebanon, Damascus pressured
Beirut to recall Karam from Washington. The pressure became vindictive
with Hrawi being given a hand-written intelligence assessment of
Karam, accusing his ambassador of plotting against the Syrians, com-
plaining to the Americans that the Lebanese government was ‘a Syrian
puppet’ and even drug smuggling. The document, which was signed by
Ali Duba, the head of Syrian military intelligence, is today in Karam’s
possession.
‘Hrawi gave me the letter as a memento,’ Karam says, brandishing
the yellowing sheet of paper.21 ‘Can you imagine a Syrian president hand-
ing to a Lebanese president an intelligence assessment on a Lebanese
ambassador?’
As a result of the Syrian pressure, Karam was deliberately sidelined
from meetings in Beirut with American diplomats negotiating a ceasefire
in south Lebanon. Unwilling to serve as a lame-duck ambassador, Karam
resigned. Days later, Hariri dispatched an aide to see Karam.
 Pax Syriana 59

‘Hariri’s excuse for my treatment was Syrian pressure and that I

shouldn’t take it personally,’ Karam says. ‘Hariri provided cover for my
eviction.’
Under Pax Syriana there was little leeway for the more independently
minded servant of the state, like Karam, and none for those who refused
to accept the new order, such as Samir Geagea, the head of the Lebanese
Forces militia.
Unlike most of his militia counterparts who formed the backbone of the
post-war political class, Geagea bridled against Syrian domination,
resigning twice from ministerial positions and boycotting the 1992
parliamentary elections.
On February 27, 1994, a bomb exploded in a church in Zouk Mikhael,
16 kilometres north of Beirut, killing 11 people and wounding several
others. Two weeks later, the government re-activated the death penalty
for murder as Lebanese troops surrounded Geagea’s home and began
arresting members of his Lebanese Forces. Geagea was arrested in June
and the Lebanese Forces were banned. Although he was exonerated for
the church bombing, Geagea was handed a total of four life sentences
for wartime killings, including the assassination of Rashid Karami, the
former premier. Geagea was the only militia leader to face trial for crimes
committed during the war, even though an amnesty law granted immun-
ity to anyone involved in war-related crimes. Geagea’s imprisonment and
the banning of the Lebanese Forces effectively crushed the last bastion
of anti-Syrian defiance in Lebanon, leaving the disaffected Christian
opposition unorganised and scattered.
Keeping tabs on the likes of Geagea and other potential threats was
a re-organised Lebanese military intelligence, the most powerful secu-
rity organ under Pax Syriana which reported directly to its Syrian
counterpart.
The hub of the Syrian intelligence network was in Anjar, an Armenian
town in the Bekaa valley close to the border with Syria famed for the
graceful arches and columns of the eighth-century palace of the Omayyad
caliph, Al-Walid Ibn Abdel Malik, an earlier Damascus-based ruler of the
Levant. The French mandatory authority picked malarial marshland near
the ruins to construct from scratch the modern town of Anjar to house
Armenian refugees from the Syrian province of Alexandretta which was
ceded by France to Turkey in 1939. From this oddly eastern-European-
looking town of squat houses and wide, tree-lined avenues, Ghazi Kanaan,
the tough and wily Syrian intelligence chief, flattered, threatened and
manipulated Lebanon’s fractious politicians, playing them off against
each other to ensure that Syria’s interests were preserved. His office
60 Killing Mr Lebanon

became a regular port of call for Lebanese politicians travelling to meet

Assad or other senior officials in Damascus. Every Saturday, Kanaan
would hold an open day to receive MPs, ministers, business figures, gov-
ernors, mayors, military and security officers, anyone who sought a favour
or advice from the most powerful man in Lebanon. Local residents grew
accustomed to seeing sleek black limousines sweeping along the pine
tree-lined avenues as Lebanon’s great and good paid homage to Syria’s
proconsul.
A mile south of Anjar lay several unremarkable single-storey farm
buildings surrounded by flat farmland. The farm, known as the ‘onion
factory’, was Syria’s main detention and interrogation centre in Lebanon.
Its name struck a chill in the hearts of nearby residents and farm workers
who from time to time could hear the screams of detainees carried on the
breeze as the interrogators carried out their grim task.
The victim could face several days of interrogation or torture before
being released, being coerced into working for Syrian intelligence or in
the worst scenario being ‘disappeared’ – transferred to a prison in Syria.
Yet the most pernicious and consequential impact of Syrian control of
Lebanon was the endemic corruption which bled Lebanon of billions of
dollars while enriching a small elite of Syrian officials and their Lebanese
allies.
Corruption in post-war Lebanon was so widely practised at all levels
that it was treated as a fact of daily life, such as paying a government
official a small ‘fee’ to process some documentation. In March 2000, a
non-governmental organisation, Kulluna Massoul (We Are All Respon-
sible), released a survey in which 74 per cent of Lebanese felt that ‘bribery
is necessary to secure a contract from any public institution’. A quarter of
those questioned believed that ‘all Lebanese politicians are corrupt’.
More egregious forms of corruption by powerful political or business
figures were gossiped about and possibly hinted at in the newspapers,
but rarely provoked a public outcry let alone led to a criminal case in court
unless there was an underlying political motivation. Among the more
blatant examples was a law passed in 1995 that required all vehicles to be
equipped with a mini fire extinguisher as a safety precaution. That many
vehicles were barely roadworthy, lacked lights, possessed faulty brakes
and were driven with ruthless abandon by young men or with supreme
indifference to other road users by middle-aged housewives apparently
was of no consequence to the supporters of the fire extinguisher law.
Unusually, the law was enforced with spot checks by Internal Security
Forces policemen manning checkpoints along Beirut’s streets, with trans-
gressors receiving fines. Yet there was nothing altruistic in the sudden
 Pax Syriana 61

government interest in preventing motorists from burning to death in

their vehicles. A cabinet minister had received an import licence for mini
fire extinguishers and had used his influence to push through legislation
requiring that at least one be carried in every vehicle. After a few months,
the enforcement of the law dried up, presumably after the fortunate
minister had sold his entire stock of fire extinguishers.
As prime minister, Hariri was widely blamed for cultivating a climate
of rampant corruption and cronyism. His policy of appointing former
employees into key positions in the government and civil service provided
ample ammunition for his enemies. There were repeated allegations of
Hariri using his vast fortune to bribe politicians and officials into appro-
ving his projects. The most notorious example was the allegation that some
40 MPs in 1991 (before Hariri was prime minister) were bribed with cash
sums of $50,000 to $100,000 or interest-free loans of up to a million dollars
from Hariri’s banks to approve the law establishing Solidere.22 It remains
unclear whether Hariri personally benefited from the corruption of the
1990s, although even his enemies admit that he was not motivated by
personal enrichment.
‘We can honestly say that Hariri was not corrupt,’ says Mohammed Raad
of Hizbullah.23 ‘But the sectarian zuama [communal and political leaders]
that existed around him and the inability to prioritise the reconstruction
effort led to high spending and wastage. If we had to give a budget to the
Ministry for the Displaced [run by the Druze] then we had to give some to
the Council of the South [Shiite] and some to the CDR [Council for
Development and Reconstruction] because of sectarianism. The Shiites,
the Druze, the Sunnis and the Christians all had to get their share.’
Still, Hariri as prime minister was in a position to exploit reconstruction
contracts and state funds to benefit his Syrian patrons and his Lebanese
allies. The lack of transparency, nepotism and naked corruption that
surrounded the awarding of profitable contracts was part of the Lebanese
system of clientelism, the building of patronage networks to enhance
one’s political position. State-run companies and government ministries
and institutions were overstaffed with unsuitable employees whose sole
qualities were their allegiances to powerful political patrons. Hariri,
however, was unwilling or unable to reverse this traditional way of doing
business, and instead preferred to make the system work for him.
Wiam Wahhab, who remains one of Syria’s staunchest allies, recalls
asking Hariri in the mid-1990s why he continued to allocate vast sums of
government funds to the Ministry for the Displaced, then headed by
Walid Jumblatt.24 The ministry was charged with returning war-displaced
refugees to their original homes and villages. The government’s critics,
62 Killing Mr Lebanon

including Wahhab, complained that Jumblatt used the funds as a source of

patronage, dispersing a disproportionate amount to his Druze supporters.
‘I kept accusing Hariri about this and he told me that he was buying
Jumblatt’s silence so that he could continue with his reconstruction pro-
ject,’ Wahhab recalls. ‘He believed in bribing people with money. He
didn’t know how else to deal with a situation.’
If the corruption associated with Hariri tended to fall along lines of
bribery and cronyism, the Syrian-controlled system was closer to a mafia-
style racketeering operation in which Lebanon was treated as a ‘milking
cow’, in the words of a former minister,25 a pool of reconstruction cash to
be plundered at will.
On the outskirts of the Bekaa town of Zahle is a dishevelled and lifeless
industrial estate of pot-holed roads, dilapidated factories and warehouses.
In the centre of the estate is a pencil-slim tower about 30 metres tall sur-
mounted by several gleaming white satellite dishes, the largest of which is
some 3 metres in diameter. The sight of high-tech communications tucked
among the unkempt industrial buildings may appear incongruous, but
the satellite dishes are an essential component in an illegal racket that
has netted millions of dollars by diverting international telephone traffic
from public exchanges owned by the government. Although international
telephone calls are supposed to be routed through the government’s
exchanges, it has been estimated that about half the international traffic is
handled by illegal operators. The scam is simple. The owners of illegal
exchanges entice foreign operators to place calls to Lebanon through
them by offering lower tariffs than the government. In 2002, Jean-Louis
Qordahi, the minister of telecommunications, estimated that 30 million
call minutes were being diverted each month, which translates into illicit
earnings of $262 million a year.
The racket was allowed to continue unmolested by the Lebanese author-
ities due to its connection to a wealthy Lebanese businessman and his
powerful patrons in Syria who all received a cut of the profits.
‘The Syrian system was a racket with clear and defined rules,’ says
Joe Faddoul, a Lebanese financial consultant.26 ‘The Syrians practically
took the money out of the government’s coffers.’
Often using Lebanese politicians as frontmen, senior figures in Syria
and their local allies are alleged to have made immense profits from the
Lebanese reconstruction boom in the 1990s, receiving ‘protection commis-
sions’, securing monopolies in a wide array of sectors and selling goods
and services at inflated rates. Almost no sector was immune: construc-
tion, oil and gas, electricity, telecommunications. Among the most well
known was the awarding of Lebanon’s first mobile phone contracts to two
 Pax Syriana 63

companies, Cellis and Libancell, headed by Lebanese closely associated

with Abdel-Halim Khaddam and Hikmat Shehabi and their sons. With
competitors barred from entering the market, these two companies were
allowed to charge exorbitant fees, among the highest in the world at
13 cents per minute compared to 3 to 8 cents elsewhere in the Arab world.
Some $1.8 billion was spent on rehabilitating and constructing ten elec-
tricity producing plants to raise the power capacity from an average
900 megawatts to 1,800 megawatts. But the capacity fell short of the target,
achieving only 1,400 megawatts with as much as $500 million ending up
in ‘the pockets of leaders, ministers and entrepreneurs’, a minister told
Agence France Presse in 2003.
One former minister of electricity and water resources used to levy a
‘personal tax’ of 20 per cent on fuel purchases, according to Faddoul. His
predecessor at the ministry set up a public relations company which
charged a 10 per cent commission to companies wanting to sell equip-
ment to the Electricite du Liban, the state-run power utility on which
more than $150 million was spent in the early 1990s. The minister split the
commission with his Syrian backers.
Customs duties were pocketed at Beirut port, at Beirut International
Airport and on the border with Syria. According to Faddoul, Syrian
intelligence agents set up an alternative customs office at Beirut port
where importers could evade legal customs duties by paying the Syrians
a lesser fee to bring in their goods. Syrian military intelligence officers,
including Ghazi Kanaan, were alleged to receive kickbacks from hashish
growers in the Bekaa valley. During the late 1980s, the turnover from
drug cultivation in the Bekaa was estimated at $4 billion, of which Syrian
officers reportedly received a substantial cut. A downturn in drug cultiva-
tion in the 1990s was reportedly compensated for by the refining of heroin
and cocaine in the remoter reaches of Baalbek and Hermel in the northern
Bekaa.
Even the world-famous Casino du Liban perched on a bluff overlooking
the Mediterranean near Jounieh was plundered on a daily basis by Syrian
and Lebanese intelligence agents. Around 3 a.m. every day, after the casino
had closed for the night, the agents would haul off around half the even-
ing’s takings, reportedly amounting to about $50 million a year.27 The
silence of local politicians was bought by giving them their own personal
slot machines. When Habib Lteif, a former manager of the casino, began
complaining about the systematic looting, he was threatened and beaten
up in his office, prompting him to resign. The impact that the racket had
on the casino – as well as the fact that the abuses were widely known –
was illustrated by the fluctuation in the share price in the nine-month
64 Killing Mr Lebanon

period that covered Hariri’s assassination and Syria’s disengagement

from Lebanon. In December 2004, shares in the casino were selling at $165
each. Yet despite Hariri’s death in February, political turmoil, an economic
recession, a downturn in the number of tourists and a sporadic campaign
of assassinations and bombings, the share price by September had soared
to $300 each. Investors knew that the Syrians were no longer siphoning off
the profits, making the casino an attractive venture once more.
Apart from enriching the Syrian elite, the racketeering system helped
Syria maintain control over Lebanon by purchasing the loyalty of local
clients, either by allowing them direct access to profitable business ven-
tures or by installing them in parliament or the cabinet where they could
take advantage of their positions of influence for personal gain. Adminis-
trative appointments were sometimes delayed for months while bickering
politicians fought each other to promote their own favourite. Millions of
dollars in loans and grants from international lenders gathered dust in
banks because powerful politicians would block projects that did not
benefit them and their patronage networks.
In 2001, a United Nations-sponsored report on corruption in Lebanon
claimed that the government was losing $190 million because of the
monopoly on the import of oil and its derivatives to five companies
directly linked to powerful politicians.
The report estimated that Lebanon was losing approximately $1 billion
a year through graft, a ‘conservative’ figure at that.
Joe Faddoul, after sifting through published accounts of corruption
and racketeering that occasionally made the local press, concluded
that the Syrian-endorsed racketeering had been netting an estimated
$2 billion since 1990 in direct and indirect takings. Therefore, by 2005,
Syrian racketeering had cost Lebanon $30 billion, helping explain,
according to Faddoul, the country’s staggering public debt of nearly $40
billion.28
Hariri was not overly troubled by the steadily climbing debt in the early
1990s, predicting that it would be easily repaid if not written off as a
consequence of a comprehensive Middle East peace agrement. Not only
would peace herald an investment bonanza in Lebanon, but it would also
end the festering conflict pitting Hizbullah’s guerrilla fighters against
Israeli troops in south Lebanon. An Israeli withdrawal from the south
would truly mark the end of Lebanon’s long, bloody conflict and allow
Beirut to re-establish itself as the financial centre of the Middle East.
And a Syria at peace with Israel would no longer have a justification for
continuing its presence in Lebanon.
‘Be patient,’ Hariri advised his colleagues.
 Pax Syriana 65

Yet Hariri’s dependence on, and initial faith in, the prospect of an immi-
nent regional peace placed him in direct confrontation with Hizbullah,
whose military actions in south Lebanon against Israeli occupation forces
threatened to jeopardise Lebanon’s revival.
Before 1992, Hariri had avoided any relations with Hizbullah,
viewing the organisation as an unsettling creation of Iran. In turn,
Hizbullah thought of Hariri as a ‘Saudi’ and had little inclination to
engage with him given the hostility between Tehran and Riyadh in the
mid-1980s.
‘We knew nothing about him,’ recalls Hizbullah’s Mohammed Raad.29
‘It appeared to us that Rafik Hariri had wide relations with the West and
this made us cautious. We knew nothing about his childhood, his back-
ground, his political life. His appearance was surprising on the Lebanese
scene.’
In 1985, King Fahd of Saudi Arabia asked Hariri to make contact with
Ayatollah Mohammed Hussein Fadlallah, an eminent Lebanese Shiite
cleric whose views echoed those of Hizbullah.30 Hariri and Fadlallah
developed a warm relationship, the latter often visiting Hariri’s home in
Riyadh when in Saudi Arabia for the annual Haj, or pilgrimage to Mecca.
King Fahd told Fadlallah that he wished to help strengthen Sunni–Shiite
ties in Lebanon, but he also hoped that the cleric might be able to use his
influence to stem some Iran-backed Shiite unrest in Saudi Arabia’s eastern
province. According to a Lebanese Shiite politician, Fadlallah was offered
a Saudi donation of several million dollars via Hariri, but turned it down
suspecting it was a bribe or at least that it would be perceived as such by
others.31
At the time, Nabih Berri was Hariri’s principal interlocutor among
Lebanese Shiites, and the Amal leader discouraged Hariri from establish-
ing contacts with any other Shiite figure or group. The day after Hariri
first met Fadlallah, a rocket-propelled grenade was fired into Fouad
Siniora’s twenty-first-floor office in a tower block in west Beirut. Hariri
saw the incident as a forceful reminder from Berri that the Amal leader
was the sole representative of Shiite interests in Lebanon and Hariri
would do well to remember it. But by 1992, Hizbullah had become a
force that Hariri could no longer ignore. The party was waging an
increasingly effective and deadly campaign against Israeli occupation
troops in south Lebanon and had won 12 seats in parliament in the 1992
legislative elections.
A few days before he was appointed prime minister in October 1992,
Hariri requested and was granted an appointment with Sayyed Hassan
Nasrallah, Hizbullah’s youthful secretary-general who was elected to the
66 Killing Mr Lebanon

post in February. The two men had a frank conversation, according to

Mustafa Nasr, a journalist who served as a go-between.32 Nasr recalled
Nasrallah saying to Hariri, ‘You are the resistance that will remove the
suffering of the people [in Lebanon] and our party is the resistance that
will remove the occupation from our people on the border. If we become
allies and agree, our resistance will be your resistance and the country will
move on very well. But if we disagree, you will lose both your resistance
and my resistance.’
‘I am with you 100 per cent,’ Hariri replied. He went on to reassure
Nasrallah that he was not an ‘American agent’.
‘I am an Arab nationalist,’ he said. ‘I help the poor and my convictions
and principles are truly Islamic.’
Nonetheless, the contradiction inherent in the policies of the Hariri
government and Hizbullah’s anti-Israel agenda would prove to be a
source of significant tension and deep mistrust.
Hariri was appointed prime minister because he was seen as the one
Lebanese who could engineer a revival for Lebanon, attracting essential
foreign aid and investment capital to fund the reconstruction process
and using his extensive international contacts for the benefit of Beirut and
Damascus. But the festering conflict in south Lebanon, which intensified
during Hariri’s premiership, threatened to undermine the prime minister’s
vision of turning war-shattered Lebanon into the financial and services
centre for the region.
Hariri was a man of compromise, who, as far as Hizbullah was con-
cerned, held dangerous views regarding accommodation with Israel.
After all, he was gambling his entire economic and political programme
for Lebanon on a successful outcome of the Middle East peace process.
What would happen, Hizbullah wondered, if Israel called for a ceasefire
in south Lebanon, or even the disarming of Hizbullah, as a condition for
a troop withdrawal from the occupation zone? Could Hariri be trusted to
reject such offers?
The paradox of resistance and reconstruction became all too obvious
just nine months after Hariri took office. A spate of deadly resistance
attacks in early July 1993 spurred Israel to mount a massive air and
artillery blitz against south Lebanon. The Israeli assault killed some
120 Lebanese civilians, wounded another 500, displaced 300,000
residents, caused damage estimated at $28.8 million and undermined
Hariri’s public relations campaign to restore investor confidence in
Lebanon: he had unveiled the $10 billion Horizon 2000 national
reconstruction programme only four months earlier. Hariri bit his lip
and dutifully defended the resistance during the week-long escalation
 Pax Syriana 67

in July. But relations plunged into deep crisis six weeks later when
Lebanese troops opened fire on a Hizbullah demonstration, killing nine
protestors. The shooting caused an uproar, with Hizbullah accusing
the government of causing a ‘massacre’, and resulted in months of
bitterness.
But the disagreements between Hariri and Hizbullah were not solely
related to the resistance in south Lebanon. Hizbullah’s parliamentary
bloc represented a vocal and persistent opposition to Hariri’s grandiose
reconstruction plans. Hizbullah criticised Hariri’s economic agenda for its
Beirut-centric focus and its apparent neglect of poorer peripheral areas
from where the party drew much of its support. While Nabih Berri was
able to maintain his support base through access to state funds, Hizbullah
won hearts and minds via its own extensive social wing which provided
free or discounted medical treatment, education, agricultural assistance,
water distribution and subsidised department stores. Hizbullah’s lack of
dependence on the state’s coffers granted it a moral platform from which
to rail against the perceived excesses of the Hariri government and attack
the endemic corruption of the 1990s.
Relations between Hariri and Hizbullah finally gelled into some form of
mutual understanding in April 1996 when Israel embarked upon a second
punishing military campaign against south Lebanon. Israeli warplanes
targeted the newly renovated infrastructure such as bridges and power
plants, the implicit message being that Lebanon had a choice: either
reconstruction or resistance.
Hariri played an important diplomatic role by enlisting the support of
his friend Jacques Chirac, who was elected president of France in 1995,
to form a diplomatic counterweight to an ambitious US initiative that
sought to end Hizbullah’s resistance campaign in exchange for a cessa-
tion of the Israeli offensive. Assad rejected the US proposal for a milder
French alternative that set ground rules for the fighting monitored by an
international committee. After two weeks, it was obvious that the Israeli
offensive was failing to curb Hizbullah and that the Lebanese govern-
ment would not stop the anti-Israel resistance. Israel called off the
offensive after 16 days. A month later Benjamin Netanyahu, the hard-
line leader of Israel’s Likud party, was elected prime minister of Israel,
freezing the Israeli–Syrian track of the peace process for the next three
years.
Having reached a modus vivendi with Hizbullah, Hariri faced a more
pressing threat in 1998 as General Emile Lahoud prepared to move the
short distance from the ministry of defence in Yarze to the concrete and
glass presidential palace in the nearby suburb of Baabda.
68 Killing Mr Lebanon

Lahoud was a popular choice among many Lebanese who saw in the
60-year-old army commander a resolute and principled officer who
held politicians in disdain and shunned social events. In a country
that celebrates excess and hard partying, the Lebanese media marvelled
at Lahoud’s frugal and ascetic lifestyle: how he rose every day at
4.30 a.m. and swam a mile before going to work at the ministry of
defence just as the sun was rising. Fluent in Arabic, English and
French, he was the son of an army general and nephew of one of
Lebanon’s founding fathers. After nine years, many Lebanese had tired of
the dour Hrawi and his submission to the will of Damascus and hoped
that the no-nonsense general would loosen Lebanon from Syria’s iron
grip.
Lahoud also had the support of the Americans who, in the words of one
senior diplomat closely involved in Lebanese affairs, regarded the army
commander as a ‘clean reformer’, untainted by the endemic corruption of
Lebanese politics, ‘as “un-Maronite” a Maronite president’ as the Lebanese
had seen since the days of Fouad Chehab, another army commander who
had served as president from 1958 to 1964.33
‘Ostensibly committed to economic and fiscal discipline after the ruin-
ous over-spending of Hariri’s term . . . Lahoud seemed a breath of fresh
air and vigour in the presidency,’ the diplomat says.
Yet Lahoud’s public image was the result of a carefully crafted public
relations campaign that played on Christian desires for a powerful
counterweight to the Sunni Hariri, Druze Jumblatt, and Shiites Berri and
Nasrallah, coupled with an instinctive respect among Lebanese for the
sanctity of the military. It was a campaign that many Lebanese journalists,
by mistake or design, helped promote.
‘We have some responsibility in this,’ admits Sarkis Naoum, the veteran
An Nahar columnist.34 ‘Some people willingly or unwillingly portrayed
Lahoud as firm, strong and clean. For some it was wishful thinking, which
included me, some had their arms twisted, and others were working for
Lahoud anyway.’
The man behind Lahoud’s image-building campaign was Colonel Jamil
Sayyed, a Shiite from the Bekaa whose position as deputy chief of military
intelligence disguised the extent of the power he wielded. A career officer
in the Lebanese Army, Sayyed had become an indispensable ally of
the Syrians after narrowly escaping a car bomb explosion in 1983 while
serving as chief of military intelligence in the Bekaa. As deputy chief of
military intelligence from 1990, Sayyed oversaw the restructuring and
merging of the Lebanese intelligence apparatus with that of Syria. A
diminutive man with narrow facial features, Sayyed possessed a sharp
 Pax Syriana 69

intelligence which won him the guarded respect of his opponents, among
them Hariri and Hrawi.
Although the Syrians told their Lebanese allies that they were biding
their time before making a final decision, it was clear that Lahoud was
almost a certainty for the job.
Assad, who wanted Hariri to remain as prime minister under Lahoud,
realised that the animosity between the two men could complicate Syria’s
control over Lebanon. However, Bashar al-Assad remained a staunch
supporter of Lahoud and his voice was beginning to carry weight within
the regime. He began taking over the Lebanon portfolio in early 1998 from
Abdel-Halim Khaddam who had run Lebanese affairs since the 1970s. The
same year Hikmat Shehabi resigned as chief of staff of the Syrian Army.
Bashar also spearheaded an anti-corruption drive in Syria in a bid to raise
his domestic profile and boost his popularity. Some of those targeted in
his campaign were linked to Hariri, which served to weaken the prime
minister’s position in Syria. The moves signalled that the old order in
Lebanon and Syria was changing, and the patronage networks created by
Hariri’s wealth were beginning to dissolve. Having neglected to build ties
with the younger generation in Damascus and with Shehabi gone and
Khaddam stripped of the Lebanon file, Hariri ‘found himself cornered’,
according to former Hariri advisor Nohad Mashnouq.35
The erosion of Hariri’s influence in Damascus was keenly supported
by his Lebanese opponents, among them Suleiman Frangieh, heir to
a Maronite political dynasty in north Lebanon, Talal Arslan, Walid
Jumblatt’s Druze rival, Omar Karami, the ill-fated former premier, and
Hizbullah.
‘Our team used to tell Bashar that we were not in disagreement about
Syria’s role in Lebanon but we had a problem with this gang which
was harming relations between the two countries,’ says Wiam Wahhab, a
former journalist and ardent pro-Syrian supporter, referring to Hariri
and his Syrian allies. ‘Before Bashar arrived, we were depending on the
[Lebanese] army [headed by Lahoud] to balance against Hrawi, Hariri,
Jumblatt and their friends in Syria, Abdel-Halim Khaddam and Ghazi
Kanaan. When Bashar became strong, our team won with the coming of
Lahoud.’36
On October 5, Assad and Hrawi met in Damascus and afterwards
announced that Lahoud would be the next president of Lebanon, even
though the army commander had never formally announced his candi-
dacy. Nine days later, 118 of Parliament’s 128 MPs gathered to vote
unanimously for Lahoud in a light-hearted session that barely lasted
20 minutes. It was the first time since the election of President Bishara
70 Killing Mr Lebanon

Khoury in 1949 that a candidate received every vote cast. But Walid
Jumblatt’s bloc of nine MPs stayed away from the vote, reflecting the
Druze leader’s unhappiness at Lahoud becoming president.
In his inaugural address, Lahoud vowed to adhere to the ‘rule of law’
and pledged to root out corruption, references that were seen as none-too-
subtle swipes at Hariri’s autonomy. Lahoud’s promised anti-corruption
drive mirrored that of Bashar in Syria, further indicating that the future
Syrian leader was the muscle behind Lebanon’s new president.
Nonetheless, Hariri was expected to lead the next government and,
during mandatory consultations between Lahoud and MPs over the iden-
tity of the next prime minister, a small majority supported Hariri for the
job. But several MPs declined to pick a name, leaving Lahoud the choice
of designating whom he wanted. In protest, Hariri announced his resigna-
tion, declaring that MPs were obliged under the post-Taif constitution to
name their choice of prime minister and could not leave it to the president
to decide.
Hariri expected Assad to intervene with Lahoud, which would have
strengthened his hand as he and the new president embarked on what was
destined to be a fractious and tense relationship. Although Assad favoured
Hariri’s return to the premiership, he chose against his better judgement
not to overrule his son’s backing for Lahoud. Bashar required a trusted ally
in Lebanon who would preserve Syria’s interests there while he estab-
lished his authority in Damascus. A powerful Sunni prime minister in
Beirut would not only challenge Lahoud’s authority but could prove a
dangerously potent influence with the majority Sunnis in Syria if the
Alawite presidency was extended through Bashar succeeding his father.
‘Hafez al-Assad was very intelligent and knew well the situation in
Lebanon and tried very hard to create a positive atmosphere between
Lahoud and Hariri but he failed,’ says Ghazi Aridi, a Druze cabinet
minister and aide to Walid Jumblatt.37
With Hariri out of the running, parliament selected Salim Hoss as
the new prime minister. A respected economist and three times premier
during some of Lebanon’s darkest years in the war, Hoss was the anti-
thesis of Hariri: reserved where Hariri was flamboyant, cautious where
Hariri was bold, reticent where Hariri was outgoing. Hariri was dogged
by allegations of corruption, but Hoss was a genuinely decent man who
enjoyed a clean reputation and was known for his probity. Most import-
antly, Hoss would not stand in Lahoud’s way. Hariri might have been
the first among equals in the troika of president, prime minister and par-
liamentary speaker during the 1990s, but as far as Lahoud was concerned
the troika was dead.
 The breach
4
Dennis Ross, the chief American negotiator to the Middle East peace
process, strode down a corridor of the Geneva Intercontinental Hotel,
deep in thought and silently seething with frustration.1 The meeting just
ended between Presidents Clinton and Assad could not have gone much
worse. The eagerly anticipated summit had promised to break the dead-
lock in the Israeli–Syrian peace track, but, although Assad was offered the
best deal yet from the Israelis, the old man simply had not appeared
interested in even discussing it. The apparent stumbling point, as it had
been throughout the eight years of on-again, off-again peace talks beween
the Syrians and Israelis, was the extent of an Israeli withdrawal from
the Golan Heights, the strategic volcanic plateau overlooking northern
Galilee that was captured from Syria in the June 1967 Arab–Israeli
war. Assad was Syrian defence minister in 1967 and it had become an
emotional as well as strategic goal to return the Golan to the motherland –
all the Golan, every inch that had been taken by Israel east of the border
as it stood on June 4, 1967, the eve of the war. All other matters
regarding peace – military arrangements, water sharing, diplomatic and
cultural normalisation – were open for discussion, but the Golan was
non-negotiable.
When peace negotiations resumed in December 1999, ending a four-
year freeze, the prognosis was that a deal would be concluded swiftly. So
here on this chilly Swiss afternoon in late March 2000, Clinton had met
Assad to sell Israeli prime minister Ehud Barak’s boldest offer yet – a pull-
out from the entire Golan except for a narrow strip of territory along the
north-east edge of the Sea of Galilee. To the watching world, the sight of
the gaunt and visibly frail 69-year-old Syrian president making the effort
to meet Clinton in Geneva signalled that a deal was all but concluded. A
breakthrough between Syria and Israel would pave the way for Lebanon
to negotiate its own peace deal, allowing for a coordinated, safe and dig-
72 Killing Mr Lebanon

nified withdrawal of Israeli troops from the bloody quagmire of south

Lebanon.
There were few who were awaiting the results of the summit more
eagerly than Rafik Hariri. The former premier had been in regular contact
with Ross over the past year, repeatedly badgering the US negotiator for
information and encouraging him to persist when talks encountered dif-
ficulties. The last call Ross received from Hariri before the Geneva summit
was two weeks earlier while driving home from his office in Washington.
‘He was very optimistic,’ Ross recounts. ‘He said that everything he
was hearing was that Assad wanted a deal done. He was probing me to
see if I was coming [to Geneva] with something serious and I said “Yes,
I am coming with something serious”, and he said he was very confident
that it would work out.’
Yet it was not to be. Whether Barak miscalculated by insisting on keep-
ing the ribbon of land east of the Sea of Galilee or whether Assad had
changed his mind about the importance of concluding peace with Israel is
still unclear. But the Syrian president turned down Barak’s offer flat.
Ross entered his hotel room, kicked off his shoes and put on a pair of
jeans. If all had gone well, right now he would be briefing the press
gathered at the President Wilson Hotel in the centre of Geneva. But they
had picked Joe Lockhart, the White House press spokesman, for the
unenviable task of putting an upbeat gloss on the summit’s failure. As
Ross sat down, the phone rang, the first call he had received since the end
of the meeting a little earlier. It was Hariri.
‘What happened?’ Hariri asked, sounding shocked, having just heard
the news.
‘He didn’t want to do it,’ Ross told him, referring to Assad.
‘Tell me what happened,’ Hariri said.
Ross explained Assad’s dismissive reaction as Clinton read out Barak’s
proposal line by line.
‘My guess is that it has something to do with succession politics,’ Ross
said, meaning Assad’s intention of bequeathing the presidency to his son,
Bashar.
‘I just don’t believe it,’ Hariri said incredulously. ‘Look, don’t give up.’
‘But what do we have to work with?’ Ross asked.
‘Just don’t give up. There’s got to be something. I’ll find out. It might
have something to do with the succession, but it doesn’t mean it’s over.’
Tellingly, in his memoirs, The Missing Peace, Ross misidentifies Hariri as
the Lebanese prime minister, although Hariri was still sitting on the
opposition benches in March 2000. Lebanon’s real prime minister, Salim
Hoss, showed no such impatient interest in the results of the talks, and in
 The breach 73

the days that followed meekly echoed Syria’s blaming the failure of the
Geneva summit on Israeli intransigence.
In Hariri’s calculation, a regional peace was essential for his broader
vision of restoring full sovereignty to Lebanon. With the Israelis out of
south Lebanon, Syria would be hard pressed to explain why it needed to
retain a troop and intelligence presence in the rest of the country. Fur-
thermore, peace in the Middle East would neuter Hizbullah. Lebanon and
Syria would have no tolerance for continued anti-Israeli attacks, and
the Shiite resistance group’s public profile would inevitably decline with
the end of hostilities.
‘The one thing he was preoccupied with was how he could expand the
scope of Lebanese independence,’ Ross recalls. ‘He was very hopeful that,
in the context of an Israeli–Syrian peace deal, Syria would necessarily
engage in a relaxation of its control over Lebanon. Clearly, whoever he
was talking to had convinced him that the deal was going to be done [in
Geneva]. And he was stunned [by the summit’s failure]. I can’t think of a
better way to describe it other than he was stunned.’
The failure to conclude a peace deal between Israel and Syria at Geneva
was to have far-reaching strategic implications, setting in motion a chain
of events that helped mould the current political landscape in Lebanon
and Syria and relations between Israel and the Palestinians.
The first fateful consequence of Geneva was that Barak was obliged
to withdraw unilaterally and unconditionally from Lebanon by July if
he was to fulfil a pre-electoral promise to be out within a year of assum-
ing office.2 It was a high-stakes gamble, but one that Barak felt compelled
to make. On May 21, however, the Israeli Army’s withdrawal plan
descended into chaos when several hundred Lebanese who had gathered
for a funeral on the edge of Israel’s occupation zone suddenly decided
to cross the front line and revisit their long-abandoned homes in a
near-deserted village. What started as a trickle of returning villagers
turned into an unstoppable torrent, forcing a hasty retreat of Israeli
forces and the panicked flight of some 6,000 terrified mainly Christian
residents of the occupation zone who feared retribution at the hands of
Hizbullah.
Three days later, it was all over. It was a truly historic moment in the
Arab–Israeli conflict and a triumph for Hizbullah, marking the first time
that Israel had been obliged to concede captured territory through the
force of Arab arms. Israel, Hizbullah had proved, could be defeated in
battle. The Jewish state, said Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah at a victory rally,
was ‘as weak as a spider’s web’ and the Palestinians of the Israeli-
occupied territories of the West Bank and Gaza Strip could liberate their
74 Killing Mr Lebanon

land as well if they emulated the Hizbullah model. It was a powerful

message that resonated deeply with the discontented Palestinians.
The biggest loser of Israel’s unilateral withdrawal from south Lebanon
was Syria. The tacit assumption of the previous decade was that Assad
would guarantee stability along Israel’s northern border with Lebanon if
Israel returned the Golan Heights to Damascus. The longer Israel pro-
crastinated, the more Israeli Army body bags Hizbullah would fill. But
with Israeli troops no longer dying from Hizbullah’s bombs and missiles,
Israel had less incentive to withdraw from the Golan.
Furthermore, the Israeli troop withdrawal from Lebanon was bound to
stoke increased demands from the Lebanese for a similar move by the
Syrians. Indeed, a few days before the Geneva summit, Lebanon’s An
Nahar newspaper had published an extraordinary open letter addressed
to Bashar written by Gibran Tueni, the paper’s general manager and one
of Syria’s keenest critics in Lebanon.
‘I must tell you quite frankly that many Lebanese feel that Syria’s behav-
iour in Lebanon completely contradicts the principles of sovereignty,
dignity and independence,’ Tueni wrote.
The open letter was loudly decried by the Lebanese political establish-
ment, including by Hariri’s Al-Mustaqbal newspaper, yet, if such anti-
Syrian sentiment was already beginning to stir before the Israelis had
even departed Lebanon, surely it would only grow stronger following
the liberation of the south.
Assad, however, would not bring his patient cunning and decades of
experience to bear on the new challenges facing Syria, for, just 16 days
after the last Israeli soldier walked out of Lebanon, the ‘Lion of Damascus’
was dead.
Assad’s death came days before the convening of the Baath party con-
gress, the first in 15 years, at which it was speculated that Bashar would be
given a senior position within the party, possibly the vice-presidency,
which would have helped formalise his succession. Although Bashar had
been groomed for power for six years, it was still unclear whether he was
ready to lead the nation of 17 million. However, the machinery of state
swung into action to assure a smooth transition. Hours after Assad’s
death, the Syrian parliament convened and lowered the mandatory age
for the presidency from 40 to 34, Bashar’s age. On June 11, acting presi-
dent Abdel-Halim Khaddam, who had never approved Assad’s son
becoming president, dutifully promoted Bashar to general and appointed
him commander of the Syrian armed forces.
‘It was all prearranged and orchestrated by Hafez al-Assad that on his
death it would move automatically to his son Bashar,’ Khaddam recalls.
 The breach 75

‘Trying to oppose this during that time by me would have led to a serious
confrontation in the country and it was not the proper time for this
confrontation.’3
On June 17, Bashar was elected secretary-general of the Baath party, a
position previously held by his father. Three weeks later, 97.3 per cent of
voters in a national referendum elected Bashar president and he was
inaugurated on July 17.
Bashar’s ascendancy to the presidency may have come sooner than
perhaps he or his father would have wished, but his position appeared
stable. Assad had spent the previous two years building an infrastructure
of loyalty around his son. Some of the president’s ageing comrades were
retired, and middle-ranking army officers were removed and replaced by
a younger generation of Bashar loyalists.
Hikmat Shehabi, the Syrian chief of staff and one of the few Sunnis to
hold a key security position, retired in 1998. He was replaced by General
Ali Arslan, who was a close friend of Assef Shawkat, Bashar’s brother-in-
law and a rising star in the Syrian security apparatus. In early 2000,
Shawkat was appointed deputy head of military intelligence. Shawkat’s
superior, Ali Duba, whose reputation for illicit dealings was at odds with
Bashar’s anti-corruption image, was replaced by Hassan Khalil, a member
of Syria’s negotiating team with Israel and a staunch backer of Bashar as
president.
Mohammed Nassif, from a prominent Alawite family and one of
Bashar’s key supporters, occupied the post of deputy director of the
General Security Department, the main civilian intelligence organisation.
Bahjat Suleiman, Bashar’s political godfather, was appointed to head
the internal security section of the General Security Department. Suleiman
had been the first to publicly speak of a role for Bashar in 1994 when the
country was still absorbing the impact of Basil’s death.
Rifaat al-Assad, Hafez’s estranged brother who had lived in exile since
mounting an attempted coup in 1983, was stripped of his title as vice-
president. The previous October, Bashar had ordered a crackdown on
Rifaat’s loyalists in the coastal city of Latakia, a warning to his uncle not to
interfere in the coming succession.
While Assad undertook measures to bolster his son’s domestic position,
Hariri used his global influence to help smooth Bashar’s reception with
world leaders. He persuaded his friend Jacques Chirac, the French presi-
dent, to meet Bashar in Paris in November 1999, the future Syrian leader’s
first official encounter with a Western head of state. Days before Bashar’s
inauguration, a group of four prominent Saudi companies, including
Hariri’s Oger, announced they were planning to invest as much as $400
76 Killing Mr Lebanon

million in Syria to fund projects in communications, agriculture, tourism

and industry, to ‘coincide with the beginning of the rule of Dr Bashar
Assad’.
‘It was a show of support for Bashar that Saudi companies were
interested in Syria,’ says Saad Hariri. But within a year, the consortium
would have pulled out almost all its investments when, according to
Saad, it became clear that the funds were being exploited for the benefit of
figures close to the Syrian regime.4
‘It turned into a disaster,’ Saad says with a rueful chuckle. ‘We started
withdrawing [our investments], us and others, because we saw there was
no [financial] benefit.’
Still, in those initial months of Bashar’s presidency, Hariri was full of
glowing praise for the young Syrian leader, telling CNN that Bashar
‘knows Syria very well’, was a ‘big believer in peace’ and ‘wants to
upgrade the life of the Syrian people’.
Other than Chirac, Hariri pressed Arab leaders including Crown Prince
Abdullah of Saudi Arabia, President Mubarak of Egypt and King Abdullah
of Jordan to assist the new Syrian leader to find his feet.
‘The whole story of Bashar’s entry on the international scene was down
to Rafik Hariri. He lobbied like hell for him,’ says a former advisor to
Hariri.5
Hariri’s hope that Bashar would spearhead a fundamental change
in the one-sided relationship between Lebanon and Syria appeared to
have some basis, according to Patrick Seale, the British journalist and
biographer of Hafez al-Assad.
Seale recalls Bashar telling him in those early months of his presidency
that he saw no need for a ‘hands-on military control’ of Lebanon.
‘He told me that he didn’t see a reason for Syria to run Lebanon on a
daily basis and that, as long as some red lines were observed, such as no
separate peace treaty with Israel, then Lebanon could run its own affairs,’
Seale recalls.
Bashar’s arrival in the presidency represented a new opportunity for
both Lebanon and Syria, and Hariri wanted to be there for it. Parlia-
mentary elections in Lebanon were drawing near and Hariri was working
hard building political alliances to stage a triumph at the polls which
would allow him to overcome Lahoud’s objections and return to the
premiership.
On becoming president in 1998, Lahoud had launched an anti-
corruption drive against Hariri and his allies, purging the civil service of
anyone close to the former prime minister. The campaign against Hariri
initially was greeted with a certain amount of schadenfreude in Lebanon
 The breach 77

with lurid accounts of corruption and illicit deals among the tycoon’s
cronies making for compulsive reading in the media. But public support
gradually paled as Lahoud’s anti-corruption campaign increasingly
appeared to be window dressing for a personal vendetta against Hariri
rather than a broad purge of the incompetent and the dishonest. Further-
more, the president’s unabashed pro-Syrian sympathies were at variance
with his earlier public image of moral certitude and independence. What
had happened to the Maronite strong man who was to redress Christian
grievances and place Lebanon on an even footing in its relationship with
Syria?
The attacks on the former government emanated from an increasingly
militarised administration set up by Lahoud, who appointed loyal col-
leagues from the ministry of defence to key administrative positions.
General Michel Suleiman replaced Lahoud as army commander even
though he was a junior member of the general staff. His appointment led
to the retirement of several older generals whose training and past con-
nections with the West worked against them. Lahoud’s aide-de-camp,
Brigadier General Mustafa Hamdan, was appointed commander of the
Republican Guard. This elite and well-equipped unit was expanded from
1,500 soldiers during Hrawi’s mandate to around 4,000.
Jamil Sayyed was promoted from deputy head of military intelli-
gence to run the General Security Department, the Surete Generale, the
most powerful of the state’s security institutions. Sayyed was Lahoud’s
inseparable shadow, providing advice on a raft of issues and chaperoning
the president on overseas trips and at his meetings with senior Syrian
officials. Sayyed’s office in the General Security headquarters became an
obligatory stop-off for foreign diplomats on their routine diplomatic
rounds of Lebanon’s most senior officials, knowing that this was where
the real power lay in Lebanon.6
Critics likened Lahoud’s regime to that of Fouad Chehab, a former
army commander who served as president from 1958 to 1964 and is
remembered for his disdain toward the civilian authorities. But Lahoud’s
intention, according to Lebanese Army and intelligence officers, was
to mirror the structure of the Syrian regime, building a military and intel-
ligence apparatus to shadow, undermine and manipulate the civilian
administration run by the government.7
The advantage of Lahoud to the Syrians was that the president had no
independent source of power and owed his status solely to Syrian patron-
age. But Lahoud also had his opponents in the Syrian regime, such
as Abdel-Halim Khaddam and Ghazi Kanaan, whose ties to Hariri and
Jumblatt remained firm despite the gradual changing of the guard in
78 Killing Mr Lebanon

Damascus as Bashar’s influence increased. In early 2000, Kanaan inter-

vened to dampen Lahoud’s campaign against Hariri, inviting the former
premier and Fouad Siniora to a party in the Bekaa attended by senior
Syrian military intelligence officers and pro-Syrian politicians.
‘He announced to everyone that “there is no zaim [leader] but Rafik
Hariri”,’ recalls Qassem Qanso, the then secretary-general of the Lebanese
branch of the Baath party, who attended the gathering. ‘It was a message
to Lahoud that, if he tried to break Hariri, Kanaan would break Lahoud.’8
In a further attempt to dilute Lahoud’s power, Kanaan, with the assist-
ance of Jamil Sayyed, hammered out an electoral law (subsequently
dubbed the ‘Ghazi Kanaan Law’) designed to help Hariri succeed in the
parliamentary elections planned for late summer 2000.9
As the parliamentary elections drew closer, the embattled Lahoud
regime increased its criticism of Hariri, using the state-run Tele Liban
television station to air satirical propaganda, caricaturing Hariri as a
bloated whale in one and using the theme from The Godfather to depict
Hariri as a mafia don in another.
Hariri fought back through his own media empire, playing on the fail-
ure of the Hoss government to tackle the worsening economic crisis. The
debt had reached $22 billion by the summer of 2000. Once more, Hariri
was being hailed as the economic ‘miracle worker’, the saviour who
would return to steer Lebanon out of its financial woes.
The elections saw Hariri and his opposition allies smash the govern-
ment’s candidates in all areas except the south and the Bekaa, the trad-
itional Shiite domains. In Beirut, Hariri and his allies captured all but one
of the 19 seats available. It was a rout in which even Prime Minister Hoss
lost his seat in parliament. Hariri could not be denied the premiership
after his electoral triumph, and Damascus calculated that, if his return
helped revive the economy, then Syria would benefit as well.
Yet Hariri and his close colleagues knew that they faced a potentially
troublesome period ahead having to deal with Lahoud, who was deeply
unhappy that his rival had muscled his way back into power. Some
friends of Hariri even tried to persuade him not to accept the premier-
ship, calculating that letting the president ‘simmer in his economic and
administrative troubles’ would hasten an early collapse of the regime.
‘Hariri accepted because Lebanon had just been liberated from Israeli
occupation and he saw an opportunity to revive the financial and eco-
nomic situation in the country which was always his dream,’ says Marwan
Hamade. ‘But all we did was give Lahoud new blood.’
The relationship with Lahoud was not the only challenge lying in wait
for Hariri. His comeback as prime minister coincided with the return of a
 The breach 79

spectre that had plagued his previous governments and one he hoped had
ended with the Israeli troop withdrawal – Hizbullah’s guerrilla fighters
were back in action in south Lebanon.
In the five months following Israel’s flight from the south, Hizbullah
units had deployed up to the Blue Line, the UN name for the boundary
corresponding to the border behind which Israel was required by the UN
to withdraw. Hizbullah men in civilian clothes carrying binoculars and
walkie-talkies monitored Israeli troop movements on the other side of the
fence from several small observation posts along the Blue Line, while
armed fighters in camouflage uniforms and helmets patrolled the remoter
sectors. In response to persistent calls from the UN and the international
community, the Lebanese government in August dispatched a 1,000-
strong force of soldiers and paramilitary police to the former occupation
zone, but it did not interfere with Hizbullah’s control of the border itself.
The Blue Line runs for 110 kilometres from the chalk cliffs of Ras
Naqoura on the Mediterranean coast in the west to the craggy limestone
foothills of Mount Hermon in the east. The last 13 kilometres of the
boundary follow the edge of the Shebaa Farms, a 25-square-kilometre
mountainside at the northern end of the Golan Heights which was
occupied by Israeli forces following the 1967 Arab–Israeli war. When
Israel pulled out of south Lebanon in May 2000, it retained its military
positions in the Shebaa Farms declaring that the area was Syrian, not
Lebanese. The Hoss government, prodded by Damascus, insisted that the
area was Lebanese and that the Israeli occupation could not be considered
ended until the Farms were returned to Lebanon.
Before 2000, few Lebanese had heard of the Shebaa Farms and fewer
still knew exactly where it lay, the remote mountain slope only lingering
in the memory of people living in adjacent villages. Beirut’s inept hand-
ling of its territorial claim to the Shebaa Farms persuaded the UN to
conclude that the weight of historical and documentary evidence pointed
to Syrian ownership. Israel’s presence, therefore, was subject to UN Secur-
ity Council resolutions regarding the occupation of Syrian territory, not
Lebanese.
The debate over the sovereignty of the Shebaa Farms was not merely an
arcane territorial dispute. If Israel ignored Lebanon’s claim to the Shebaa
Farms and maintained its military presence, it could provide a sufficient,
albeit contrived, justification for Hizbullah to renew its resistance activ-
ities, furnishing Syria with a new point of pressure against the Jewish
state. The Israeli troop withdrawal had narrowed Syria’s bargaining
options in retrieving the Golan from Israeli occupation, and also promised
to undermine Syria’s control over Lebanon. Since the collapse of the
80 Killing Mr Lebanon

Geneva summit in March, the US had abandoned the Syria track for a last-
minute breakthrough deal between Israel and the Palestinians on which to
conclude the Clinton presidency. Syria, with its untested young president,
was left to stew. In that context, the remote barren hillside of the Shebaa
Farms assumed a strategic importance to Syria. Fomenting a low-scale
guerrilla conflict in the Farms, with its attendant risk of igniting a broader
conflict, would remind the US and Israel that Syria still had teeth and
would not remain passive while its regional assets were stripped away.
The trigger for the new Hizbullah offensive came on September 28
with the outbreak of the Palestinian Al-Aqsa intifada. Seven days later,
Hizbullah’s fighters struck, snatching three Israeli soldiers across the Blue
Line in the Shebaa Farms area in a well-planned and coordinated ambush.
That afternoon, the hills and wadis of south Lebanon resounded once
more to the crack of artillery shells as Israeli guns pounded the edges of
villages opposite the Shebaa Farms while helicopter gunships clattered
overhead.
Hizbullah announced that it was willing to swap the three captured
soldiers for the 20 Lebanese detainees which Israel had unwisely failed to
release when it withdrew from Lebanon five months earlier.
Hizbullah demonstrated that the kidnapping of the three soldiers was
not an isolated incident by announcing the kidnapping of an Israeli army
colonel in an elaborate sting operation a week later and by staging two
roadside bomb attacks in November against Israeli patrols on the edge of
the Shebaa Farms, killing one soldier and wounding three others.
The timing of the Shebaa Farms campaign may have served the inter-
ests of Syria and Hizbullah but it threatened to complicate Hariri’s plans
to reverse the economic recession and encourage renewed investment in
Lebanon. Hariri already faced difficulties with Lahoud over the com-
position of the new government. The president had installed his allies at
the ministries of telecommunications, electricity and industry, to thwart
Hariri’s programme of privatising state utilities, the cornerstone of his
economic recovery plan. Walid Jumblatt, the prominent Druze leader,
attacked the president’s meddling and predicted pessimistically that
Hariri and Lahoud ‘will not even work for one second. There is no
harmony between the two men.’
Meanwhile, a fresh challenge to Syrian domination was stirring in the
Christian and Druze heartland of Mount Lebanon. Hafez al-Assad’s
concerns about the effect of the Israeli withdrawal on Syria’s status
in Lebanon were well founded. The Christians, particularly Cardinal
Nasrallah Sfeir, the Maronite patriarch, were growing more vocal in call-
ing for a Syrian troop redeployment as enshrined in the Taif Accord. In
 The breach 81

September, a conclave of Maronite bishops delivered an unprecedented

attack against Syrian domination, complaining that ‘the situation has
become intolerable – Lebanon has lost its sovereignty faced with a
hegemony imposed on all its institutions’.
Damascus was able to ignore such demands when they were expressed
soley by the marginalised Christians, and the Israelis were still occu-
pying the south. But in the autumn of 2000, Walid Jumblatt joined
with the Christians in a budding alliance that overturned centuries of
enmity between the two neighbouring Mount Lebanon communities and
promised to be an influential new anti-Syrian front.
Jumblatt recommended that Syrian forces in Lebanon be ‘redeployed’
and called for an end to Syria’s ‘unwarranted interference’ in Lebanese
affairs. It was the first time since 1990 that a senior non-Christian figure
had publicly criticised the Syrian presence, let alone an ally of Syria who
had served Damascus well during the Lebanese war. The furious Syrian
authorities declared Jumblatt persona non grata in Damascus and had their
allies in Lebanon issue veiled threats against the Druze leader.10
Anti-Syrian unrest grew in early 2001 with students at mainly Christian
universities holding sit-ins and demonstrations. In March, Cardinal Sfeir
took his message to the United States and Canada on a five-week tour
which was closely followed by the Lebanese back home. One sour note of
the trip was the refusal of the new American president, George W. Bush,
and his administration to meet Sfeir. The White House said it would be
inapproriate to grant an audience to the cardinal before having met the
Lebanese president and prime minister. The attacks of September 11 were
still half a year away and, in these early months of the Bush presidency,
policy toward Syria followed the ‘constructive engagement’ of previous
administrations.
More alarming for the Syrian authorities than the alliance between
the Christians and Druze was the surfacing of a few Sunni and Shiite
figures who added their voices to calls for a more balanced relationship
with Syria. Although their numbers were few – a smattering of journal-
ists, feudal chieftains and liberal politicians – it cracked the façade of
unspoken Muslim unanimity in support of the Syrian presence. It was
often said that the Syrians could only enter Lebanon with the support
of the Christians and would only leave if they lost the support of
the Muslims. Damascus could not afford to stand by and watch the
emergence of a cross-sectarian consensus against its rule in Lebanon.
Some of Syria’s more robust allies were activated in a calculated move
to stir up the spectre of sectarian unrest. A group of Sunni clerics in north
Lebanon organised by Syrian intelligence as the ‘Akkar Ulemma’ released
82 Killing Mr Lebanon

a statement warning that Christians in the area would be attacked unless

Sfeir dropped his anti-Syrian tirade. An anti-Syrian MP had his office
firebombed, a letter bomb wounded the niece and sister of a former minis-
ter who was close to Jumblatt, and pro-Syrian Muslim extremists issued
statements vowing to fight Christians with ‘teeth, clubs and kitchen
knives’. Syrian and Lebanese intelligence promoted alternative centres of
Sunni influence, such as facilitating the re-emergence of the Mourabitoun,
a Sunni wartime militia that had fallen foul of Syria in the mid-1980s and
had been chased out of Beirut, and orchestrating an aggressive demon-
stration by Al-Ahbash, a Sufi-inspired Islamist organisation that opposes
the Salafi ideology of Al-Qaeda. The Al-Ahbash followers brandished
clubs and knives and yelled threats in a carefully choreographed attempt
to provide suitably ferocious images for the media.
The campaign of incitement was contrived, transparently so, yet such
is the nature of Lebanon that the incidents helped re-kindle the perpetu-
ally smouldering embers of sectarianism. That sentiment was evident in
the working-class quarters of Ain Roumaineh, a Christian district, and its
Shiite neighbour, Shiyah, in southern Beirut where tensions were run-
ning high as the country prepared to mark the twenty-sixth anniversary
of the outbreak of the civil war on April 13. The opening shots of the
conflict were fired in these rundown streets of drab apartment blocks
and small stores, and in April 2001 the residents were once more speak-
ing of war.
‘I am ready to fight Muslims or Syrians, it doesn’t matter. All my friends
feel this way,’ said 16-year-old Adib to the nodding approval of his grand-
father who sipped a cup of coffee outside a small café in Ain Roumaineh.
Others spoke darkly of Muslim yearnings to drive all Christians from
Lebanon. ‘In 1958, they had a plan to make a Muslim nation. They want
all the Christians to go. That plan is still there,’ said one. Some blamed the
tensions on the Syrians while others spoke of rumoured acts of vandal-
ism, such as anti-Christian graffiti, and violence: a priest in the Beirut
suburb of Hadath was beaten and stripped of his robes.
A few streets away where the small glass-fronted shrines to Lebanese
saints gave way to stencilled logos of the Amal Movement and tattered
portraits of Hizbullah ‘martyrs’, Fahed Salloum, a 25-year-old Shiite,
blamed the tensions on Cardinal Sfeir, that ‘little virus’ who was ‘causing
trouble between us’.
‘I hope Sayyed Hassan [Nasrallah] issues a fatwa against the patriarch. I
will be the first martyr. I hope there will be a war so that there will be an
Islamic nation,’ he said. But his friends scoffed at him and shook their
heads. ‘There’s no problem between us and the Christians. They saw the
 The breach 83

Ahbash on the streets with their knives and sticks and they got scared,’
said Tariq.
Most of the comments were bluster rather than laden with intent. Yet it
exposed just how easily Lebanon’s lingering communal tensions could be
manipulated and aggravated by third parties.
The Syrians attempted to bolster Lahoud’s flagging popularity by
releasing in December 45 Lebanese detainees, saying it was in response to
a request by the Lebanese president. In mid-June, some 7,000 Syrian sol-
diers abandoned their positions in Beirut in what was the first significant
redeployment since the end of the war. Battered old military trucks
painted in garishly bright green ground up the highway from Beirut
toward the Bekaa with beaming Syrian soldiers waving rifles and por-
traits of Bashar. It was stated publicly that the decision for the redeploy-
ment had been made by the Lebanese and Syrian presidents several
months earlier but had been put on hold because of the anti-Syrian pro-
tests in the spring. The implicit message was that only Lahoud could
achieve the departure of Syrian troops, while displays of anti-Syrian
sentiment would stall the process.
Tensions also were building along Lebanon’s southern frontier where
Hizbullah’s sporadic hit-and-run raids against Israeli forces in the Shebaa
Farms not only risked provoking a major Israeli offensive, but also threat-
ened to jeopardise Hariri’s globe-trotting campaign to rustle up grants,
soft loans and investment funds to revive the economy.11 In February,
Hariri visited Paris, accompanied by his core economic and financial
team, to prepare for a donors’ conference later that month hosted by
Chirac and attended by the World Bank and European Union officials.
Hariri reassured the potential donors that there would be no provocations
from Lebanon along its southern border with Israel.
‘We have a clear agreement with our Syrian brothers in this matter,’ he
said. ‘There will be no provocations on our part.’
The next day, however, Hizbullah fighters attacked an Israeli vehicle
with an anti-tank missile, killing a soldier. It was the first assault by
Hizbullah since the end of November and appeared to be a deliberate
riposte to Hariri’s presumption in speaking on behalf of the resistance.
The attack embarrassed Hariri and threatened to stem the anticipated
flow of funds that had been secured in Paris. He hurried back to Lebanon
and held a flurry of crisis meetings with Bashar, Lahoud, Hizbullah offi-
cials and the Iranian ambassador, struggling to win a moratorium on
military operations in the Shebaa Farms. Ehud Barak, Israel’s outgoing
prime minister, was about to be replaced by Ariel Sharon, the god-
father of the 1982 invasion of Lebanon. Hariri was worried that the belli-
84 Killing Mr Lebanon

cose Sharon would not hesitate in launching devastating attacks against

Lebanon. Like a growing number of Lebanese, Hariri resented Lebanon’s
economic revival being held captive to Syria’s strategic interests in regain-
ing the Golan Heights from Israel, which, after all, was the ulterior
purpose behind the Shebaa Farms campaign.
In frustration, he released a statement questioning Hizbullah’s mono-
poly of guerrilla operations against Israel. Stung by the criticism, Hizbullah
held several urgent meetings with the premier, at the end of which both
parties announced they had reached an ‘understanding’. No details were
given, however, and it remained unclear how Hariri’s ambition of rebuild-
ing the economy could be reconciled with Hizbullah’s determination to
continue waging its war against Israel.
Hariri recognized that the continuation of Hizbullah’s armed status
was inimical to the future prosperity of Lebanon, but he understood that
the party could not be disarmed by force without provoking a new civil
war, even if the Syrians were to agree to such a move.
‘Hariri took a very pragmatic approach to Hizbullah – as he did toward
most issues – and applied a businessman’s logic of where the bottom-line
interests lay,’ says a foreign diplomat closely involved in Lebanon affairs
who knew Hariri for over 25 years.12 ‘Hariri saw Hizbullah’s continued
status as an armed “state-within-a-state” as wholly inconsistent with
Lebanon’s ability to project an image – and reality – of security and stab-
ility essential to secure investment and economic development. Thus,
disarming of Hizbullah and integration of Hizbullah into the Lebanese
political mainstream were ultimate goals that had to be pursued in
Lebanon’s long-term interest.’
By the summer of 2001, fears of an imminent violent and sustained
confrontation between Hizbullah and Israel had diminished as both sides
assimilated the new ‘rules of the game’ governing the conflict. The Shebaa
Farms became the locus of Hizbullah’s military action and was tacitly
tolerated by the Israeli government as long as the fighting remained
confined to the remote unpopulated mountainside.
Hariri’s difficulties with Hizbullah, however, paled in comparison to his
troubled relationship with Lahoud who, as far as Hariri and his allies were
concerned, seemed intent on thwarting the premier’s projects and policies.
The struggle for the control of Lebanon was growing more bitter
and keenly contested as the fortunes of both sides waxed and waned.
Hariri, backed by Ghazi Kanaan and Abdel-Halim Khaddam, had dom-
inated much of the post-war period, only to be checked in 1998 by the
growing influence in Damascus of Bashar and his support for Lahoud,
who was elected president that year. After two years on the sidelines,
 The breach 85

the Hariri camp struck back in 2000, taking advantage of the death of
Hafez al-Assad to fix the electoral law against Lahoud while Bashar was
preoccupied with the presidential succession in Damascus.
But now it was Hariri’s turn to be on the defensive as a resurgent
Lahoud, enjoying the full backing of Bashar and bolstered by his Lebanese
allies in the government, remorselessly chipped away at the prime
minister’s authority.
In 2002, the Syrians quietly backed a campaign to replace Hariri
with Prince Walid bin Talal, a half-Saudi, half-Lebanese business tycoon,
described as the world’s sixth-richest man. Bin Talal, who was investing
heavily in hotel construction in Beirut, publicly backed Lahoud in the
president’s battles with Hariri, and showed little hesitancy in speaking his
mind about how to redress Lebanon’s economic ills. At the official open-
ing in July 2002 of his $140 million Movenpick hotel set in a Beirut cliff
overlooking the Mediterranean, bin Talal outlined to an audience stuffed
with top Lebanese officials an economic recovery plan for Lebanon, which
the media described as a ‘policy statement’ for a future government
headed by bin Talal.
Ghazi Aridi, the information minister and ally of Hariri, quipped the
next day that, ‘if the government is changed every time a new hotel is
built in Lebanon, we will be having 15 or 20 new cabinets lined up for the
next few months’. But he admitted that there is a ‘crisis of mistrust’
between Hariri and Lahoud.
Prior to cabinet sessions, ministers would be handed instructions in
sealed envelopes from the presidency telling them how to vote on each
proposal tabled for the meeting. When Lahoud chaired the sessions he
would often ignore Hariri, refusing to let him speak or cutting him off
mid-sentence.13
During one heated cabinet debate, Hariri felt compelled to vote against
his own proposal after it was rejected by Lahoud. According to a cabinet
colleague, Hariri explained his decision, saying ‘If I hadn’t voted with
Lahoud, he would have gone to the Syrians and told them that I’m block-
ing them and destroying the stability of the regime. You can do that, but
I can’t.’14
Fares Boueiz, the foreign minister in Hariri’s governments of the 1990s,
recalls meeting Bashar in 2002 and advising the Syrian president that
Lahoud’s disrespectful treatment of Hariri was a dangerous mistake
that would make a ‘Sunni martyr’ out of the prime minister.15
‘We as Christians don’t want history to write that Emile Lahoud as a
Maronite used an external power to attack and threaten a Sunni prime
minister,’ Boueiz recalls telling Bashar.
86 Killing Mr Lebanon

Furthermore, he asked, what would happen to the Lebanese economy if

Hariri resigned?
‘Assad smiled and told me, “Don’t be afraid. Hariri will never leave
office. We have him nailed to his chair. He will stay because he can’t refuse
anything from us, whatever we do to him,” ’ Boueiz says.
While Hariri was locked into his struggle with Lahoud, Syria’s relations
with the United States were steadily deteriorating, a consequence of
Washington’s determination to oust Saddam Hussein and Bashar’s refusal
to cooperate. His father may have recognised the strategic benefits of
allying with the US against Iraq in 1990, but the geo-political circum-
stances had changed 12 years on. Syria and Iraq had embarked on a rap-
prochement in 1997 ending decades of animosity between the two rival
branches of the Baath party which ruled both countries. Syrian trade with
Iraq under the ‘oil-for-food’ programme reached an estimated $1 billion
in 2001, double the 2000 figure. Syria was suspected of illegally earning
another $1 billion to $1.5 billion a year from smuggled Iraqi oil which
was used to satisfy domestic needs, freeing up Syrian crude for export,
earning the regime much-needed hard currency.
The Bush administration’s broader ambition that Saddam Hussein’s
removal would trigger the fall of other totalitarian regimes in the region
was another pressing reason for Syria to oppose the planned invasion.
Furthermore, Bashar appeared to calculate that it would not be to Syria’s
disadvantage to unfurl and hoist the colours of Arab nationalism, tapping
into the seething anti-American sentiment on the Arab ‘street’ which
adamantly opposed the planned invasion of Iraq. Let other Arab nations
such as Jordan, Saudi Arabia and Egypt cower behind American tanks;
Syria would remain a bastion of Arab resolve and defiance. It was a
message with which many ordinary Arabs agreed.
The rhetoric between Damascus and Washington reached unprece-
dented levels of hostility in the days following the invasion of Iraq
in March 2003. The speed with which the Iraqi regime fell stunned
and dismayed the Syrian authorities and suggested that Damascus had
committed a serious strategic blunder in tying its colours to Saddam
Hussein’s teetering flagpole.
With American tanks parked in the overthrown dictator’s palaces and
Washington triumphant, neighbouring Syria suddenly looked particu-
larly vulnerable. US officials took to describing Syria as ‘low-hanging
fruit’, easy to pick off.
At the beginning of May, Colin Powell travelled to Damascus and
put on the table before Bashar a list of all the outstanding grievances the
US had with Syria. They went through the list one by one, agreeing on
 The breach 87

some points, disagreeing on others. But one major concession Powell

extracted from Bashar was a promise that, by the end of the year, Syrian
troops would be redeployed to the Bekaa in compliance with the Taif
Accord.
Powell was pleased with the visit, but Hariri was more sceptical. On
being told the news by an aide, Hariri asked ‘Does this mean they will
withdraw the army and the intelligence?’16
When the aide said he did not know, Hariri predicted that the Syrians
would not withdraw, adding ‘If they were serious, they could withdraw
next month. Why wait until the end of the year?’
Hariri would have felt justified in his scepticism given that two weeks
earlier Damascus had instituted a change of government in Lebanon
which had resulted in the most pro-Syrian cabinet line-up since 1989.
It included such loyalist stalwarts as Qassem Qanso, the head of the
Lebanese branch of the Baath party, and Assad Hardan, the head of the
Syrian Social Nationalist party. Although Hariri was retained as premier,
he and his allies understood that the composition of the government not
only strengthened Damascus’s control over Lebanon at a time of
heightened international pressure, but it also imposed further restraints
on Hariri’s ability to push his policies.17
Hariri’s friends, political colleagues and family urged him to resign. Let
the economy collapse. That would remind Lahoud and his Syrian backers
of Hariri’s value. But Hariri refused to quit. He was locked into the prem-
iership by his need to appease the Syrians and an unflinching optimism
that the situation would improve. He blamed his difficulties on Lahoud
and the Lebanese–Syrian security framework rather than the Syrian
leadership itself. Although the formation of the April 2003 government
would later be regarded as a milestone on the road to Hariri’s eventual
break with Syria, he continued to strive for a healthy relationship with the
Syrian regime. He understood that Syria, as a larger, more powerful
neighbour, represented an immutable fact of life for Lebanon, with the
fate of both countries inextricably linked. Furthermore, abandoning the
premiership at this critical juncture would mean throwing away every-
thing he had striven for since 1992.
‘He told us to go suck a lemon,’ says Saad Hariri. ‘He always talked
about it with us but I believe he couldn’t leave politics because they
wouldn’t let him. They just wanted to weaken him and weaken him and
weaken him. Also . . . he used to look at the bigger picture and saw his
suffering as a temporary problem that would pass.’18
Five months earlier, Hariri had achieved one of the greatest coups of
his premiership in persuading Jacques Chirac to host in Paris a donor
88 Killing Mr Lebanon

conference on behalf of Lebanon, a follow-up to the smaller conference of

February 2001. The Paris II conference, grouping 18 of the world’s richest
and most powerful countries along with eight international lending
institutions, raised around $4.3 billion in financial support for Lebanon in
exchange for promises of administrative and economic reforms, including
privatising state utilities and slashing public spending. Hariri had worked
hard to prepare the way for the conference, which was hailed by the
Lebanese media as a ‘glorious success’. He had received promises from
Nabih Berri that legislation concerning privatisation of state utilities
would pass unhindered in parliament. Even Chirac had interceded with
Bashar and Lahoud during a visit to Lebanon and Syria a month prior to
the conference to win assurances that the promised reforms would be
implemented smoothly and on time. Therefore, even with an unfavour-
able cabinet line-up, how could Hariri step down from the premiership
just as the government was about to push ahead with fulfilling the
promises of Paris II?
‘He thought at the time that the commitments made by Bashar to him
and the main donors of Paris II would stand and his main mission would
be to implement what was agreed at the conference,’ says Marwan
Hamade, the economy minister in the new cabinet.19 ‘He understood pro-
gressively that the change in cabinet was meant to block the results
of Paris II and deprive him of any merit in getting the economy back on
its feet.’
Months before the formation of the new government, Syria’s military
intelligence structure in Lebanon was reshuffled when Major General
Rustom Ghazaleh replaced the long-serving Ghazi Kanaan as intelligence
chief.
Kanaan’s recall was prompted in part by his hostile relationship with
Lahoud which had never truly recovered from the Syrian general’s tinker-
ing with the electoral law of 2000 which had helped Hariri back to the
premiership. Kanaan, who was appointed head of the Political Security
Department in Damascus, was also regarded as being too close to Hariri,
an Alawite ‘baron’ who had befriended the regime’s Sunni ‘enemy’.
‘In 2000, they hit back at us and Hariri returned to power on a white
horse with Walid Jumblatt,’ says Wiam Wahhab, the pro-Syrian politician.
‘But when Rustom Ghazaleh took over from Kanaan it severed the link
between Hariri and his Syrian friends.’20
Ghazaleh, until then the head of Syrian military intelligence in Beirut,
was a dour, secretive man with a dome-like forehead and thick, dark hair
whose chubby frame was squeezed into expensive suits and crisply
ironed shirts. He lacked the experience and charisma of his predecessor.
 The breach 89

Kanaan had combined cold ruthlessness with a deep understanding and

even affection for the Lebanese milieu, but Ghazaleh, says an ambassador
in Beirut, was ‘clodhopping, brutal and stupid’.21
‘Ghazi Kanaan was a gentleman, but Ghazaleh was a thug who cruelly
humiliated Rafik Hariri. A most disagreeable gangster.’
Describing Kanaan as a gentleman may make more than a few Lebanese
wince, but Syria’s veteran ‘high commissioner’ ran Lebanon with the
confidence of a senior official in the Syrian regime and a contemporary of
Hafez al-Assad, able to adapt his orders as he saw fit and not intimidated
by the manipulations of Jamil Sayyed, Lahoud and their allies. Ghazaleh,
on the other hand, was a mere factotum, carrying out his orders while
‘easily buyable with financial privileges’, according to a former Lebanese
minister who knew the Syrian officer well.22
Nohad Mashnouq, an advisor to Hariri in the 1990s who knew both
Kanaan and Ghazaleh, says, ‘I don’t think he [Ghazaleh] hated Hariri
inside, but he could not dare say this. Ghazaleh didn’t have the power of
Kanaan.’23
Under Ghazaleh’s watch, the level of corruption, which was already
high, increased steadily at the expense of the Lebanese economy.
A glaring example of the Syrian-endorsed racketeering system broke in
early 2003 with the collapse of the Al-Madina bank with unexplained
losses of over $1 billion. The scandal gripped the Lebanese. It was a rare
glimpse into the murky world of corruption and embezzlement involving
senior Lebanese and Syrian officials. The Lebanese media were intimi-
dated not to fully investigate the scandal, concentrating instead on the
publicity-hungry Rana Koleilat, a humble bank teller who mysteriously
rose to become chief aide to a co-owner of the bank. Koleilat apparently
was at the heart of much of Al-Madina’s illegal activities. Some of the
jucier details of the scandal seeped out into the public domain, involving
powerful Lebanese and Syrian figures. According to a report in US News,
a New York-based firm of investigators allegedly discovered that, in
a one-month period ending in January 2003, Koleilat used Al-Madina
funds to pay $941,000 to Ghazaleh’s brothers. Two months later, Koleilat
allegedly gave Ghazaleh a $300,000 ‘donation’ from the bank’s funds. She
is also said to have paid Elias Murr, the then interior minister and son-in-
law of Lahoud, $10 million for a villa which was subsequently valued by
the Lebanese authorities at $2.5 million.24
‘Greed’, says Saad Hariri, ‘was the reason for the Syrians’ downfall in
Lebanon. Rustom Ghazaleh and this bunch of intelligence officers only
cared about filling their pockets, a mafia with political power. The big
difference between Hafez al-Assad and Bashar al-Assad is that Hafez
90 Killing Mr Lebanon

used money for political purposes, but Bashar al-Assad uses politics to
make money. And this combination is a disaster.’
From April, with the formation of the new government, Hariri found
his key economic and reform policies stifled by his own government as
the battles in the cabinet worsened. From May to June the government
was unable to hold regular meetings due to disagreements over the
agenda.
On June 16, two rockets were fired into Hariri’s Future TV station in
Beirut, burning a television studio but causing no casualties. An unheard-
of Islamist group claimed responsibility for what most Lebanese regarded
as an ominous warning of Syrian displeasure with Hariri’s opposition to
Lahoud.
The Council for Development and Reconstruction, which had played
the lead role in carrying out the rehabiliation of Lebanon’s infrastructure
in the 1990s, had its powers limited and was made more accountable to
the cabinet rather than the prime minister’s office. CDR officials could
only watch in frustration as pending reconstruction schemes were put on
hold or unfolding projects ground to a halt at a cost of millions of dollars.
‘We were given soft loans with grace periods but we were unable to
proceed with the projects because Lahoud would block the land expropri-
ations,’ says Hisham Nasser, CDR’s vice-president from January 2002 to
October 2004. ‘For three years we were stuck. We had $3 billion worth of
projects. All they had to do was approve $250 million worth of expropri-
ations. These obstacles by Lahoud set Lebanon back by three years.’25
In the summer of 2003, Lebanon was beset with power outages as the
cash-strapped electricity utility, Electricite du Liban, lacked funds to pay
for fuel oil for the country’s power plants. A Lebanese delegation negoti-
ated a deal to buy fuel oil at a preferential rate directly from the Kuwaiti
government, a state-to-state arrangement that would cut out the exorbi-
tant fees charged by middlemen. But the transaction was not approved by
the cabinet, in part because of the powerful Lebanese and Syrian interests
involved in the oil importation racket which stood to lose out if the deal
went ahead.26
Projects in the Solidere area of central Beirut were frozen, including
the construction of the new souk which was set to house the largest
concentration of retail and entertainment activity in the city. The govern-
ment’s procrastination in passing a decree to authorise the souk’s con-
struction led several prestigious retail companies to locate their outlets
at competitor sites.
It was an intensely frustrating period for Hariri, which he would subtly
intimate to visiting diplomats.
 The breach 91

‘He would never say anything against Lahoud to us, nothing quotable,
but it was very clear what he meant through the use of raised eyebrows
and wry smiles,’ says one ambassador.27
Although Hariri would try to remain buoyant and optimistic in public,
occasionally he let his guard slip to reveal his true feelings toward Lahoud.
‘He [Lahoud] does not want to reconcile with me,’ he told As Safir daily
after one particularly tense cabinet session in September. ‘I do not want to
have a problem with him but he insists on provoking me.’ Hariri added
that Lahoud was demanding his support for an extension to his presiden-
tial term, ‘but I have no role in that and he knows very well that the matter
is in the hands of another party’.
That other party, Syria, was keeping its options open regarding an add-
itional term for Lahoud, although the overtly pro-Syrian composition
of the April 2003 cabinet indicated that that was what Damascus had
in mind.
For Damascus, prolonging Lahoud’s presidency would provide con-
tinuity and stability as Syria’s relations with the United States continued
to deteriorate. In October, the US Congress approved the long-pending
Syria Accountability Act which threatened sanctions against Damascus
unless it fulfilled a host of conditions that appeared to suit the security
needs of Israel rather than respect the sovereignty of Lebanon. Among the
demands were a Syrian withdrawal from Lebanon, ceasing support for
terrorist groups, abandoning the development of ballistic missiles and
weapons of mass destruction, refraining from violating UN sanctions
against Iraq, evicting Hizbullah and Iranian Revolutionary Guards along
the border with Israel and replacing them with Lebanese troops, and
entering into unconditional peace talks with Israel. Bush waited until May
2004 before authorising a raft of sanctions against Syria, including prohib-
iting the export of US goods to Syria, excluding humanitarian supplies,
and banning Syrian Airways flights to and from the US.
In reaction to the passing of the act, Bashar described the Bush adminis-
tration as a bunch of ‘fanatics’ and warmongers. American civilian offi-
cials in the Pentagon began to accuse Syria of not doing enough to
block militants from entering Iraq. US officials were also pressuring
Syria to return an estimated $3 billion in stolen assets allegedly deposited
in Syrian and Lebanese banks by the former Iraqi regime, a charge
Damascus denied.
On October 8, Cardinal Sfeir, the Maronite patriarch, fired the first pub-
lic shots in the coming battle over the presidential extension by stating in
a speech in Paris that he opposed the amendment of the constitution
because it ‘should not be manipulated according to whims’. As with
92 Killing Mr Lebanon

Hrawi’s presidential extension in 1995, the constitution would have to be

amended once again to allow Lahoud to serve more than a single six-year
term. The patriarch made no reference to Lahoud’s ambitions for an
extended mandate, but the inference was clear.
Days later, Hariri subtly endorsed Sfeir’s view, saying ‘The patriarch’s
remarks are great patriarchal remarks.’
But Syrian support for Lahoud remained steadfast. On November 20,
Bashar confirmed his solid backing for Lahoud during a summit between
the two leaders in Damascus. The Lebanese media reported that Lahoud
still represented Syria’s closest ally in Lebanon, a ‘source of confidence’ who
would receive the ‘backing he needs to confront the looming challenges’.
Two days later, Hariri stayed away from the Independence Day parade
in Martyrs’ Square customarily attended by the country’s top political and
military echelons. Hariri’s office said he was in Saudi Arabia to perform a
pilgrimage to Mecca to mark the end of Ramadan, even though the holy
fasting month had several days to go. The failure of a prime minister to
attend the annual celebration, or even delegate a representative, was an
unprecedented snub and underlined in a very public way just how poi-
sonous the relationship between the prime minister and the president had
grown.
The Syrian regime had little sympathy for such theatrics and con-
sidered Hariri’s disdain of Lahoud as exhibiting a dangerously rebellious
streak. At the end of the year, Hariri was summoned to Damascus for a
meeting with Bashar and the top Syrian officers connected with Lebanon,
Ghazi Kanaan, Rustom Ghazaleh and Mohammed Khallouf, a chief aide
to Ghazaleh. For 45 minutes, Hariri was accused of plotting with the US
and France against Syria and of deviating from the joint Lebanese–Syrian
stand. Specifically, they charged him with secretly meeting a senior US
State Department official in Beirut, and of persuading King Abdullah of
Jordan to use his influence with Israel to thwart a prisoner swap being
negotiated by Germany betweeen Hizbullah and Israel. The meeting was
one of the toughest Hariri had to endure in his long career of dealing with
the Syrians.
‘Hariri considered walking out of the meeting, but he just sat there,’
says a close former advisor to Hariri. ‘The Syrians were feeling the
international pressure. Their whole strategy was based on “We hold
Lebanon or else there will be chaos.” Suddenly, here was someone who
could steer Lebanon safely with international guarantees and without the
Syrians.’28
At the end of the meeting, Kanaan took Hariri by the arm and led him
into his office so that the shaken prime minister could calm down and
 The breach 93

recover from a nose bleed brought on by high blood pressure. A little later
the same morning, Abdel-Halim Khaddam met an agitated Bashar who
told him about the heated meeting with Hariri.
‘After he told me this, I asked him how could he talk like that to
the prime minister of Lebanon,’ Khaddam recalls. ‘ “He is a close ally to
Syria. He has served Syria. What would he be feeling now and how
would this benefit Syria?” I told him. At this point Bashar al-Assad
calmed down and asked me to get in touch with Hariri to invite him back
to Damascus.’29
Hariri refused to return to the Syrian capital and met Khaddam instead
at the vice-president’s home in the mountain resort of Bloudan close to the
Lebanese border.
‘Rafik was clearly angry and showed his frustration. He said he had not
expected to be treated in this way and that this treatment would be in his
mind until his death. He would never forget it,’ Khaddam says.
The Syrian leadership’s hostility toward Hariri was stoked by an inten-
sive and pernicious whispering campaign by Lahoud and his allies
against the prime minister, according to numerous Lebanese and Syrian
political figures. Pro-Syrian Lebanese claimed Hariri was working against
Damascus and was a tool of the Americans, and that he was a traitor who
sought to disarm Hizbullah. It was a persistent drip-drip of invective and
suspicion that steadily eroded Hariri’s standing.
‘Bashar al-Assad used to receive and meet with Lebanese who were
anti-Hariri,’ Khaddam says.30 ‘He used to listen to them and take all this
information into consideration when making his decisions. Lebanese mili-
tary intelligence used to send Bashar false reports and studies once or
twice a week about Hariri’s intentions and his anti-Syrian sentiment.’
The chief architect of the anti-Hariri campaign, according to Khaddam,
was Jamil Sayyed, who, with his direct access to Bashar, ‘was not only the
ruler of Lebanon, he was almost the ruler of Syria’.31
There was little Hariri could do to dent the campaign waged against
him, even though he persisted in trying to persuade and reassure the
Syrian leadership that he was their friend and not a traitor.
‘The Lebanese intelligence and the Syrians played an important role in
upsetting relations between Hariri and many people and groups, includ-
ing Hizbullah,’ recalls Fouad Siniora. ‘Hariri was continually under pres-
sure and attack. He used to get really angry about this. He would say “I
cannot reproduce every day that I am a nationalist and good citizen.”
What did they [his accusers] have to do with nationalism and partriotism?
Hariri made many sacrifices in his life and personal wealth. At the end of
the day, he used to go crazy.’
94 Killing Mr Lebanon

Despite the humiliating treatment from Damascus, Hariri continued to

defend Syrian interests and utilise his international contacts for Syria’s
benefit. On one occasion he declared in a press conference that accusa-
tions that Syria interfered in Lebanese affairs ‘is largely exaggerated to the
point of turning matters upside down’.
Yet displays of loyalty to Damascus won Hariri little respite from
Damascus. In early 2004, one of Hariri’s aides received a telephone call
from a friend in Paris who said that a bill similar to the Syria Account-
ability Act was being circulated in the French parliament by Jacques
Chirac’s UMP party.32
‘Your friend Chirac and his party are going for it,’ the aide told Hariri.
Nonplussed, Hariri said he had no idea that such a bill was being pro-
posed. He put a call through to Chirac. The French president said he too
was unaware of the bill. Hariri told him that, if it was allowed to pass, it
would be harmful for Lebanon and greatly complicate the Lebanese–
Syrian relationship. Chirac promised to look into it, after which the
proposed legislation disappeared from view.
‘Two weeks later, Hariri received a message from President Assad
accusing Hariri of setting up the whole affair so that he could call his
friend Chirac and have it cancelled to make the Syrians feel indebted to
him,’ the aide says. ‘It was down to Alawite paranoia because Hariri was
a Sunni, a rich, powerful Sunni with five planes who could pick up the
phone at 1 p.m. and be with [Prime Minister] Mohammed Mahathir in
Malaysia by midnight, the next day in Japan and the third day back in
Beirut with pledges of $600 million [for reconstruction] in his back
pocket.’
Even in his Koreitem home, Hariri was not immune from the reach of
the Lebanese and Syrian intelligence apparatus.
‘Hariri believed his house was bugged,’ says an Arab diplomat. ‘When
meeting guests in his office in Koreitem, Hariri would switch on the televi-
sion and flick between channels to drown out the conversation. If the
conversation turned to delicate matters, Hariri and the guest would retreat
into the small bathroom attached to his office where they could whisper.’33
Other conversations would be held outside in the garden. Occasionally,
if Hariri wanted to make a point to his unseen listeners, he would
deliberately raise his voice.
Even one of his closest aides turned out to be a double agent for Syrian
military intelligence. Ali Hajj, an extravagantly moustachioed officer in
the Internal Security Forces (ISF), had been chief of security for Hariri
since 1992. He was re-appointed to the post in 2000 when Hariri became
prime minister again. But Hariri had grown to distrust Hajj, who enjoyed
 The breach 95

a close relationship with Rustom Ghazaleh. Hariri tested Hajj’s loyalty by

feeding him false information on four separate occasions, which he later
discovered ended up with Syrian intelligence.34 Hajj was sacked, but
Ghazaleh had him appointed head of the ISF in the Bekaa, a prominent
posting that brought him closer to the Syrian intelligence apparatus.
Syria’s increasing distrust and resentment of Hariri appeared to corres-
pond to the intensifying international pressure against Damascus, as if the
Lebanese prime minister was a punchbag on which Bashar and other
regime leaders could vent their frustrations.
In the late spring of 2004, the impasse in US–Syrian relations was
kindling some internal discussions about the feasibility of drawing up a
UN Security Council resolution against Syria. The Bush administration
concluded that, if any UN action was to be taken against Damascus,
the US would need weighty allies, namely France, which had a propri-
etary interest in Lebanon and Syria. The US and France had different
but not contradictory priorities in Syria which could combine into a
sweeping and powerful Security Council resolution. Terrorism, weapons
of mass destruction and Iraq were Washington’s principal concerns with
Syria. France, however, was more focused on Syria’s pervasive hold over
Lebanon. Chirac once described Lebanon as his ‘second home’ and he had
taken an unusually intense interest in the fortunes of Lebanon and Syria.
Paris was the first Western capital Bashar had visited in an official capa-
city, and that was in 1998 before he was president. Chirac was the only
Western head of state to attend Assad’s funeral in June 2000. France had
invested much effort in helping bolster Bashar’s emergence as a national
leader, dispatching a team of technocrats to Syria to provide advice on
reform issues and a close advisor to Chirac as ambassador to Damascus.
In October 2002, in an address to the Lebanese parliament, Chirac said
that a Syrian troop withdrawal from Lebanon was dependent on a com-
prehensive settlement of the Middle East peace process, effectively giv-
ing French blessing to the status quo. Although Chirac’s lenient
approach to Syria was in marked contrast to Washington’s more bullish
attitude, he expected Syria to reciprocate by easing its grip on Lebanon.
His ‘heart-to-heart’ address to the Lebanese parliament in itself was a
message to the Syrian leadership that France attached great importance
to Lebanon.
But Chirac’s patience with Syria began to wane as it grew clearer that
Damascus was unwilling to meet France half way. The Lebanese govern-
ment’s failure to implement the promises of Paris II was a source of con-
siderable French irritation with Syria. Chirac had invested his personal
prestige in hosting the conference and persuading donor countries and
96 Killing Mr Lebanon

organisations to participate. Yet despite the pledges of cooperation he had

received from Bashar and Lahoud, few of the promised reforms had been
implemented.
Chirac received another slap in the face in April 2004 when the French
Total oil company lost out to a Canadian–British–US consortium in a $700
million contract to develop gasfields in central Syria. According to Syrian
and French sources, Bashar had assured Chirac that Total would win the
contract. Chirac also wrote a letter to Bashar asking that the negotiations
be conducted in a transparent and legitimate manner. The letter went
unanswered, however, and the deal went sour when Total rejected an
offer by a prominent Syrian businessman to secure the contract for the
French company in exchange for a commission. Nine months later, the
Syrian government cancelled the contract with the Canadian–British–US
consortium and handed it to the state-owned Syrian Petroleum Company.
Ibrahim Haddad, Syrian oil minister, said in January 2005 that the deci-
sion was made in light of US sanctions against Syria which could hinder
the success of the project.
In May, the worsening confrontation between Hariri and Lahoud moved
from the cabinet to the ballot box when Lebanon elected new municipal
councils. With political heavyweights backing rival lists of candidates, the
polls would represent the last chance to assess the popular strength of key
figures before the presidential election in November. If the electoral lists
Hariri endorsed fared well, it would strengthen his standing against
Lahoud’s ambition to extend his presidency.
But the results for Hariri were mixed. While the list he backed for the
Beirut municipality triumphed, the victory was tarnished by voter apathy
and a low turnout, especially in Christian areas. In his home town of
Sidon, the Hariri-backed list was soundly defeated by an alliance engin-
eered by Lahoud and the intelligence services that brought together Sunni
Islamists, Hizbullah and prominent families.
While the polls were greeted with general indifference in much of
Lebanon, the opposite was true in Shiite areas where Hizbullah and the
Amal Movement were competing against each other for the first time.
In all the previous parliamentary and municipal polls since the end of
the war, Hizbullah and Amal had formed joint electoral lists. Although
the alliances were at Syria’s behest, neither Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah
nor Nabih Berri particularly objected. Nasrallah understood that accom-
modating Syria was the price for protecting the party’s resistance priority,
while Amal’s declining popularity was masked by the alliance with its
more organised rival.
The results of the municipal election, in which Hizbullah won landslide
 The breach 97

victories in its strongholds in the southern suburbs of Beirut and the

Bekaa and also did well in the southern border district, its front line
against Israel, confirmed what was already suspected – Hizbullah had
overtaken Amal as the leading voice of Lebanon’s Shiites.
Four days after the final round in the municipal elections, a riot broke
out in the Hay as-Sellom district of southern Beirut, a bastion of Hizbullah
support, when soldiers fired upon a crowd of Shiite demonstrators par-
ticipating in a nationwide strike to protest against petrol prices. The riots
received the usual chorus of outraged condemnation from Lebanese poli-
ticians. But Hariri and Nasrallah suspected that the violence was not
spontaneous but an orchestrated bid to embarrass the prime minister and
undermine Hizbullah after its success in the municipal elections. Nasrallah
pointedly apportioned the blame for the riots to the security services
rather than Hariri’s government. Hizbullah reportedly managed to film a
group of agents provocateurs who moved from one flashpoint to another
in Hay as-Sellom, distributing tyres for burning and inciting the crowd
to violence. Significantly, Hariri’s own newspaper, Al-Mustaqbal, carried
a carefully worded report in which ‘well-informed sources’ implicitly
accused Amal of trying to discredit Hizbullah.
Surprised at being spared criticism by Hizbullah, Hariri contacted
Nasrallah hours after the riots ended to set up an appointment. They met
that evening and Hariri asked ‘Why didn’t you blame me for what hap-
pened?’ Nasrallah told him ‘We know you were not responsible.’35 The
incident was the catalyst for a secret and unexpectedly fruitful new rela-
tionship between Hariri and Nasrallah. Despite their long-standing dif-
ferences and seemingly incompatible agendas, the two men drew closer in
the final months of Hariri’s life, meeting as often as twice a week in
Nasrallah’s heavily guarded headquarters in Beirut’s southern suburbs.
Mustafa Nasr, a journalist and long the intermediary between Hariri and
Nasrallah, arranged the late-night gatherings.
‘Hariri would call me and ask “Is there any fruit left in the country?” It
was his code for me to contact Hizbullah for a meeting that night,’ Nasr
recalls.36
Other than Hariri and Nasrallah, the only other participants were
Nasr and Hajj Hussein Khalil, senior advisor to the Hizbullah leader.
Hizbullah also handled Hariri’s security for his trips from Koreitem to
the southern suburbs. Hariri’s own bodyguard, Yehya Arab, aka Abu
Tarek, stayed in Koreitem along with the rest of his security detail. The
late-night meetings with Nasrallah unnerved Nazek Hariri, who feared
her husband becoming caught up in an assassination attempt against the
Hizbullah leader. When Hariri departed to the southern suburbs, Nazek
98 Killing Mr Lebanon

would mutter ‘God protect you, God protect you’ and read verses from
the Koran.
Hariri, however, relished his conversations with Nasrallah. Despite
their differences in the early years of Hariri’s premiership and the sim-
mering tensions over the Shebaa Farms, the two men had much in com-
mon on a personal level and developed a strong rapport. Both had risen
from humble origins to achieve prominence. Both men had suffered the
pain of losing a son.37 The influence they wielded and the regard in which
they were held extended far beyond Lebanon’s parochial confines. The
Shiite cleric and the Sunni tycoon recognised each other as Arab, rather
than merely Lebanese, leaders, a distinction that set them apart from
most of Lebanon’s politicians, whose purview rarely strayed beyond the
interests of their clans or sects.
Their conversations were relaxed and peppered with jokes and humor-
ous anecdotes. Demonized by his enemies as a violent fanatic, Nasrallah
has the strong sense of humour of south Lebanon Shiites. In private, he is
soft-spoken and unassuming and listens carefully to what is being said.
He is quick to smile and his eyes twinkle with amusement behind clunky,
square-framed spectacles.
Sipping tiny glasses of sweet tea or Turkish coffee and snacking on fresh
fruit, their conversations ranged from local issues (Lebanon’s relationship
with Syria, protecting the resistance, the settlement of Palestinian refu-
gees) to broader regional affairs (the Arab–Israeli conflict, Sunni–Shiite
relations and Iraq).
They shared each other’s concerns at the potential fragmentation of the
Middle East into rival sectarian- or ethnic-based states, agreeing that such
an outcome would only benefit the interests of Israel. Nasrallah would
voice his suspicions of the Bush administration’s intentions toward the
Arab world, and Hariri would listen sympathetically.
At the end of each session, which could last until the early hours of the
morning, Hariri, accompanied by Mustafa Nasr, would return to Kore-
item, often taking a detour through the empty streets of the city centre,
gazing at the renovated buildings and cobble-stoned streets or checking
on the construction of the huge Mohammed al-Amine mosque he was
financing on the edge of Martyrs’ Square.
In June, Hariri received some welcome assurances from the Saudis
and Egyptians that Bashar would not grant Lahoud a presidential exten-
sion, according to several of Hariri’s colleagues and advisors.38 Those
reassurances appeared to be endorsed by Bashar himself, who said in an
interview with a Kuwaiti newspaper in June that Syria would back any
president that was chosen by the Lebanese people.
 The breach 99

The US, however, remained sceptical that Bashar would permit the
Lebanese to elect a new president independently.39 It was a suspicion
shared by the French. On June 6 during the sixtieth anniversary com-
memoration of the D-Day landings in Normandy, Bush and Chirac
recognised that Lebanon had the potential to form the basis of a trans-
atlantic rapprochement after months of strained relations due to bitter
disagreements over the Iraq war.
Buoyed by international promises, Hariri busied himself preparing a
list of alternative presidents acceptable to Syria, confident that Lahoud’s
term would end in November. However, by the middle of August, as
Bashar began customary consultations with Lebanese politicians to assess
their views of the upcoming presidential elections, there were growing
indications that Lahoud might win his presidential extension after all.
The debate was not confined to Beirut. Some senior officials in Damascus
recognised all too clearly the perils of extending Lahoud’s presidential
term, chiefly Abdel-Halim Khaddam and Ghazi Kanaan, veteran regime
leaders with decades of experience in Lebanese affairs. Khaddam was
against the appointment of Lahoud as president from the start and was
doubly against granting the Lebanese president an additional three years.
But his ability to sway events in Damascus had steadily declined since
Bashar had taken office four years earlier.
On August 18, Khaddam met Bashar to say farewell before departing
on holiday to France and recalls urging the Syrian president not to
extend Lahoud’s term. He warned Bashar that ‘neither you nor Lebanon
can tolerate this extension. All of Lebanon will be against us.’40 Bashar
reassured him that there would be no extension.
Four days later, Cardinal Sfeir warned that granting Lahoud an add-
itional mandate would ‘finish off what little is left of the democracy that
we boast about once and for all’. His stand was endorsed the following
day by a joint statement from Lebanon’s most senior Muslim authorities,
Sheikh Abdel-Amir Qabalan, president of the Higher Shiite Council, and
Sheikh Mohammed Qabbani, the Sunni Mufti. Although the communiqué
was read in full on radio stations, the section in which the clerics rejected
a constitutional amendment was subsequently cut from the state-run
National News Agency report, by ‘shadowy hands’, according to one
newspaper.
Lahoud, seemingly unabashed by his cross-sectarian unpopularity,
stated for the first time on August 25 that he was willing to accept a
second term ‘if asked by a parliamentary majority’.
It was the clearest indication yet that Syria had resolved to extend
Lahoud’s mandate.
 Showdown
5
As Fares Boueiz, the environment minister, drove up to Hariri’s sprawling
stone villa in the skiing resort of Fakra in the Lebanese mountains on the
evening of August 26, he noticed there were no cars parked outside, nor
guards at the entrance, and the building appeared to be in darkness.1
Boueiz, who was staying at his own chalet nearby, had been told that
Hariri was spending the night in Fakra having met Bashar in Damascus
that morning. Boueiz had heard that the meeting was unusually short and
was curious to know what had happened.
He entered the house and found Hariri sitting alone in a vast salon. The
premier looked utterly dejected, drained from the events of the last few
hours and not altogether happy at having unexpected company. Hariri
told him that Bashar had bluntly declared that Lahoud would receive
an additional three-year term. According to accounts of the conversation
from numerous sources including Hariri’s friends and colleagues, the
prime minister replied ‘But we must discuss this.’2
‘There is nothing to discuss,’ Bashar is said to have responded. ‘I am
Lahoud and Lahoud is me. If your friend Chirac wants me out of Lebanon,
I would sooner break Lebanon on your head and the head of Chirac than
break my word.’
Hariri apparently protested, saying he had been a friend of Syria for
20 years. ‘You have to listen to me,’ he said.
‘I have only known you for four years,’ Bashar is said to have replied,
adding that Hariri had to choose between supporting or opposing Syria
and should convey his response to Ghazaleh within 48 hours.
The meeting barely lasted 15 minutes.
‘Are you sure? This is their final decision?’ Boueiz asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you explain to them how grave this decision will be for Lebanon
and Syria?’
 Showdown 101

Hariri nodded.
Boueiz pressed Hariri again whether he had made clear to Bashar his
deep opposition to this decision.
‘Fares,’ Hariri replied, his eyes damp with tears, ‘why do you insist on
humiliating me?’
Taken aback, Boueiz apologised. After a moment, he asked, ‘What are
you going to do?’
‘Do you think I have a choice?’
Boueiz urged him to leave at once for Paris. With Hariri out of the
country, no cabinet meeting could be held to draw up a law proposal to
amend the constitution allowing Lahoud his additional three years.
‘It’s very easy for you to say this,’ Hariri replied. ‘But if I did that it
would be the final break between me and the Syrians and I can’t afford to
do that.’
Hariri faced a stark choice. Accepting Bashar’s diktat would mean
more grinding conflict with Lahoud; resigning to avoid endorsing a
presidential extension risked the wrath of Syria.
One of Hariri’s assistants asked him what he thought Syria would do
should he reject Syria’s ultimatum.3
‘Do you think they could mobilise 100,000 Hizbullah people to march
on central Beirut?’ Hariri replied.
‘Of course.’
‘What do you think would happen if someone fired into that crowd?’
‘Hizbullah would burn the city,’ the assistant said.
Hariri told another advisor that he had been informed by a foreign
diplomat that 20 car bombs had been prepared and would be detonated
around Beirut if his parliamentary bloc did not support Lahoud’s
extension.4 Hariri felt he had no choice. If he did not endorse
Lahoud’s presidential extension, he risked plunging the country into
bloodshed.
‘I think he was afraid, mainly physically afraid for himself and the
country and to a lesser extent afraid for all the investments he had and for
his people who would be arrested and persecuted like they were [during
Lahoud’s anti-corruption campaign in 1999],’ recalls Boueiz.5
Bashar apparently also had an ominous message for Walid Jumblatt.
Following his meeting with Bashar, Hariri had returned to Beirut, stop-
ping off at Jumblatt’s grey-stone mansion in the Clemenceau district of
west Beirut. Jumblatt was sitting in the courtyard of his home talking
to four political allies when an ashen-faced Hariri stumbled in and
recounted what had happened in Damascus.
‘Hariri was very angry,’ remembers Aridi, one of those present at
102 Killing Mr Lebanon

Jumblatt’s house. ‘I think he was expecting to hear this from Assad, but
not in the manner or choice of words Assad used.’6
Pulling Jumblatt to one side, Hariri told him that the Syrian president
had said ‘ “We will meet Jumblatt again” ’.
‘He said “Jumblatt has his Druze. Well, we have Druze too, and we will
create havoc in Mount Lebanon,” ’ Hariri told Jumblatt.7
After a moment of silence, Jumblatt spoke up.
‘Look, I understand your position. Try not to quarrel with the Syrians,’
he said. ‘I will not accept the renewal of the mandate. But you have
freedom of action and you should not quarrel with them.’
After departing Jumblatt’s house, Hariri headed straight to Fakra,
unable to face his disappointed household in Koreitem.
‘He was very sad,’ recalls a close aide to Hariri who was with him
that evening. ‘He told me something that he would repeat to his dying
day – “To them we are all ants.” ’8
The next day Hariri informed Rustom Ghazaleh that he would comply
with Bashar’s demand, saying ‘I will not be the tool to break Syria’s word
in Lebanon.’9
Ghazaleh heaped praise on Hariri for his wisdom, hailing him as a
‘great statesman’ and a ‘true nationalist’. Hariri was asked to stay on as
prime minister under Lahoud and as a reward for his cooperation was
promised that he could form his own government, a ministerial ‘dream
team’ free of any influence from the Syrians.
On August 28, two days after Hariri’s fateful meeting with Bashar,
the cabinet met with just one item on the agenda. Four ministers in
the 30-seat cabinet failed to attend, including Fares Boueiz and Jean
Obeid, neither of whom offered an explanation for their absence although
both were presidential aspirants known to oppose amending the
constitution.
Lahoud began the meeting with a few words on the situation in Iraq
and the Palestinian territories and outlined the ‘Israeli threats’ against
Lebanon. Thanking the ministers for their support, he handed the meeting
over to Hariri and left the room. A stony-faced Hariri told the ministers
that ‘the situation in the region requires special measures’ and a ‘continu-
ity of leadership at this stage’. The bill was approved, although the three
ministers in Walid Jumblatt’s bloc voted against it.
The meeting broke up after 10 minutes and Hariri immediately flew
from Beirut for a short break on his yacht in Sardinia.
The decision to prolong Lahoud’s presidency was greeted with uproar
by Lebanese politicians. Mikhael Daher, who had declared his candidacy
for the presidency, likened the cabinet session which approved the bill
 Showdown 103

to amend the constitution as a ‘smuggling operation conducted on a

moonless night’. Walid Jumblatt in protest claimed back all the memora-
bilia of his father, Kamal, from Beiteddine palace, the summer presidential
residence, saying that the mementoes of his father, ‘the symbol of martyr-
dom’, could not coexist with ‘martial bullies’.
The blatant manner in which Syria imposed its will on the Lebanese
government was to have far greater consequences than provoking out-
rage from Lebanese politicians. It was the signal that American advocates
of UN action against Syria had been waiting for. A draft resolution was
drawn up with unusual alacrity by American and French diplomats and
won the approval and support of the British before being submitted to
the Security Council. The resolution reflected the interests of Hariri, the
French and the US. The ‘Hariri’ clause called for a ‘free and fair electoral
process in Lebanon’s upcoming presidential election conducted according
to Lebanese constitutional rules devised without foreign interference or
influence’. France’s principal interest, which was shared by the US, was
the call for ‘all remaining foreign forces to withdraw from Lebanon’, in
other words the Syrians.
The American component of the resolution demanded the ‘extension of
the control of the government of Lebanon over all Lebanese territory’,
meaning principally the border district with Israel under Hizbullah
control, and ‘the disbanding and disarmament of all Lebanese and
non-Lebanese militias’, a transparent reference to Hizbullah and armed
Palestinian groups. Many supporters of what became UN Security Council
Resolution 1559 baulked at this clause, which was principally seen as
serving Israeli interests, an irrelevance that would complicate the effort to
build nationwide support for the more pertinent goal of unseating
Lahoud and disengaging Syria from Lebanon. The clause was a ‘catas-
trophe’, according to Chibli Mallat, a Lebanese professor of international
law and a democracy campaigner.
‘We tried to have this silly clause removed because we could see how
1559 would lead to a schism between the Shiites and the rest,’ he says.10
The Syrians appeared to have committed a blunder of strategic pro-
portions by extending Lahoud’s mandate, a move that exposed them to
UN Security Council retribution. The same day Bashar had delivered his
ultimatum to Hariri, both Washington and Paris had repeated their calls
for a free and fair presidential election in Lebanon. How could the Syrians
have flouted the will of the international community in such a flagrant
manner?
‘Jacques Chirac felt he had been made a fool of by the Syrians after they
told him that they would not extend Lahoud’s mandate,’ says a former
104 Killing Mr Lebanon

Lebanese minister. ‘It really needed a miracle to bring the Americans and
French together and the Syrians provided that miracle.’11
The possibility of a resolution against Syria gelling between the US and
France should have come as no surprise to Damascus. According to Nohad
Mashnouq, a former Hariri advisor, Hariri ‘knew about 1559 early on’.12
‘He discussed [the mooted resolution] for sure with Chirac. He sent a
letter to Bashar al-Assad, saying “Look out, this is happening. I can help
you.” But he didn’t get any reply from the Syrians,’ Mashnouq says.
Ironically, the Syrian leadership blamed Hariri for 1559, believing
he persuaded his friend Jacques Chirac to co-sponsor the resolution
with the Americans. Hariri’s enemies accused him of drafting the reso-
lution along with Marwan Hamade and Ghassan Salameh, a former min-
ister of culture who had left Lebanon in 2003 to work with the UN in
Baghdad, on board his yacht in Sardinia, days before the Security Council
adopted 1559.
Although many of Hariri’s political colleagues and aides deny he
helped formulate what became 1559, he did use his influence with Chirac
to ‘put pressure on Syria not to extend Lahoud’s mandate’, says Johnny
Abdo, former Lebanese ambassador to Paris and long-time friend of
Hariri.
‘His priority was not disarming Hizbullah nor the total withdrawal
of Syrian troops, but stopping the renewal of Lahoud’s mandate,’ Abdo
says. ‘He didn’t care if there was a rapprochement between the US and
France [through agreement on a UN resolution against Syria] so long as it
stopped Lahoud.’
Although 1559 included his demand for a free and fair presidential
election, Hariri could not publicly support the resolution because of
the remaining clauses demanding the disarming of Hizbullah and a full
Syrian withdrawal. The latter clause, Hariri understood, represented a
humiliation for the Syrians and would only add difficulties to his goal of
changing the relationship between the two countries to one of political
and economic ties rather than one dominated by security considerations.
Although the Syrian leadership was aware of a potential resolution
dangling like a sword of Damocles over its head, Farouq al-Sharaa, the
Syrian foreign minister, apparently convinced Bashar that there would be
no international repercussions in extending Lahoud’s mandate. After all,
since 1990 the Americans had essentially turned a blind eye to Syria’s
hegemony over Lebanon and had not opposed Hrawi’s presidential
extension in 1995. Why should it be any different in 2004?
Sharaa’s misreading of the US mood toward Syria may have stemmed
from bad advice he received from some Lebanese allies, including one
 Showdown 105

pro-Syrian cabinet minister who told Sharaa he had met several American
officials in Washington and they had dismissed the notion of a UN
resolution against Damascus.
‘Farouq al-Sharaa told Assad at the time that [they could] go for
Lahoud and there will be no repercussions at the UN,’ says Ghazi Aridi.
‘Some pro-Syrian Lebanese pushed Sharaa in this direction. [They told
him] “There is a move from Hariri and Chirac but the Americans are not
convinced and the international community is not convinced.” ’13
On the other hand, Syrian and pro-Syrian Lebanese officials maintain
that Lahoud’s extension was inspired by the perceived inevitability of a
UN resolution being tabled against Damascus.
‘The Syrians knew through their contacts that a resolution would
appear regardless of Lahoud’s extension,’ says Wiam Wahhab. ‘The
Syrians knew that with the Americans entering Iraq the region had
entered a new phase . . . and that Syria would pay a price. Lahoud was
seen as the only one able to resist such pressures along with allies like
Hizbullah.’14
Months later, Bashar explained in a speech that he had learned that a UN
Security Council resolution was being prepared against Syria regardless
of Lahoud’s extension.
‘There is no connection between the resolution and the extension of
President Lahoud’s term of office,’ he said. ‘We have discovered in the
past few months that there are certain implicit and explicit provisions in
Resolution 1559. They were prepared immediately after the war on Iraq.’
In October 2005, Bashar told Al-Hayat columnist Jihad al-Khazen that
the decision to extend Lahoud’s mandate was taken as a defensive meas-
ure against the inevitable UN resolution. Lahoud was ‘a man of principles
and sincerity’, Bashar said. ‘He was the best choice for fighting the battle
with us, as subsequent events proved.’
Plenty would disagree with that last statement. When Bashar allegedly
told Hariri that he was Lahoud and Lahoud was he, it set in motion a
chain of events that would see Lebanon slipping from Syria’s grip in less
than nine months.
Nonetheless, Lahoud was ‘one of the most efficient protectors of Syrian
interests in Lebanon’, according to a European diplomat in Beirut, which
included the ‘mafia links’ between the two countries.15 Syria’s hold over
Lebanon was not just a politico-ideological goal; it was also a multi-billion-
dollar business that risked being jeopardised if a less pliable figure became
president.
The Syrians had stated their will over the presidency, but Lahoud’s
extra term was still subject to the approval of two-thirds of Lebanon’s
106 Killing Mr Lebanon

128-seat parliament to amend Clause 49 of the constitution. The Syrians

could be assured of 77 votes from their Lebanese allies, which left them
nine short of the required two-thirds. With Walid Jumblatt’s parliamentary
bloc of 17 MPs expected to vote against the bill, it meant that Hariri’s
18 MPs could make or break Lahoud’s extra mandate.
Nabih Berri tabled the parliamentary vote for September 3, hoping that
Lahoud’s mandate extension would become a fait accompli before the
UN Security Council adopted the Franco-American-sponsored resolution
against Syria. From his yacht in Sardinia, Hariri announced that he would
remain loyal to Syria and instructed his parliamentary bloc to vote as they
pleased.
Hariri was not the only politician coming under pressure to accept
Syria’s decision. Mosbah Ahdab, a Sunni opposition MP from Tripoli,
announced publicly that he and his wife had received death threats
over the telephone. Butros Harb, a Maronite MP from the coastal town
of Batroun in north Lebanon, claimed that anonymous automated faxes
were being sent to politicians and religious figures opposed to the consti-
tutional amendment containing threats and accusations of ‘rape and incest
against the clergy’.
Ghattas Khoury, a member of Hariri’s parliamentary bloc, also received
late-night telephoned death threats.
‘They would call me and say “If you think you are smart and vote
against the extension you might be killed and your family harmed,” ’
Khoury says.16 A day before Khoury met Cardinal Sfeir at the patriarch’s
summer residence in Diman in north Lebanon, his wife received an
anonymous telephone call from someone who said that her husband
would not return to Beirut alive.
‘She asked me not to go to see the patriarch, but I went anyway and
made a public statement in Diman about the threat and said I planned to
vote according to my conscience,’ he says.
Some MPs were offered inducements of money or position to vote for
the amendment. One MP and former minister who had publicly opposed
the Lahoud extension voted for the amendment after a ban on his lucra-
tive quarrying activities was overturned a day before parliament met.
Another MP, who was having financial problems, was told the banks
which had loaned him funds would be pressured into accepting easy
terms of repayment if he voted for the amendment. He was also promised
a cabinet seat in the next government, a pledge which was honoured two
months later.17
MPs received phone calls from Jamil Sayyed and Rustom Ghazaleh,
who would encourage, cajole and threaten them to gain their cooperation
 Showdown 107

in the parliamentary vote. One minister switched off his mobile phone for
several days and instructed his staff to say he was unavailable in order to
avoid having to talk to the two security officials.18
The Security Council met on Thursday, September 2 and narrowly
voted in Resolution 1559, nine votes in favour with six abstentions, the
minimum number to adopt the resolution. In a sop to Russia, China and
Algeria, the final draft excluded mentioning Syria by name, but there was
no mistaking to whom its demands applied.
The resolution provoked a furious backlash from Syrian loyalists in
Lebanon who argued, with some justification, that it was an unwarranted
interference in Lebanese affairs. There was certainly more than a
whiff of hypocrisy in the determination of the US, France and the UN
to harry Syria into complying with the resolution. Critics of 1559 pointed
out that the US had shown no such enthusiasm in demanding the fulfil-
ment of UN Security Council resolutions aimed at Israel, including those
that had dealt with the Jewish state’s 22-year occupation of south
Lebanon.
Hariri returned to Beirut from Sardinia on Friday, mere hours before
the parliamentary session, his left shoulder wrapped in a plaster cast. It
was a highly symbolic injury and led to muttered comments about the
Syrians having twisted his arm too hard. According to a veteran pro-Syrian
Lebanese politician, Hariri made a last-ditch effort to stave off Lahoud’s
three extra years by offering Rustom Ghazaleh $20 million to tell the
Syrian leadership he was unable to arrange the presidential extension.
Ghazaleh, however, refused the offer.
‘Ghazaleh was in no position to tell the Syrians that the extension was
not going to work out. The offer was a sign of Hariri’s desperation,’ the
politician says.19
Barely 24 hours after Resolution 1559 was adopted, the Lebanese par-
liament dutifully approved the constitutional amendment, 96 votes in
favour against 29, granting Lahoud another three years in office. With
the sole exception of Ghattas Khoury, all Hariri’s bloc, including Hariri
himself, voted for the motion.
That night, the Beirut sky was lit with exploding fireworks as Lahoud’s
supporters celebrated. There were no celebrations at Hariri’s Koreitem
residence, rather a mood of glum resignation as Hariri prepared to form
a new government, one that he had been promised would be free of
Syrian interference. Hariri sought, and was promised by the Syrians, a
broad-based government that would include members of the opposition,
such as leading figures in the Qornet Shehwan opposition group which
was supported by Cardinal Sfeir.
108 Killing Mr Lebanon

But it soon became clear that the Syrians were not intending to fulfil
their pledge to restrain Lahoud and grant Hariri a free hand in choosing
the next government. According to a Hariri aide, a list of 18 ministers was
handed to Lahoud in accordance with the constitution. Lahoud passed on
the list to the Syrians for their approval.
‘It was the same story again,’ the aide says. ‘The Syrians started to
question the names and began naming their own people. The end result
was a list of 24 names, many of whom Hariri had not chosen. At that point
he said, “Enough. I’m not playing this game any more.” ’20
The Syrians asked Hariri to stay on, however, at least until the publica-
tion of the UN’s first report on the implementation of Resolution 1559
expected at the beginning of October.
The traumatic events of the previous weeks had left Hariri deeply
disillusioned, physically exhausted and mentally strained. Fouad Siniora,
who says he knew Hariri ‘like I know my fingertips’, recalls being in
Hariri’s office one day in September and asking him a question about the
presidential extension ‘that was more probing than I should’.
‘For 30 seconds he wept on my shoulder,’ Siniora says.21 ‘It was as if
somebody has an injury and you scratch that injury and it begins to bleed
again.’
While Hariri was busy negotiating his ministerial list in September and
the government was waging a diplomatic battle against Resolution 1559,
the security cameras attached to the neo-classical sandstone façade of the
four-storey Italian embassy opposite the parliament building in Beirut
were picking up some unusual activity, unusual enough for the embassy
to alert Italy’s military intelligence service. Days later, on September 22,
interior minister Elias Murr revealed that the government had broken
an Al-Qaeda-affiliated ring that was on the verge of mounting a series of
bomb attacks against Western and government targets in Beirut, including
the Italian embassy and the Ukraine consulate.
‘We have managed to rid the nation, as well as other Arab and foreign
countries, of dangerous terrorist operations that would have targeted
innocent people and tarnished Lebanon’s reputation,’ Murr said.
The announcement of the arrests was greeted with wide scepticism in
Lebanon. The revelation came as Syrian forces staged one of their periodic
redeployments in Lebanon, whittling the overall number of troops down
to about 14,000. The implicit two-fold message behind the arrests, analysts
and commentators believed, was that the Syrian military presence was still
required to protect Lebanon against Islamist ‘terrorists’. It was also a way
of Beirut telling Washington that it too faced a threat from Al-Qaeda-style
militancy.
 Showdown 109

But there was a curious postscript to the story. Some of those arrested
came from Majdal Anjar, a Sunni town in the Bekaa one kilometre south of
Anjar, the Armenian town hosting the headquarters of Syrian military
intelligence. Murr apparently contacted US officials regarding the arrests
before consulting with Ghazaleh, a serious breach of protocol, which
spurred Hariri to later comment to his interior minister ‘What you did
was very dangerous.’22 A furious Ghazaleh made his objections known in
a heated telephone conversation with Murr during which the two men
hurled insults at each other in front of several startled community leaders
from Majdal Anjar. Majdal Anjar was in Ghazaleh’s backyard. If a cell of
Islamist militants was able to plan a bombing campaign within earshot
of Ghazaleh’s headquarters, it suggested that Syrian military intelligence
was either complicit in the operation or incompetent in not having detected
it sooner.
Then there were details of the alleged plot that just didn’t quite sound
right. The Al-Qaeda cell apparently planned to blow up the Italian embassy
with 300 kilogrammes of explosives.23 But the embassy is in the pedestrian-
ised Nijmeh Square opposite the parliament building and Café de l’Etoile,
where Hariri liked to chat with journalists over coffee. It is one of the most
secure areas in all Beirut, with vehicular access restricted, mainly to MPs
and government staff. Transporting a 300-kilogramme bomb past the army-
manned barriers leading to the square would have been possible only
under the cover of the Syrian and Lebanese intelligence apparatus. Some
Lebanese military and political officials as well as foreign diplomats sus-
pect that there was no planned attack against the Italian embassy, and
instead Murr had unwittingly stumbled across the first plot to assassinate
Hariri, probably by detonating the explosives as his motorcade departed
Nijmeh Square. Evidence remains circumstantial, although it would offer a
more compelling reason for Ghazaleh’s furious reaction and the subsequent
threats and assassination attempt against Murr.24
On September 30, Hariri met an angry Chirac in Paris and explained
why he had been forced to vote for Lahoud’s presidential extension and
asked that France not push too hard on Resolution 1559. Hariri later told
one of his aides that by the end of the meeting Chirac said he understood
the pressures his Lebanese friend was under and promised to ensure
that the implementation of Resolution 1559 would not effect Lebanon’s
stability.
After the meeting, Hariri acknowledged to some reporters that his
discussion with Chirac had been ‘very frank’.
He said ‘One thing is for sure and that is we are passing through a
difficult and very sensitive phase and we hope for the better.’
110 Killing Mr Lebanon

The next morning, Marwan Hamade, the economy minister and Hariri
ally, was slower than usual to leave his home in an apartment block on
a hill overlooking the seafront corniche in west Beirut. The Druze politi-
cian normally left home for his office in parliament at 8 a.m., but on the
morning of October 1 he lingered to watch a televised interview with Elie
Ferzli, the deputy parliamentary speaker.
At 9.05, Hamade, his driver, Oussama Abdel Samad, and his per-
sonal police escort, Sergeant Ghazi Bou Karoum, climbed into his black
Mercedes saloon. Abdel Samad drove out of the car park beneath
Hamade’s building and headed downhill along a narrow street
flanked by bamboo thickets to the corniche 400 metres away. As Abdel
Samad approached a speed bump, a hundred yards from Hamade’s
apartment building, he swung the car over to the side of the road so
that the left-hand wheels would avoid the bump, lessening the
impact – a technique common to Lebanese motorists. Hamade would
later say that the manoeuvre probably saved his life, because the
Mercedes was at an angle when the car bomb exploded on the other side
of the road, just 3 metres away. The blast caused by a 10-kilogramme
explosive charge located above the petrol tank of a Mercedes smashed
into the back of Hamade’s car, setting it and three parked vehicles
on fire. Hamade immediately knew it was a bomb and threw open
the car door. His foot was broken and he could not stand. He col-
lapsed onto the road just as the fuel tank exploded, turning the car into
a fireball.
Mahmoud Arnaout, a Syrian painter and decorator, was getting into
his car, having finished his customary stroll along the corniche, when he
heard the explosion.25 He rolled underneath his car for protection and
then noticed a smoking body lying beside a burning car further up the
road. Arnaout climbed back into his car and drove to the scene to help.
Bou Karoum had been killed in the blast and his body was engulfed
in flames in the back seat of the burning Mercedes. Abdel Samad was
relatively unhurt and he helped Arnaout pull Hamade into the car.
Arnaout had no idea who the victim was until Abdel Samad borrowed
his mobile phone and mentioned Hamade’s name while alerting people
to what had happened. Hamade was taken to the American University
Hospital a few minutes away.
As news circulated of the attempted assassination, an angry crowd
gathered outside the hospital. Among the many well-wishers who flocked
to the hospital was Abdel-Halim Khaddam. He braved the hostile throng
and publicly embraced Jumblatt, an act that demonstrated Khaddam’s
deteriorating influence in Damascus.
 Showdown 111

The assassination attempt against Hamade signalled a new gloves-off

attitude that raised the stakes considerably.
‘That’s it, they have destroyed the new government,’ Hariri told an
aide on hearing the news.26 Any chance of forming a national unity
government had been obliterated in the blast that nearly killed Hamade.
This was no warning to Hamade. He was supposed to have died in the
explosion and was lucky to survive. Other than a fractured foot, he broke
all his ribs, suffered serious burns on his hand, required 450 stitches in
his head and face and suffered two subdural haemorrhages. He would
require months of surgery and therapy before recovering.
Mysterious bombings in Lebanon have a tendency to go unsolved and
Hamade’s assassination attempt was no different. Following the explo-
sion, investigating officers from the Internal Security Forces reportedly
received a phone call from Ghazaleh who told them that the most likely
perpetrators were the Israelis and that it was not worth investigating.
Ghazaleh added that it was possible that Hamade deliberately engineered
the blast ‘to bring attention to himself’. It later transpired that a suspect
in the bomb attack, Talal Arab, who was arrested on separate security-
related charges, had received a pardon from Lahoud in 2000 for an earlier
crime. Arab’s special treatment was apparently related to his employment
in a security firm owned by Majid Hamdan, the brother of General
Mustafa Hamdan, the commander of the Presidential Guard and Lahoud’s
right-hand man. The presidential palace subsequently denied that Arab
had received a pardon. Furthermore, a security camera belonging to the
International College close to Hamade’s apartment building had filmed
the bomb-laden car and a man standing beside it before the explosion. The
video tape mysteriously disapppeared, however, and a few days later the
body of a man said to resemble the filmed figure was found in the Bekaa
valley.
‘I really had no enquiry into the matter. I had ten minutes with Jean
Fahd [a military judge] in hospital,’ says Marwan Hamade, who ten
months after his ordeal was still walking with a cane and receiving daily
physiotherapy.27 ‘We never could see the documents [of the investigation].
[State prosecutor Adnan] Addoum had blocked everything.’
Wearing the Arabic cloak known as an abaya, he eases back into the
cushions on his sofa. His pale face is enlivened by sharp, intelligent eyes
beneath thinning steel-grey hair. On a small coffee table next to Hamade
is a framed photograph of himself alongside Hariri and Hariri’s sister,
Bahiya, in parliament on the morning of February 14, 2005. All three are
laughing, unaware that Hariri had less than two hours to live when the
photographer clicked the shutter.
112 Killing Mr Lebanon

In a gruesome epilogue to the bombing, bodyguard Bou Karoum’s

shredded brain, teeth and tongue were handed to his grieving family in
an official envelope from the Internal Security Forces, an act that appeared
to be a calculated insult and further enraged the opposition.
In a speech delivered at Bou Karoum’s funeral, Jumblatt described
Syria’s Lebanese allies as ‘mercenary trumpeters’ and a ‘bunch of
profiteers’.
Jumblatt read a triple message in the bomb attack: one to the media
(Hamade had family ties to An Nahar), another to France (Hamade has
French nationality), but principally the assassination attempt was a blunt
warning to Jumblatt himself, the most prominent and outspoken member
of the opposition.
Even as Jumblatt had raced to the hospital to check on the condition of
his friend after the bomb attack, Hariri had called from Paris.
‘Walid, I have an armoured car waiting for you at the hospital,’ he said,
referring to one of his armour-plated Mercedes limousines.28 ‘You have to
use it now.’
Two weeks later, Hikmat Shehabi, the sidelined and ostracised
former Syrian Army chief of staff, departed Syria for the US where
he was planning to live, having decided to leave his homeland for
good.
‘He was on his way to Beirut airport and he told me three times “Take
care of yourself. Take care of yourself. Take care of yourself.” It meant that
I was under a very real threat,’ Jumblatt recalls.
Not for the first time. Jumblatt’s ability to survive almost 30 years as
leader of the Druze was due to his ability to deftly tread a path through
the shifting alliances and intrigues that colour the turbulent and often
violent politics of Lebanon. He had acquired a well-deserved reputation
as someone who seemed to change his views at the slightest whim, his
unreliability considered by some as part of the charm of this lanky scare-
crow figure with the wild tangle of hair, bulging eyes, dome-like forehead
and wry smile. He never seemed to take life – and death – too seriously.
He had a playboy reputation during his youth and, when a minister in
Hariri’s governments in the 1990s, preferred to attend cabinet meetings
in jeans, cutting an irreverent figure compared to the often pompous
demeanour of other Lebanese officials.
Yet there was steel beneath the image of insouciance. He could be as
ruthless and calculating as the most machiavellian of Lebanese zaim
in defending what he thought were the interests of the Druze and the
Jumblatt family. And despite his reputation for political meandering, he
appeared to have embarked on the same perilous confrontation with
 Showdown 113

Damascus as his father, Kamal, had done nearly 30 years earlier. That
previous confrontation had ended with Kamal Jumblatt’s death in a hail
of bullets.
On a Saturday morning soon after the assassination attempt on Hamade,
Jumblatt sat on a cushion-covered stone seat along a wall of a small ante-
chamber in his magnificent mansion of honey-coloured stone in the
village of Mukhtara deep in the Chouf mountains. Hundreds of
Druze men, some of them dressed in traditional black baggy trousers,
known as chelwan, and white skullcaps, had gathered to meet their feudal
chief as they do every Saturday, some bringing specific requests and peti-
tions, others merely after a handshake and to show their support. It is a
weekly ritual that Jumblatt, ever cognisant of his feudal duties, always
observes.
But that day Jumblatt had other, weightier, matters on his mind.
‘When we decided to say no to the prolongation of the mandate of
Mr Lahoud, the answer back was the car bomb that was supposed to kill
Marwan Hamade. [The situation is] quite dangerous,’ he said, with a
laconic shrug. ‘It’s impossible to engage in serious dialogue with such
people. They don’t want any dialogue.’
The window behind Jumblatt looked out over part of his estate with its
pine tree-shaded courtyards, steep stone steps, fountains and mountain
streams channelled through the gardens. The dense forest rises up behind
Mukhtara and thins out below the barren crest of the Barouk mountains,
almost 2,000 metres high. Hidden among the trees in the garden is the
grave of Jumblatt’s father, a flat black marble slab decorated with freshly
laid flowers and lined by small candles.
Did he often think of his father’s fate during this period of tension?
Jumblatt showed some agitation for the first time. He stood and began
pacing up and down the room, staring at the floor.
‘The circumstances were different,’ he said at last. ‘We were still in
the middle of this dreadful civil war. At that time I decided to forgive.
Forgetting is difficult. Forgiveness is possible.’
At the end of the 40-day period of mourning for his father in 1977,
Jumblatt went to Damascus to pledge his allegiance to Hafez al-Assad. The
Syrian president greeted the young man with the unnervingly ambiguous
comment ‘How closely you resemble your father.’ Jumblatt would prove
a loyal and consistent ally of Syria from then on. And even though he
was the dominant figure in the Lebanese opposition, his public battle
was against Lahoud and the Syrian–Lebanese intelligence apparatus that
controlled Lebanon. His personal thoughts on Syria and its leadership he
kept to himself.
114 Killing Mr Lebanon

But a few days earlier, Bashar had delivered a strong speech in Damascus
justifying Syria’s role in Lebanon and its sacrifices to bring the civil war to
an end. ‘We took nothing from Lebanon, but we gave blood,’ he said.
Bashar described how in 1976 Syria had come to the assistance of
Lebanon’s Christians ‘who were being slaughtered at that time . . . in
the name of reform of the political regime, and justice, socialism, and
progress’.
Although Bashar refrained from mentioning Kamal Jumblatt by name,
the allusion to ‘justice, socialism and progress’ was a transparent reference
to Walid’s father, the founder and leader of the Progressive Socialist Party
(PSP).
Bashar’s speech clearly had upset Jumblatt, unsurprisingly given that
he believed his father was murdered on the orders of the father of the
young Syrian president.
‘The father, Hafez al-Assad, was a well-known leader at the end of
the twentieth century,’ Jumblatt said, still pacing nervously and talking, it
seemed, more to himself. ‘We cannot deny that, and he played an import-
ant role in the region and the Arab–Israeli conflict and building up Syria.
But I also claim that my father was a well-known figure in the Arab world
and I don’t want the memory of my father to be insulted. This is the least
that I can ask. I have never challenged the respectability of Hafez al-Assad
. . . I never mentioned something annoying in the press about him. Never
. . . But it seems the memory of some people is short, unfortunately.’
The UN released its first report on the implementation of Resolution
1559 on October 1, 30 days after the resolution was passed and the same
day that Hamade was nearly killed by the car bomb. Damascus had
awaited the UN findings with some anxiety, concerned that it could
herald yet another resolution. But the report simply contained a historical
overview of Syrian involvement in Lebanon and then a matter-of-fact
assessment of Lebanese and Syrian compliance with each of the resolu-
tion’s demands. Other than a minor redeployment of Syrian troops in
September, the report noted that none of the demands had been fulfilled.
The tepid UN assessment granted Syria sufficient breathing space to
dispense with Hariri as prime minister. Nabih Berri was employed to
deliver the coup de grâce. On October 20, Berri told Hariri during a brief
meeting that he had two hours to step down or seven cabinet ministers
loyal to the speaker and the president would quit.
Hariri returned to Koreitem to write his resignation letter with the
help of three colleagues, two of them MPs.29 Hariri ended the letter with
the dramatic phrase ‘I trust revered Lebanon and its good people to God
Almighty.’
 Showdown 115

But the other three urged Hariri to cut the sentence.

‘Are you sure you want to say that?’ one of them asked. ‘People will
think you are abandoning Lebanon for good.’
‘Let them read into it what they want to read into it,’ Hariri replied.
Omar Karami, the former prime minister from Tripoli whose disastrous
handling of the economy in 1991–1992 had precipitated the arrival of
Hariri as premier, was selected to head a new government, a decision that
Colin Powell chidingly described as ‘inappropriate’.
Hariri’s resignation was a cathartic release that shut the door on the
bitter events of the previous two months. He may have been forced to
leave office, but as far as he was concerned it would be a temporary
absence only. Parliamentary elections were scheduled for May 2005 and
Hariri was fully intending to repeat on an even larger scale his electoral
landslide of 2000. If he was able to forge a cross-sectarian alliance capable
of smashing the Syrian-backed candidates, the regime in Damascus would
have no choice but to deal with him as a valued equal rather than a
despised minion. It was a campaign that required subtlety and dexterity,
however. He wanted to make a point with the Syrians, not to confront
them. For even at this late stage and despite the humiliations he had
suffered in the past two years, Hariri still recognised that Syria was an
ineluctable fact of life for Lebanon and that maintaining strong, healthy
relations was of crucial importance to Lebanon’s stability and future
prosperity.
Of course, the assassination attempt against Marwan Hamade was also
a powerful and more personal reason for not pressing the Syrians too
hard. Following the October 1 car bomb attack, Hariri and Jumblatt began
to take greater security precautions, partially reassured by warnings to
Damascus from the French and Americans that any further attacks against
opposition figures would not be tolerated.
Hariri reassured his worried advisors that the Syrians would not try
to kill him, partly because he was not a full-fledged and public member
of the opposition, and also because he was simply too big. Hariri was
not just another minor local politician unknown outside Lebanon who
could be safely dispatched with no repercussions from the international
community.
‘Chirac thought it was not safe for Hariri to come back to Lebanon.
When he returned he was behaving as if nothing had happened. He was
overconfident,’ Jumblatt says.
Hariri’s family and staff, however, remained deeply concerned about
his safety. During the three-day Eid al-Fitr holiday marking the end of the
holy fasting month of Ramadan, thousands of well-wishers converged
116 Killing Mr Lebanon

on Koreitem to express their support for Hariri. It was a patent display of

Hariri’s popularity, which, paradoxically, increased the threat against
him, even if it was a threat that he chose to ignore.
The noose began to tighten on Hariri. Ali Hajj, Hariri’s former head
of security, was promoted to director-general of the Internal Security
Forces, in early November. One of his first acts was to reduce Hariri’s
close protection unit from 40 ISF officers to eight. The instructions came
from Rustom Ghazaleh but Lahoud provided the justification, saying that,
under Lebanese law, a former prime minister was permitted only eight
ISF officers for protection. Hariri shrugged it off. He had his own security
team and his Mercedes limousines were armour-plated and equipped
with state-of-the-art electronic jammers to kill radio signals that could be
used to detonate bombs. When his friend Pervez Musharraf, the president
of Pakistan, had narrowly survived an assassination attempt in 2003,
Hariri had sent him a fleet of his armour-plated cars.
‘Hariri was not worried at the time,’ a close aide of Hariri says.30 ‘He
used to say “You only die when you die.” He was a fatalist in the Muslim
tradition. I think he became a little reckless because he believed that the
Syrians would do nothing to him after they were warned by the Americans
and French.’
Despite his initial confidence, Hariri was wary of being seen as a
wholehearted opposition figure, although by default that is what he
gradually became over the following three months. Although he was
in contact via intermediaries with opposition groups like the Christian
Qornet Shehwan gathering, he considered them too hostile to Syria and
too sympathetic to those awkward, sensitive demands in Resolution 1559
that called for the disarming of Hizbullah and Palestinian groups and the
deployment of the Lebanese Army along the southern border with Israel.
‘Hariri meant to stay somewhere in between because there were certain
matters where he was not in agreement with the opposition. He wasn’t
going with the opposition all the way. Hariri was in line with Taif not
1559,’ says a former minister in Hariri’s governments.31 ‘In all honesty,
he never thought of doing any harm to the Syrians. Not because he was
afraid of them, but because he was a man who believed that it was in the
Arab interest to have good relations.’
In December, a multi-sectarian opposition front was born during a
conference at the Bristol Hotel in west Beirut. The declaration released at
the end of the meeting said that Lebanon had entered a ‘very dangerous
phase’ and called for ‘honest and free’ parliamentary elections and the
resignation of Karami’s government because of its ‘biased structure and
its attitude aimed at further deepening differences between the Lebanese’.
 Showdown 117

Led by Walid Jumblatt, the ‘Bristol Gathering’ included a who’s who

of Christian and Druze opposition parties, including Jumblatt’s PSP,
secular leftists, Samir Geagea’s Lebanese Forces and followers of Michel
Aoun. Sunni participants were fewer and the Shiites almost non-existent,
underlining that the Christian–Druze alliance still remained the backbone
of the anti-Syrian opposition. Hariri stayed away from the Bristol Gather-
ing, but asked Ghattas Khoury to attend in a personal capacity, a move
that Khoury says was intended to be deliberately ambiguous.
‘We wanted to incorporate the movement of Hariri into the opposition
gradually because of the direct threats he and everyone else was receiving,’
Khoury says.32
Hours after the meeting at the Bristol Hotel broke up, a motorcyclist
hurled a stick of dynamite at an office of Jumblatt’s PSP in the Wata al-
Mosseitbeh district of west Beirut. The explosion caused no injuries or
damage but panicked local residents, including the new environment
minister Wiam Wahhab who rushed from his house surrounded by
bodyguards declaring that somebody was trying to assassinate him.
Khoury attended a second meeting of the Bristol Gathering on December
28 accompanied by Basil Fleihan, the former economy minister and close
advisor to Hariri.
Hariri was concious that, if he proceeded too fast in embracing Qornet
Shehwan and other Christian groups sympathetic to Resolution 1559, he
could lose the support of his Sunni constituency and hamper his attempts
to bring on board the Shiites. The Shiites were the one community that
was resisting an embrace with the opposition, even tentatively. Hariri
had an open and strong alliance with the Druze through Jumblatt. He
and the Christian opposition groups were reaching out to each other,
albeit with some wariness. The Sunnis were largely behind Hariri as a
silent opposition, having yet to move into open defiance of Pax Syriana.
That left only the Shiites, Lebanon’s largest confession, still standing with
the Syrians as a community. At the end of November, Hizbullah lent its
considerable weight to a government-organised, pro-Syrian rally dubbed
the ‘million man march’ as a gesture of support for Syria and a rejection
of the creeping internationalisation of the Lebanese political scene. The
rally, which Omar Karami promised would be massive and overwhelm-
ing, attracted only about 100,000 and was clearly a contrived affair in
which pro-Syrian parties were drafted along with Syrian workers and
Palestinian refugees.
Tellingly, however, Hizbullah took pains to emphasise that it was
demonstrating against international interference in Lebanon, not against
the Lebanese opposition. On the eve of the rally, Hizbullah dispatched
118 Killing Mr Lebanon

a delegation to Bkirki, the seat of the Maronite patriarch, to reassure

Cardinal Sfeir that the party’s participation should not be interpreted as a
stand against the Christians. During the rally itself, Sheikh Naim Qassem,
Hizbullah’s deputy secretary-general, told the crowd that ‘We will not
divide Lebanon between opponents and supporters of Resolution 1559.’
And Hizbullah’s Al-Manar television station chose to completely ignore
the rally’s host, ultra pro-Syrian MP Nasser Qandil, whose speech was a
deliberately provocative attack on the opposition.
It was that conciliatory, non-confrontational spirit that encouraged
Hariri to recognise Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah as his potential Shiite partner.
The other choice was Nabih Berri, the head of the Amal Movement. But
Hariri finally had given up on Berri, viewing him as irredeemably corrupt
and unreliable. Berri was an opportunist and a survivor, not a risk taker.
He would remain a dependable ally of Syria for as long as Damascus was
calling the shots in Lebanon.
‘Rafik had finished with Nabih Berri 100 per cent,’ says a close advisor
to Hariri.33
The late-night meetings between Hariri and Nasrallah had continued
uninterrupted since early June. After his resignation in October, Hariri
began to steer the discussions toward the necessity of redefining
relations between Lebanon and Syria for the benefit of both countries.
Hizbullah, Hariri argued, should become his partner in trying to foster a
new relationship with Syria, a state-to-state partnership of mutual
respect with recognised joint strategic priorities. He revealed to the
Hizbullah leader details of the racketeering and corruption that marked
Syria’s dominion over Lebanon and the corrosive effect it had on the
ability of both countries to deal with each other equitably. A relation-
ship based on corruption and governed by the security and intelligence
agencies was of no interest to either side, he said. It was time to put
relations on a political footing and abandon the mistrust and paranoia
of the past.
‘I am not with Resolution 1559. I’m with Taif,’ Hariri told Nasrallah,
according to Mustafa Nasr, the intermediary who sat in on the meetings.34
‘If the Syrians withdraw to the Bekaa in accordance with Taif and we
have a new agreement with the Syrians, then I will take this agree-
ment and make it official in the Arab world, Europe and the United
States.’
As for Hizbullah’s weapons, Hariri would persuade the international
community that the fate of the resistance was a Lebanese issue that
could only be settled through internal dialogue not external pressure. As
prime minister, Hariri said he would never unleash the army against
 Showdown 119

Hizbullah. He would never create an ‘Algeria in Lebanon’, a reference to

the bloody conflict in the 1990s between the Algerian government and
Islamist militants.35
‘Hassan Nasrallah became convinced that Hariri was not against the
Syrians but had a special point of view that was supportive of the Arab
cause and Syria,’ Nasr says. ‘He understood that Hariri could not deal
with the Syrian leadership through the Syrian mukhabarat [intelligence
services] because there was no longer any trust between them. Hariri
could only deal with the Syrians through a political channel. Nasrallah
explained this to President Assad.’
Whether Nasrallah’s advice was heeded by Damascus is unclear. But in
early January, Walid Muallem, the moderate deputy foreign minister and
a former long-serving ambassador to Washington, was charged by the
Syrian leadership to begin a round of consultations with the Lebanese
government and opposition. The move was interpreted by many as a
conciliatory gesture that would lead to a Syrian troop withdrawal to the
Bekaa, a quid pro quo in which Damascus would honour its overdue
commitment to the Taif Accord rather than a full withdrawal under
Resolution 1559.
In early January, the UN appointed Terje Roed Larsen, the recently
retired UN Middle East peace envoy, to serve as coordinator for the
implementation of Resolution 1559. Larsen, a Norwegian diplomat
who was an architect of the Oslo Accords, had been closely involved
in Lebanese affairs since early 2000 when he had devised and pro-
moted the Blue Line prior to Israel’s troop withdrawal from south
Lebanon.
By now it was abundantly clear that Hariri’s electoral juggernaut
was becoming an unstoppable force that threatened to revolutionise the
Lebanese political landscape in the May elections.
Hariri was relentless in building alliances and shoring up his grassroots
support, meeting with trade unionists, mayors, political parties and
municipal leaders. The election team adopted a white and green flag as
Hariri’s electoral colours, the white representing peace and the green the
future of Lebanon.
All the data received at Hariri’s campaign headquarters at Koreitem
indicated that he would triumph in the mainly Sunni, Christian and Druze
areas of the country, leaving only the Shiite regions of the south and the
Bekaa valley in the hands of pro-Syrian candidates.
‘Our focus was that most likely there would be a partial Syrian with-
drawal to the Bekaa because of the pressures of 1559. Then there would be
elections which would give us an upper hand in Beirut, Mount Lebanon
120 Killing Mr Lebanon

and in the north and we would get a majority [in parliament] and form a
government even if the Syrians were still in the Bekaa. This was what we
thought,’ says Ghattas Khoury.
And there seemed to be little the Syrians could do to stop it. According
to Abdel-Halim Khaddam, Bashar and Lahoud both recognised that, if
Hariri waged his electoral campaign on a national level, building alliances
around the country rather than concentrating solely on his own Beirut
constituency, the opposition would certainly win a majority in the next
parliament.
‘That would very much limit the power of Lahoud and Bashar al-Assad
over Lebanon,’ Khaddam says.36
On January 9, Rustom Ghazaleh drove from Anjar to Koreitem for a
working lunch with Hariri. The rare meeting – the two men had not
seen each other in months – was regarded by the media as a Syrian
fence-mending exercise with the troublesome Sunni tycoon. But it was a
tense encounter. Ghazaleh proposed a deal in which the election law
being drawn up by Suleiman Frangieh, the interior minister, would not
be fixed against Hariri but in return Hariri would have to agree to
include five or six pro-Syrians on his list of electoral candidates and desist
from waging a nationwide electoral campaign. But Hariri refused out-
right, saying, according to Marwan Hamade, ‘Either you believe that
we are friends and allies and my bloc will be your friend and ally, or
you don’t trust us and therefore we will not put Trojan horses into our
parliamentary bloc.’37
The encounter ended in disagreement, with Ghazaleh storming out of
Koreitem and heading back to his headquarters in Anjar. It was the last
time the two men would meet. With Ghazaleh’s departure, Hariri tele-
phoned the three MPs in his parliamentary bloc who had been imposed
on him by the Syrians and bluntly informed them that he was dropping
them from his forthcoming electoral list.
It was a fateful moment for Hariri. He had crossed his Rubicon.
Hariri decided that the time was fast approaching to move more
formally into the opposition ranks. He agreed with Ghattas Khoury and
Basil Fleihan, his two interlocutors with the Christian opposition, to set
aside his misgivings about the Qornet Shehwan group and to cooperate
openly with the Bristol Gathering.
Hariri explained his electoral strategy to Fares Boueiz, saying that the
parliamentary elections would be a ‘good field for our battle’.38
‘I suppose in the next few weeks you are going to barricade yourself
in Koreitem and then oppose the Syrians and fight the electoral battle,’
Boueiz said.
 Showdown 121

‘Exactly,’ Hariri replied. ‘I can’t do that now but I will in the last month
and a half [before the elections]. I won’t leave my house but I will move
more into the opposition.’
According to Walid Jumblatt and Lebanese military and political
sources, in the days that followed Ghazaleh’s last visit to Koreitem the
Syrian and Lebanese intelligence apparatus hatched a plan to arrest both
Hariri and Jumblatt. Hariri was to be charged with being an Israeli agent,
while Jumblatt would be accused of ordering the assassination of Rene
Mouawad, the former Lebanese president.
In preparing the ground for the arrests, Suleiman Frangieh
contacted Nayla Mouawad, Rene’s widow and a prominent member
of the Qornet Shehwan opposition group, and told her that her
husband’s murderer had been identified as a member of Jumblatt’s
PSP. Mouawad understood what was happening and visited Jumblatt to
warn him that the authorities were planning his arrest on trumped-up
charges.
The arrests were never carried out. Why the Syrians changed their
minds is unclear. But given the intense international scrutiny on Lebanon
and Syria, it is hard to imagine how the authorities in Beirut could have
justified detaining the two men most closely associated with the opposition
to the Syrian-backed Lebanese regime.
On January 24, Suleiman Frangieh unveiled the electoral law that
would govern the parliamentary elections in May. The qada, or county,
was chosen to form the electoral constituency rather than the larger
muhafazat, or governorate, or a compromise between the two. The deci-
sion suited the Christians, who preferred the smaller constituencies, as
they felt it granted them more accurate representation. But in an attempt
to weaken Hariri’s chances in Beirut where he was running, Frangieh split
the city into three electoral districts, which diluted Sunni representation
in favour of Shiite, Armenian and Christian candidates. In Sidon, where
Hariri’s sister, Bahiya, was standing, the predominantly Sunni city was
merged for the first time with its mainly Shiite suburbs in a further effort
to derail the Hariri vote.
Walid Jumblatt said that the Beirut division was ‘without any justifica-
tion’ and was a blatent attempt to hobble the opposition. But it was evident
that even tinkering with the electoral law would fail to prevent an oppos-
ition victory in an election that was fast turning into a referendum on
Syria’s presence in Lebanon.
Still, some of his Sunni constituents were growing restless at the inces-
sant attacks on Hariri. One Sunni supporter demanded that Hariri supply
them with weapons so that they could form a militia.
122 Killing Mr Lebanon

‘All the other religions are armed. Why can’t we be as well?’ he asked
Hariri.
‘Guns?’ Hariri replied. ‘I don’t want you to have guns. I give you educa-
tion. I’ll give you anything. But I don’t want anything to do with you if
you want guns.’39
On February 1, Walid Muallem arrived in Beirut, his second visit
inside a month, for a new round of consultations which this time also
included members of the opposition. The portly, white-haired career
diplomat visited Hariri in Koreitem and during their conversation Hariri
asked Muallem when the Syrians had first become aware of a potential
Franco-American resolution being prepared against them.40
‘Last summer, six or seven months ago,’ Muallem replied.
‘Then why didn’t you come and ask me for my help?’ Hariri asked.
Since the early 1980s, Hariri had been using his influence to promote
and defend the interests of Syria as well as Lebanon to the international
community. He had helped the Lebanese resistance attain international
recognition and legitimacy in 1996 through the April Understanding, and
urged the West to recognise the needs of Damascus. Hariri was ‘Syria’s
unofficial foreign minister . . . much more important than the real foreign
minister, Farouq al-Sharaa,’ says Walid Jumblatt.41
Even at this late stage, Hariri was at a loss to understand the Syrian
leadership’s inflexible rejection of his offers of assistance. In his conversa-
tion with Muallem, Hariri said that Bashar was being deliberately mis-
informed by Syrian military intelligence and Farouq al-Sharaa on his
intentions.
‘I cannot live under a security regime that is specialised in interfering
with Hariri and spreading disinformation about Rafik Hariri and writing
reports to Bashar Assad,’ he said, adding later in the conversation
‘Lebanon will never be ruled from Syria. This will no longer happen.’
During the discussion, Muallem admitted to Hariri that ‘We and the
[security] services here have put you into a corner.’ He continued, ‘Please
do not take things lightly.’42 According to Fouad Siniora, Muallem agreed
at the meeting to attempt a reconciliation between Bashar and Hariri.43
Following his meetings with various Lebanese leaders, both loyalists
and opposition, Walid Muallem said that ‘the Syrian leadership has
decided not to interfere in internal Lebanese affairs and is willing to talk
to all political forces without any exception’.
But the Bristol Gathering opposition group had the bit between the
teeth and following Muallem’s departure from Beirut called for the first
time for a full withdrawal of Syrian troops from Lebanon. Syria’s Lebanese
loyalists responded by launching an offensive with a mass of verbal attacks
 Showdown 123

on Hariri, Jumblatt and the opposition that were unprecedented in their

ferocity.
One minister, Talal Arslan, scion of a rival Druze clan to the Jumblatts,
accused Hariri of financing the opposition against Lahoud, describing
him as the ‘snake of Koreitem’. Suleiman Frangieh, the interior minister,
said Hariri was the ‘tutor of the opposition’, guiding it against the gov-
ernment from behind the scenes. Omar Karami warned the opposition
that ‘we will show them what we can do in the next couple of days’, while
Qassem Qanso, the labour minister and head of the Lebanese branch of the
Baath party, called Jumblatt ‘a foreign spy’, adding ‘You will be crucified
above the garbage dump of history as a symbol of your ungratefulness,
of your back-stabbing’ and warning that the Druze leader was ‘not out of
reach of our militants’. Jumblatt shot back in similar vein, saying that it
was ‘the dregs of the Baath party’ that had assassinated his father, an
accusation that spurred the Baath party to file a lawsuit against him.
‘Is the country on the brink of a sharp internal split?’ asked the Lebanese
As Safir daily as the hostile rhetoric scaled new heights. The Syrian state-
run Tishreen newspaper weighed in with a lengthy attack on Hariri’s
past governments and called the leaders of the opposition ‘heroes of
corruption’.
The atmosphere was souring by the day and both Hariri and Jumblatt
sensed that the loyalist attacks against them were creating an ambience
of potential violence. Hariri’s feeling of invulnerability was beginning to
wane as the political climate turned increasingly poisonous, the attacks on
him more malicious and venal.
At the beginning of February, he pulled Jumblatt aside and told him
‘You know, it could be me or you in the next two weeks. If they want to
create trouble, they will kill either you or me.’
‘Clearly he thought something was going to happen,’ Walid Jumblatt
told the author weeks later.
Hariri, who spoke on the phone with Abdel-Halim Khaddam on a daily
basis, met his old Syrian ally for the last time in early February. Khaddam
was becoming convinced that his friend was going to be murdered and
advised him ‘to get on a plane and leave’.
‘I repeatedly warned him and told him to resign and leave the country
because I knew that the ruler of Syria does not have a logical and balanced
mind. He could take any action,’ Khaddam recalls. ‘But Hariri replied,
how could he leave with the elections coming up?’44
On February 8, Terje Roed Larsen, the UN envoy, arrived in Beirut to
negotiate a mechanism that would allow Resolution 1559 to be imple-
mented with the approval of all sides. In his meetings with the Lebanese
124 Killing Mr Lebanon

leadership, he suggested linking 1559 with Taif as a means of encouraging

Syria to begin the process of redeploying troops to the Bekaa.
‘My original approach – what I put to the parties – was that, if the
withdrawal happens, I don’t care if it’s called implementing the Taif
Agreement or implementing 1559 . . . so long as it happens,’ Larsen
recalls.45
Larsen was due to travel straight to Damascus from Beirut to meet
Bashar, but he was kept waiting for two days. According to UN offi-
cials, Farouq al-Sharaa purposely delayed Larsen’s appointment until
Thursday, February 10 so that it would collide with a prior engagement
with Jacques Chirac in Paris.
In Damascus, Larsen told Bashar that the international community
would welcome some significant moves by the Syrian president in
Lebanon. Those moves could be symbolic, Larsen added carefully. It was
obvious that Damascus could not remove the entire army and military
intelligence service overnight. However, he continued, if the president
was to withdraw one soldier in particular, then Larsen would reflect that
in his upcoming report on the implementation of Resolution 1559.
‘What one soldier would that be?’ Bashar asked.
‘Your man in Anjar,’ Larsen replied, referring to Rustom Ghazaleh.
Bashar looked startled and then after a moment replied to the effect that
it would be easier to remove the entire Syrian Army from Lebanon than
oust Ghazaleh from Anjar.46
Sharaa was present at the meeting, along with some of Larsen’s UN
aides. Larsen asked to speak to Bashar alone for a few minutes and the
other attendees left the room. In an awkward postscript to the meeting,
Larsen’s aides discovered to their consternation that sitting in the office of
the director-general of the presidential palace, arms crossed and staring
pensively at the floor, was none other than Rustom Ghazaleh. Clearly he
was waiting to be briefed on Larsen’s discussion with Bashar where he
would undoubtedly be told of the UN envoy’s suggestion that he be
removed.
In his one-to-one discussion with Bashar, Larsen discussed the tensions
between Lebanon and Syria, particularly the deteriorating relationship
between Hariri and the Syrian leadership which the UN envoy believed
‘might lead to a dangerous situation’.
‘I met a number of officials on both sides and my impression was,
without any qualification or nuance, that there was a rapidly deteriorat-
ing situation between the leadership of the two countries that caused
[me] concern,’ Larsen says. ‘I urged both parties immediately to start a
dialogue; otherwise it would continue to deteriorate rapidly further. We
 Showdown 125

[Larsen and Bashar] had a tentative discussion about setting up a meeting

between a representative of [Bashar] and Hariri for the following week,
the same week that Hariri died.’47
Larsen returned to Beirut that evening and had dinner at Koreitem to
update Hariri on his talks with Bashar and the possibility of organising a
reconciliation meeting.
That same day, the Christian opposition Qornet Shehwan gathering
discussed an offer from Marwan Hamade to meet Hariri at Koreitem
to form a joint position on the electoral law. Hariri had visited Cardinal
Sfeir to reassure the Maronite patriarch that he was not averse to the
government’s intention to hold the elections on the basis of the qada, the
preferred choice of the Christians. That suggested to the Christian opposi-
tion that perhaps it would be a good idea to coordinate their stance with
Hariri. But there was still some uneasiness. Although Hariri had decided
to align himself fully with the established Christian–Druze opposition, he
had yet to go public. The Qornet Shehwan decided that they would meet
Hariri but not at Koreitem. Instead they settled on the more neutral setting
of parliament where the MPs in Qornet Shehwan would meet Hariri on
Monday morning.
The parliamentary elections also formed part of the discussion
between Hariri and Nasrallah the next day, Friday, February 11, at
what would be their last encounter together. Hariri was still refusing to
include any pro-Syrians on his electoral list, but Nasrallah successfully
persuaded him to accept two candidates, an Armenian and a member of
Hizbullah.
‘How can I not have a member of the resistance in my Beirut list?’
Hariri said.48 A few weeks earlier, Hariri had used his influence with
Jacques Chirac to persuade France not to support adding Hizbullah to the
European Union’s list of terrorist organisations which EU foreign minis-
ters were planning to discuss in Brussels on February 16. Nasrallah was
appreciative of Hariri’s intervention and in return agreed to try to broker
a secret meeting in Damascus between Hariri and Bashar at which all
points of contention would be discussed. Nasrallah’s mediation would
represent a third track along with the efforts of Walid Muallem and Terje
Roed Larsen to achieve a rapprochement between Hariri and Bashar.
Even though he was on the verge of publicly announcing his affiliation
with the opposition, Hariri had not abandoned the possibility of reconcil-
ing with the Syrian leadership, according to his colleagues. After all, if
his electoral game plan bore fruit, he would return as prime minister of
Lebanon after the May elections and he would once more have to deal
with the Syrians.
126 Killing Mr Lebanon

Nasrallah told Hariri that a senior Hizbullah official would be in

Damascus on Monday, February 14 to arrange the reconciliation with
Bashar.
The state’s pressure on Hariri reached new heights on Saturday,
February 12, when four workers from one of his charities, the Beirut
Society for Social Development, were arrested by police on charges of
providing bribes to families in the form of bottles of olive oil in advance of
the parliamentary election. The bottles of olive oil were being distributed
by the charity in fulfilment of a pledge during the holy fasting month of
Ramadan when Hariri’s charities traditionally supplied food packages
to needy families. Because the previous Ramadan had fallen before the
olive picking season was over, the food packages had contained notes
informing the recipients that they would receive the oil as soon as the
olives had been pressed and the oil bottled. On hearing the news of
the arrests, Hariri intervened personally to have the workers released,
describing the incident as ‘foolishness’.
Hariri later that day told Adnan Baba, his personal secretary, ‘If they
[the Syrians] kill me, they will be signing their own death warrant.’49
The scandal of the arrested charity workers caused a sensation over the
weekend and provoked loud condemnation in Muslim and political cir-
cles. Sheikh Mohammed Qabbani, the Sunni Mufti, said the arrests were
‘shameful’ and demanded the authorities ‘stop this game immediately’.
When the detained workers were ordered by the police to reveal the
names of the families who had been supplied with the olive oil, Qabbani
issued a fatwa, a religious decree, saying ‘it is forbidden to disclose the
names of aid-recipient families’.
Even pro-Syrian politicians appeared embarrassed by such a clumsy
attempt to pressure Hariri, with Elie Ferzli, the information minister,
saying the arrests were ‘unjustifiable’.
Handling the olive oil arrests took up much of Hariri’s time over the
weekend, although he did receive an unexpected phone call on Sunday
morning. It was Rustom Ghazaleh. Sounding agitated, the Syrian general
bluntly demanded a large sum of money to be delivered in cash to his
headquarters in Anjar, according to a Hariri aide. It was not the first time
that Ghazaleh had squeezed money from Hariri. Even though Hariri had
decided to no longer deal with the Syrian mukhabarat, he gave in to
Ghazaleh’s demand, saying that the general would have to wait until
the next day because the banks were closed on Sundays. But Ghazaleh
insisted on the money being delivered the same day. Hariri made the
appropriate arrangements and the money was delivered to Anjar by Abu
Tarek, the head of Hariri’s security detail. According to Saad Hariri, Abu
 Showdown 127

Tarek received a tongue-lashing from Ghazaleh, who used ‘every single

curse in the Arabic dictionary’ against his boss. Abu Tarek was so shaken
by the tirade that he switched off his phone and drove to his home where
he stayed for three hours to calm himself down.50
As afternoon turned into evening on Sunday, February 13, Hariri was
visited by allies and friends, including Jumblatt and Ghazi Aridi who
remained with Hariri until late in the evening.
It was nearly midnight by the time Hariri took the lift to his private
quarters on the seventh floor. His wife, Nazek, was in Paris, although he
was planning to fly to France on the Friday to celebrate the birthday of his
only daughter, Hind, who was staying with her mother. As he undressed
for bed, he telephoned his son Saad in Saudi Arabia for his customary
late-night chat.51 He asked after Lara, Saad’s wife, and his grandson
Hussam, of whom he was especially fond. Saad said that he was flying
to Abu Dhabi in the morning. The conversation was limited to general
personal matters. Although Saad was curious to hear the latest political
developments, he knew better than to ask given that the phone lines were
being monitored. After a few minutes, Hariri wound up the call with his
customary adieu to his son.
‘I love you,’ he said, and hung up the phone.
The Beirut Spring
6
The blast is heard all over Beirut, a shockingly loud thunderclap that
reverberates around the city’s streets up into the hills to the east, rattling
windows, triggering car alarms and bringing anxious Lebanese out onto
their balconies. At first, most people gaze skyward, thinking it is a sonic
boom from a low-flying Israeli Air Force jet. But the towering column of
thick black smoke climbing into the deep-blue sky from the city centre
tells a different story.
Amer Shehadi, the bodyguard driving the first Mercedes in the convoy,
feels the huge blast slam into the back of his car like a solid wave, lifting
the vehicle completely off the ground and propelling it several metres
down the road.1
‘What happened?’ yells Mohammed Dia, the bodyguard in the passen-
ger seat.
‘We’ve had it,’ Shehadi says.
Carole Farhat is about to enter the St George Annexe facing the St
George Hotel when the shockwave hits her. She is hurled some 12 metres
to the left and crashes onto the bonnet of a parked car. The blast shatters
her left ear drum. A second smaller explosion immediately follows the
first and she instinctively screws her eyes shut as a shower of debris falls
around her, football-sized chunks of black asphalt and concrete, stones,
earth, dust and jagged shards of glass. She opens her eyes again to a
world gone dark. Through the dense cloud of dust and smoke, she can
just discern the outlines of three bodies lying on the road. It must be an
earthquake, she thinks, and begins screaming hysterically.
Ghattas Khoury is in the operating theatre of the American University
Hospital (AUH) when the blast occurs less than a mile away. The huge
hospital building trembles, dislodging a panel in the false ceiling above
the surgery table. Khoury instinctively knows who is the victim. Jumblatt
is not in Beirut, and the explosion is so big. It can only be Hariri.
 The Beirut Spring 129

Samer Rida, the newspaper delivery supervisor, and his trainee are
standing on the roadside just 20 metres to the right of the bomb when
it explodes. Rida doesn’t recall hearing the explosion, but he feels a
tremendous force yanking him backwards down the steps leading into
the St George Yacht Club.
Fady Khoury, the owner of the St George Hotel, is talking on his mobile
phone while standing on the steps leading up to the main road when the
blast knocks him to his knees. He turns to Yussef Mezher, his chauffeur,
who was standing beside him and asks if he is hurt. Yussef replies in a
shaken voice that he is okay. Then a second blast topples a stone wall onto
Yussef, crushing his pelvis and pinning him to the ground. He screams in
pain. Khoury is knocked down by a tin sheet roof which protects him
from the collapsed wall. It must be an air raid, thinks Khoury. If there’s a
third explosion, I’m dead.
Rami Farous, the owner of a mobile phone shop around the corner from
the St George Hotel, is sitting in his chair behind the counter when the
blast flings him against the wall. The pressure wave squeezes all the air
out of his lungs and for a few moments he is unable to breathe. The
window fronting the shop shatters and blows inward, showering a cus-
tomer with hundreds of glass shards. Rami is unhurt. He stumbles out of
the shop into a thick fog of dust. He stares at other bewildered and pale-
faced people staggering out of neighbouring shops and offices. Hurrying
down the road toward the St George, he taps the video button on his
mobile phone and begins recording the scene of destruction before him,
trembling, blurry images of burning vehicles, thick smoke and dazed sur-
vivors, one of them sitting on the road, his clothes stripped from his body
by the force of the blast.
Amer Shehadi stumbles out of the Mercedes and stares in astonishment
at the inferno behind him, a tortured mass of blazing vehicles and thick,
roiling black smoke. Mohammed Dia is also out of the car, but Hassan
Ajouz in the back seat is unconscious. Shehadi charges into the flames to
look for Hariri. Yet even though Hariri’s Mercedes was just 4 metres
behind his car in the convoy, he cannot make out which of the burning
vehicles belongs to the boss. The heat and smoke force him to back away.
He takes a deep breath and heads in again. He sees bodies smothered in
flames sitting upright in the burning vehicles, some of them his col-
leagues. They’re dead. There’s nothing I can do for them, Shehadi thinks.
Abu Tarek, the head of the security team and Hariri’s personal bodyguard
for more than two decades, was closest to the explosion, sitting in the
passenger seat of the fourth vehicle, covering the right flank of Hariri’s
Mercedes. He was blown to pieces. All they would find of his body is
130 Killing Mr Lebanon

38 pieces of flesh identified only through DNA testing. Mohammed

Darwish, the driver of the fourth vehicle, was cut in half, the upper part of
his body thrown dozens of metres. The three bodyguards in the fifth car
were killed instantly and left to burn in the blazing vehicle. Shehadi
notices that the road is littered with the grim evidence of the explosion’s
terrible power – severed hands, arms, legs, countless scraps of
indeterminate flesh and pools of thick red blood darkening in the heat
from the fires. Still he cannot find Hariri and once more the heat and
smoke force him to back away. Mohammed Dia hands him the walkie-
talkie and he tries to contact his headquarters in Koreitem.
The sound of the explosion brings Abed Arab, deputy to his cousin Abu
Tarek in the security team, out of his office and onto the street outside
Koreitem where he scans the sky for the vapour trails of Israeli jets. His
wife, Rudeina, yells at him from the roof of an apartment block opposite
Koreitem where they live. ‘It’s a big explosion near the Phoenicia,’ she
shouts, pointing in the direction of the blast.
Arab hurries back into his control room by the main gate.
‘Where’s the convoy,’ he says urgently.
‘We don’t know,’ a colleague answers.
Abed asks for his walkie-talkie and, as it is handed to him, he hears the
voice of Amer Shehadi calling his name and saying, ‘The convoy’s been
hit by a bomb.’
Abed keeps the channel open and asks for details as he flags down a
passing police car driven by an officer in the Internal Security Forces.
Joined by an advisor to Hariri, the three men race through the streets of
Hamra toward the St George. The crackle of the walkie-talkie cannot hide
the shock in Shehadi’s voice.
‘Calm down. Take a deep breath and tell me what happened,’ Abed
tells Shehadi. ‘Where’s the boss?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t find him,’ Shehadi replies.
Ghattas Khoury was wrong. Jumblatt is in Beirut, at his grey-stone
mansion in the Clemenceau quarter, barely five minutes’ walk from the
St George. The blast shakes the building. Jumblatt stares out of a window,
thinking initially, like so many other people, that it is a low-flying super-
sonic run by an Israeli jet. Then he sees the thick black cloud of smoke
rising from the direction of the sea.
‘Ghazi,’ Jumblatt calls to Ghazi Aridi who is with him in the house, ‘try
to reach Koreitem. It might be Rafik.’ Aridi dials the number but the lines
are blocked. Jumblatt dispatches a bodyguard to the scene of the explo-
sion to find out what’s going on. Just after the bodyguard leaves, Aridi
gets through to Koreitem.
 The Beirut Spring 131

‘Where is he?’ he asks.

‘We don’t know,’ says the voice on the other end of the line. ‘We have
no news.’
Ahmad Husari, in charge of the Intensive Care Unit that morning at the
American University Hospital, is doing some paperwork in his third-floor
office when the building shudders from the tremendous blast, shaking a
cloud of dust from the ceiling. Thinking it is an Israeli jet, he waits for the
usual second sonic boom, knowing that Israeli warplanes travel in pairs
in the skies above Lebanon. But there is no second detonation. A doctor
pushes open his office door and tells him there has been an explosion at a
branch of the HSBC bank in Hamra, only 600 metres from the hospital.
Husari grabs his mobile phone and calls his wife, Lina, who is shopping
in Hamra, buying skiing equipment for their son. Lina reassures her hus-
band that she is fine, that there is no explosion in Hamra, and then the
phone lines go dead.
Nejib Friji, the UN spokesman who is still standing outside parliament
minutes after Hariri’s convoy departed for Koreitem, listens in astonish-
ment to the appalling din of thousands of windows shattering onto the
pavements of central Beirut. He pulls out his mobile phone and snaps a
photograph of a column of yellow dust spiralling into the sky above the
sandstone buildings on the northern, seaward, side of Nijmeh Square.
‘There’s been an explosion somewhere between the sea and
Clemenceau,’ a guard outside the parliament building tells Friji and Ali
Hamade, the An Nahar journalist. Jumblatt’s town house is in Clem-
enceau. Both men key in Jumblatt’s number on their mobile phones, but
the lines are overloaded and no calls go through. Hamade hurries
into Café de l’Etoile, where he had been sipping coffee and chatting with
Hariri minutes earlier, to use the land line to reach the Druze leader.
‘Jumblatt’s alive,’ Hamade tells Friji moments later. He was not the
target.
‘Try Hariri,’ Friji says.
Carole Farhat feels no pain, even though the heat from the explosion
has seared her face and hands. Her leather jacket and jeans are peppered
with tiny burns. She is covered in cuts and blood streams from her left ear.
Her mobile phone lying on the ground nearby flashes an incoming call.
She slides off the car, ripping her jeans on a metal shard. Her hands are
trembling too much to answer the phone or even place a call. Through the
dust and smoke she hears the sound of gunfire. Are we being attacked?
The shooting is the ammunition belonging to Hariri’s bodyguards, a total
of 750 pistol and machine gun rounds, cooking off in the flames. Terrified,
Carole ducks through the shattered entrance of the St George Hotel
132 Killing Mr Lebanon

Annexe. Ali, the chauffeur for her sister-in-law Marie, is crouching by the
entrance. They hug.
‘What happened?’ Ali asks.
‘I don’t know,’ Carole replies, hiding behind a wall to avoid the gunfire.
‘It’s the end of the world.’
The two burned corpses sit upright in the front seats of the car, charred
beyond recognition, white skull glinting through blackened flesh, twisted
and contorted by the heat like some macabre copy of the plaster-cast
victims of Pompeii. A fireman, his face blackened by smoke, tugs at the
still-steaming door, trying to wrench it free to release the bodies. Two Red
Cross workers carrying a body on a stretcher yell at people to get out of
the way. The corpse, hidden discreetly beneath a woollen blanket, wob-
bles like jelly as the medics stumble through the rubble and dirt that litters
this usually busy thoroughfare. Firemen’s hoses snake across the debris.
The water used to douse the burning vehicles mixes with the dust and
earth turning the street into mud. Some crumpled vehicles have been
blown to the side of the road, like swept leaves, the bodywork stripped to
an ash grey by the flames. The engine of one abandoned but undamaged
car is still running. Another group of rescue workers and volunteers
tear at the door of a car crushed like tinfoil and still pinging from the
heat of the fire that transformed the vehicle’s occupants into featureless
blackened corpses.
Ahmad Husari bursts into the emergency room at the American
University Hospital, delivering rapid instructions to the staff to prepare
for the imminent arrival of casualties. They agree to do the triage outside
the front door of the emergency room to provide immediate assessment of
the wounded. The critically injured will be sent to the operating rooms,
while the less serious casualties will be dealt with in a separate area.
Nurses are called in from all floors of the hospital and elective surgeries
are postponed. The hasty preparations remind some of the older doctors
of those grim days in the 1980s when treating the victims of bombs and
bullets was a daily occurrence. The stretchers are lined up by the entrance
and, when all is done, the medical team falls into a tense silence waiting
for the first ambulances to arrive.
Samer Rida, the newspaper delivery man, is trapped beneath a pile of
rubble from the collapsed ceiling of the entrance to the St George Yacht
Club. He is having difficulty breathing and is blinded by blood. Rida’s left
eye is haemorrhaging and a wooden splinter is buried deep in his right
temple behind the right eyeball. He tries to move his legs, but the weight
of the rubble is too great. Terrified of being left to die in his shallow grave
of dirt and masonry, he wriggles his hands to his face where he scrapes a
 The Beirut Spring 133

small hole allowing him to breathe and call for help. Some bystanders lift
away the rubble and help him up. Sightless, Rida holds out his hands
in front of him to feel his way, listening to the cries of the wounded,
panicked shouting and the wailing of sirens. What happened, he asks
himself.
The third blast that St George’s owner Fady Khoury feared would kill
him never comes. He scrambles out from beneath the collapsed tin roof
and briefly assesses the ruins of the hotel for potential shelter in case there
are more explosions. Yussef is conscious but trapped beneath the fallen
masonry. Some people climb down from the main road and help extract
him. Khoury notices a man with a broken arm crawling from beneath a
pile of rubble beside the hotel. He sees the young man who had delivered
Al-Wasit newspaper minutes before staggering through the smoke, his
arms outstretched. There are two red holes where his eyes should be.
‘I can’t see,’ the young man moans.
Khoury takes his arm. ‘Sit here. I’ll get help.’
He steps out onto the street. It’s an apocalypse, he thinks, as he stares at
the burning vehicles, billowing black smoke and the dead and injured
lying on the debris-covered road. He sees Suleiman Frangieh, the interior
minister, and makes his way toward him.
Frangieh thanks God for Khoury’s safety. But Khoury has no time for
pleasantries. The St George Annexe is on fire. His people are inside.
Smoke coils out of the building where the exterior walls had once been.
The façade of flesh-coloured stone panels is almost completely gone. The
explosion has not only destroyed much of the outside wall but knocked
down all the interior walls as well, like dominoes, stripping the building
to a skeleton.
‘Put out the fire,’ Khoury yells at Frangieh, ‘or you will have more dead
people.’
Nejib Friji and Ali Hamade in Nijmeh Square cannot reach Hariri’s
number so the two men walk the short distance to An Nahar’s office
overlooking Martyrs’ Square. Gibran Tueni, the general manager of the
newspaper, is grim-faced and shaking. Gazing out of the sixth-floor office
window, they can see that the initial cloud of yellow dust has turned into
thick black smoke, an ugly contrast to the clear blue sky. The first footage
from the scene of the explosion begins playing on the television in Tueni’s
office. Staring at the television screen, Friji recognises the hearse-like
ambulance identified by Hamade only minutes before.
Knocked out by the blast, Rashid Hammoud, the paramedic in the back
of the ambulance at the rear of Hariri’s motorcade, gradually awakens on
the floor of the vehicle. Mohammed Awayni, the driver, and Mazen
134 Killing Mr Lebanon

Zahabi, the paramedic sitting in the front passenger seat, were also ren-
dered unconscious by the force of the explosion. The ambulance, which
for security reasons normally travelled about 50 metres behind the last
vehicle in the convoy, has coasted into the inferno, coming to a halt on
the lip of the bomb crater. Blood is pouring into Hammoud’s eyes from a
gash on his head. The back of the vehicle is filled with smoke. Coughing
and struggling to breath, Hammoud tries to stand but collapses again.
His left leg is broken in the ankle and tibia. It must be a car crash, he
thinks, not realising that the convoy has been struck by a bomb. He
straps a makeshift splint to his leg and calls out to Zahabi and Awayni.
There is no answer and, for a minute more, Hammoud shouts their
names. Giving up, he pulls himself up onto his good, right, leg and
peers through the narrow access window in the wooden screen separat-
ing him from the front cabin. He cannot see his colleagues, but notices
that the engine of the ambulance is on fire. He glances fearfully at the
two oxygen cylinders beside him in the rear of the ambulance. Panic
gives him strength and he lurches to the back door and yanks desper-
ately at the handle. The door is jammed. He looks up and to his aston-
ishment he can see the sky. The entire roof of the ambulance has gone.
Hammoud grips the edge of the roof and pulls himself up and through
the opening, letting himself slip to the ground outside the vehicle. Amer
Shehadi sees Hammoud sitting by the burning ambulance and hauls
him clear.
‘Have you seen the prime minister?’ he asks the shaken Hammoud.
‘The prime minister? No,’ Hammoud replies, puzzled. Why would he
be asking Hariri’s whereabouts when they had been in a car crash?
‘Is there anyone else in the ambulance?’ Shehadi asks.
‘Mohammed Awayni and Mazen Zahabi,’ Hammoud replies. ‘They
haven’t been burned yet.’
The engine fire is raging and it will only be a matter of seconds before it
reaches the ambulance’s petrol tank. Shehadi glances through the driver’s
window. He doesn’t notice Awayni who is still out cold, but Zahabi is
there, sitting upright but unconscious in the passenger seat. Uncertain if
Zahabi is dead or alive, Shehadi moves around the back of the ambulance
to reach the passenger door to check. But as he does so the petrol tank of
the ambulance suddenly explodes, engulfing the vehicle with burning
liquid and forcing Shehadi to back away.
Mohammed Awayni wakes to find his hands grasping the steering
wheel of the ambulance. Dazed, he turns his head slowly to the right and
sees Zahabi beside him covered in flames. Awayni moves his fingers on
the steering wheel and thinks ‘I’m alive.’ He pushes open the door, falls
 The Beirut Spring 135

out of the ambulance and runs towards the nearby Phoenicia Hotel as the
vehicle succumbs to the fire.
Abed Arab arrives at the St George and sees Amer Shehadi who tells
him that they still have not found the boss. Arab scans the scene before
him, the thick black smoke, punctuated every few seconds by explosions
as the flames ignite fuel tanks of burning cars. The high-pitched and
insistent whine of car alarms fails to drown the crackle of bullets in the
flames. His cousin, Abu Tarek, is in there somewhere. Arab notices the
body of a large man lying on the road 10 metres away. Is it the boss?
Somebody tells him it is Jamal Mansour, one of the bodyguards, who was
of a similar shape and size to Hariri.
Amer Shehadi finds Hariri’s car. The back of the armoured Mercedes
has vanished. Only the crumpled, shattered front half remains, a burned-
out shell of twisted metal. Somebody tells him that Hariri is alive and in
one of the bomb-blasted buildings facing the St George. Shehadi scram-
bles over the debris, checking bodies and injured people being treated on
the spot by Red Cross medics, but Hariri is not among them. As Shehadi
begins to lose hope that the boss is still alive, he is gripped by a terrible
blinding pain in the head. Thin trickles of blood seep from his ears and
gradually his hearing fades, a result of the concussive effect of the huge
explosion. He hitches a ride on an ambulance to hospital. It will be two
weeks before he regains his hearing.
Soldiers and paramilitary police form a cordon at either end of the
bomb scene, yelling at wide-eyed onlookers to stay back. Windows have
shattered for hundreds of yards. Thick piles of glass lie on the street. The
side of the towering five-star Phoenicia Hotel facing the St George has had
every window blown out. The blast was so powerful that it even warped
and splintered the wooden door frames in the hotel’s bedrooms. Dozens
of tiles lining the walls of the road tunnel near the Phoenicia have popped
and buckled from the pressure wave. Dazed employees at a branch of
HSBC bank, around the corner from the bombing, step through the shat-
tered façade of the building, many of them dripping blood from glass
cuts. Two black limousines, badly damaged but untouched by fire, lie in
the middle of the road 30 metres from the crater. One of them is Amer
Shehadi’s Mercedes, the other a BMW. The indicator light of the BMW is
still flashing. The windows are smashed, the bodywork crumpled. A
small pool of thick red blood congeals on the road beside the driver’s
door. On the back window shelf lies a chipped CD: Tha Last Meal by Snoop
Dogg. The boot of Shehadi’s Mercedes was blown open, exposing a shiny
metal box with lights, dials and switches, the powerful electronic jammer
used to prevent bomb explosions.
136 Killing Mr Lebanon

There in the heart of the chaos, mud and smoke is the crater, 3 metres
deep, some 10 metres wide, with thin tendrils of smoke still writhing from
the churned earth. Shattered water pipes jut out from the crater wall
like broken teeth. Rescue workers and plain-clothes policemen scramble
down the sides of the crater, digging though the dirt for evidence of what
could have caused such a massive explosion. More importantly, who was
the bomb intended for? A trim-looking man in a dark suit, pale-blue shirt
and tie directs rescuers as they sift through the rubble of an adjacent
building. He looks like a bodyguard for someone important. Mohammed
Azakir, a photographer for Reuters who was among the first to arrive and
would later win a press award for the pictures he shot that day, has a
terrible look on his face.
‘They got Hariri,’ he says bluntly.
The anxious silence outside the emergency room of the American
University Hospital is broken by the faint wail of the first approaching
ambulance. The vehicle lurches to a halt and Ahmad Husari, glancing
inside, realises immediately that the first victims are all dead. The bodies
are blackened from fire, some of them missing limbs. He orders the ambu-
lance driver to head to the morgue. More ambulances arrive in swift suc-
cession, disgorging victims with injuries ranging from lacerations caused
by flying glass to severe burns, amputations and deep gashes from metal
fragments. Some of the victims are so seriously injured that they die on
the operating table before surgery begins. Husari is struck by the fact that
most of the victims are wearing suits and ties, very different from the
military fatigues worn by the casualties he treated during the war. He
hears a rumour that the motorcade carrying Hariri and Basil Fleihan was
targeted by the bomb. The rumour is confirmed when he sees an injured
Rashid Hammoud, his colleague from the AUH who used to talk with
pride about his job on Hariri’s medical team, carried into the emergency
room on a stretcher. Then somebody tells him that Hariri and Fleihan
escaped the bomb unhurt and drove away from the scene in another car.
Thank God, he thinks. Husari won a Hariri Foundation scholarship in
1986 to study medicine at Johns Hopkins University in the US and he has
known Fleihan since they were both students together at the American
University of Beirut. Yet another ambulance pulls up, and out of the back,
held up by two medics, steps a horrific, fire-blackened, half-naked scare-
crow figure, whose dark suit and striped shirt hang in charred ribbons
from his scorched and gashed body. The man’s eyes flicker and in a
hoarse, rasping voice he calls a woman’s name, ‘Yasma, Yasma’, over and
over again. It is astonishing that the man is conscious, let alone alive. The
fire has flayed most of the skin from his body and seared the nerve
 The Beirut Spring 137

endings so that, mercifully, the man is spared pain. Husari has him
stretchered into the emergency room where he is incubated, put on life
support and then wheeled into the ICU. He returns to the triage area
outside the emergency room and is told that Hariri and Fleihan had not
escaped the bomb after all and are, in all likelihood, dead. Husari thinks
of the terribly burned man in the ICU who had repeated the name Yasma.
Fleihan’s wife is called Yasma. He walks back to the ICU and leans over
the still-conscious figure.
‘Are you Basil Fleihan?’ he asks.
Fleihan nods.
‘I am Ahmad Husari. Do you remember me?’
Another nod.
‘I am here to look after you,’ Husari says, but knowing, surely, there is
no way Fleihan can survive these terrible burns. He glances at the ring on
one of Fleihan’s blackened fingers and notices the name ‘Yasma’ engraved
upon it. And he thinks, what am I going to say to his wife?
Abed Arab continues staring at the body lying on the road. Is it the boss
or Jamal Mansour, the bodyguard? He calls over two paramedics who place
the body in the back of an ambulance. Arab climbs aboard and begins an
inch-by-inch examination of the corpse, trying to put a name to the broken
body before him. The hair has been burned off and the face is swollen
beyond recognition, the eyes reduced to slits, the skin yellowed by the heat
of the fire. The shoes have gone, exposing a pair of short dark socks that
have been burned into the skin. Arab knew that Hariri tended to wear long
socks. It takes him five minutes before he realises who it is. It’s the finger-
nails that give it away. An image of Hariri in Koreitem flashes into his
mind. It was November 1, the boss’s birthday. Abu Tarek asked him if he
would kiss Hariri’s hand as a gesture of respect. Hariri didn’t like offering
his hand to anyone, but Arab was different. He was family. Hariri had sat
on the sofa and raised his hand. Arab took it and kissed it. It was an
intensely personal moment. And now here he was sitting in the back of an
ambulance before this ruined corpse whose clean, neatly clipped finger-
nails were the same as those he had kissed three months earlier.
Jumblatt’s bodyguard returns to the house in Clemenceau and says that
it seems to have been a bomb attack against Hariri’s convoy. Jumblatt and
Aridi head to the American University Hospital, a few minutes away. As
they arrive, they see Bahaa Hariri, Rafik’s eldest son. He looks bewildered
and in shock. The three of them enter the hospital together and are told
that Hariri might be in the operating theatre. As they make their way to
the theatre, a hospital security officer takes Jumblatt aside and says ‘It’s
useless. He died.’
138 Killing Mr Lebanon

Ghattas Khoury is in the morgue when he is joined by Salim Diab, a

former minister and close friend of Hariri. Together, they begin the har-
rowing task of trying to identify which of the corpses is the former prime
minister. A medic indicates one corpse and says it is Hariri, but Khoury
and Diab disagree. Hariri bears no resemblance to that burned, broken
body. They keep searching.
When the shooting stops, Carole Farhat and Ali help each other back
onto the street. The dust is settling and the smoke has cleared enough for
her to see the devastation wrought by the blast. To her horror, she sees a
man consumed by flames flop out of the window of a burning vehicle and
writhe on the dirt. It is the paramedic Mazen Zahabi. He was alive after
all. His agonising death will haunt Carole’s dreams for months after-
wards. She remembers that Marie, her sister-in-law, and other colleagues
are on the first floor of the burning St George Annexe.
‘Marie, Zahi, Abdo,’ Carole yells up at the building. She has worked
with Zahi Abu Rujaili and Abdo Farah for 16 years. She feels someone
hug her and turns to see her husband, Bechir. He tells Carole to wait for
him by the entrance as he looks for Marie in the St George Annexe. Ten
minutes later, Bechir reappears along with other rescue workers who
had penetrated the annexe from the opposite side. Marie is lying on
a stretcher, almost unrecognisable to Carole. Her sister-in-law’s face is a
bloody mask.
Adnan Baba, Hariri’s personal secretary, arrives at the AUH, having
run from Koreitem on hearing that Hariri’s motorcade has been hit by a
bomb. Dr Jaber Sawaya, Hariri’s personal physician, sees Baba and calls
him over.
‘Do you know what he was wearing this morning, Adnan?’ he asks.
Baba says he does.
‘Then come with me.’
Sawaya leads Baba to his closet and extracts a cloth package. Unwrap-
ping the cloth, the doctor hands Baba a charred scrap of a striped blue and
white tie.
‘Yes, that’s the tie I gave him this morning,’ Baba says.
Sawaya shows him a plain white-gold wedding ring and a brown stone
pendant given to Hariri by his wife, Nazek, that he used to wear around
his neck under his shirt.
Baba nods as he recognises the items.
‘Adnan,’ Sawaya says softly, ‘Mr Hariri is gone.’
Khoury and Diab receive a phone call that Hariri’s car has escaped
the explosion. They drive to the scene of the bombing, hoping that per-
haps Hariri had miraculously survived after all. But they cannot find
 The Beirut Spring 139

Hariri’s car amid the destruction. They return to the hospital morgue to
re-examine the bodies. Other than Khoury and Diab, standing around a
table in the morgue are Adnan Baba, Dr Jaber Sawaya and Abdul-Latif
Shamaa, one of Hariri’s oldest friends. All of them are weeping. On the
slab before them is a torso, all that remains of one of the victims. Baba
shakes his head and says that it is not Hariri. Another body, the same one
that Khoury and Diab had earlier said was not Hariri, is wheeled into the
room and placed on the table. Despite the terrible injuries and disfigure-
ment, 28 years of close friendship allow Baba to recognise Hariri instantly.
‘It’s him,’ he says.
At the hospital, Jumblatt turns to Bahaa, who is still unaware of his
father’s condition, and says ‘Let’s go to the house.’ Jumblatt drives his car
with Bahaa sitting beside him.
‘What’s happening? Please, in the name of God, tell me what’s happen-
ing,’ Bahaa pleads.
‘The news is bad,’ Jumblatt replies quietly, unable to bring himself to
tell Bahaa that his father is dead.
The young man falls silent.
They arrive in Koreitem and hurry inside. Jumblatt realises that the
household still has not learned that Hariri is dead. They fire questions at
him, but he cannot say the words they need to hear.
‘Well, the news is bad,’ he repeats and, after a long pause, shrugs his
thin shoulders and says simply, ‘Allahu Akhbar’, God is greatest.

‘I recently asked him if he was ever afraid,’ an ashen-faced Fouad Siniora

told the author hours later. ‘He told me “No, these violent acts belong in
Lebanon’s past.” ’
The atmosphere inside Koreitem on the evening of February 14 was
grim and tense as the opposition gathered for a crisis meeting. Nine
people, including Hariri and seven of his security detail, were known to
have died in the explosion. The toll would eventually rise to 23 with
more than 220 wounded. The last of the injured to die would be Basil
Fleihan. It was a miracle that he had survived at all. AUH staff had
surfed the internet to find the hospital best able to deal with his severe
burns. They settled on the Percy military hospital in Paris. Ghattas
Khoury had made all the arrangements and Fleihan was flown to France
that night on Hariri’s personal jet accompanied by his friend Ahmad
Husari. Fleihan lived for another 64 agonising days before finally suc-
cumbing to his injuries.
A crowd had gathered around the upper and lower entrances of the
stone mansion in Koreitem. An old woman wearing a headscarf sat on
140 Killing Mr Lebanon

the ground, swaying and keening in a ritualistic display of mourning.

The crowd seethed quietly with anger and grief. And then one young
man yelled, ‘Look into your hearts! We know who did this! Syria!’ His
expression was one of exhilarated defiance as he gazed at the faces of
those around him. It was a pivotal moment. Hariri’s death was shatter-
ing 15 years of sullen Sunni acquiescence to Syrian rule in Lebanon.
Like an aircraft carrier altering course in the ocean, the Sunni com-
munity was turning with an inexorable momentum into outright
opposition.
Inside the house, the reception areas and hall outside the conference
room were filled with members of the opposition, journalists, family
friends and diplomats. In one corner, a group of people watched live
coverage of the aftermath on the Hariri-owned Future TV channel. The TV
presenters were wearing black and there was a black band of mourning
across the top left corner of the screen.
A smartly dressed middle-aged woman, tears streaming down her
face, saw a Westerner in the reception room and walked up to him. She
asked who he was. He told her that he was the Spanish ambassador.
She clutched his jacket sleeve and said in broken English ‘Please, you
must help us. We can’t go on like this. We need your help to end all
this. We have suffered too long. Please help.’ The ambassador nodded
sympathetically and said nothing.
The opposition leaders were meeting in the conference room to decide
on their statement. The meeting, which was called for by Walid Jum-
blatt, marked the first time that members of the Christian Qornet
Shehwan gathering had formally sat together with Hariri’s Future
Movement. Several Qornet Shehwan members pondered on the irony that
only a day earlier they were refusing to meet Hariri in Koreitem, prefer-
ring instead parliament. Now here they all were sitting around the same
table and eyeing each other warily. Saad Hariri entered the room and sat
at the table, saying nothing. He had flown straight from Abu Dhabi on
hearing the news of his father’s death, ‘the longest flight of my life’, he
later recalled. Saad had spoken several times during the flight to a ‘furi-
ous’ Jacques Chirac, who had promised to come to Beirut for the
funeral.2
Most of the participants at the meeting argued for a strong condemna-
tion of the bombing and a denunciation of the Lebanese and Syrian
authorities whom they held responsible for Hariri’s murder. Hariri had
been receiving death threats for months, so how could they possibly
release a banal pro forma statement that refrained from pointing a finger
of blame?
 The Beirut Spring 141

But whether to name and blame Syria directly for Hariri’s death was
another matter. A knee-jerk judgement could exacerbate what was already
a fraught atmosphere, particularly as there had already been a claim of
responsibility for the bomb blast.
At 1.30 p.m., just over 30 minutes after the explosion, the Beirut office of
the Arabic Al-Jazeera satellite television station had received a phone call
from someone speaking poor Arabic who said that a group called al-Nasr
wa al-Jihad fi Bilad al-Sham (Victory and Jihad in Greater Syria) had
carried out the assassination.
Al-Jazeera broadcast the statement at 2 p.m. Shortly afterwards, the TV
station received another phone call from someone this time speaking flu-
ent Arabic who said that a video tape had been left in a tree facing the
United Nations headquarters in the city centre. The Al-Jazeera office is
in an adjacent building. The video tape was retrieved, but Al-Jazeera’s
head office delayed putting it on the air. The station received two more
increasingly angry and threatening phone calls before the tape was finally
broadcast after 5 p.m.
It portrayed a bearded man in a white turban and black robe reading a
statement against a backdrop of a black flag with white writing which
read, ‘There is no God but Allah. Muhammed is the messenger of Allah.
God is greatest.’
He said ‘To support our brother mujahidin in the land of the two holy
mosques [a description often used by Al-Qaeda to describe Saudi Arabia]
and to avenge their righteous martyrs who were killed by security forces of
the Saudi regime in the land of the two holy mosques, we resolved, after
relying on Almighty God, to carry out fair punishment against the agent of
this regime and its cheap tool in Greater Syria, the sinner and maker of
illegal money, Rafik Hariri, through the implementation of a resounding
martyrdom operation. This confirms our promise to support and wage
jihad, and will be the beginning of many martyrdom operations against the
infidels, renegades and tyrants in Greater Syria.’
Al-Jazeera later announced that the video statement named the sui-
cide bomber as Ahmad Abu Adas, who turned out to be a 22-year-old
Palestinian living in the Tarek al-Jadidi district of west Beirut.
Taysir and Nehad Abu Adas, Ahmad’s parents, turned themselves in to
the police along with their two daughters shortly after seeing the video
statement on Al-Jazeera. Internal Security Force troops raided the Abu
Adas apartment and confiscated a computer, tapes and documents. It
transpired that Abu Adas had left home on the morning of January 16
and had not been seen since. His parents had reported him missing three
days later.
142 Killing Mr Lebanon

The opposition meeting was under way when the news of Abu Adas’s
claim of responsibility was aired on television, sparking outrage from
some of Hariri’s bloc.
‘They are accusing fundamentalists. They want it to appear that we
killed him,’ stormed a Sunni MP.3
Bassam Sabaa drafted an initial statement, but Marwan Hamade
objected. It was too soft.
‘We are not here at a majlis al-azar [council of condolences],’ he told
the others. ‘We are here as a political force and our leader has been
assassinated.’4
Gibran Tueni warned that Cardinal Sfeir would not support a call for
Lahoud’s resignation, a comment that caused some momentary tension
among the non-Christians in the room who believed that the president
was at least guilty by association.
A revised statement was hammered out and the opposition announced
it would be read out live on television immediately. A scrum developed at
the two doors leading into the room as reporters and onlookers struggled
to enter.
The leading members of the opposition sat along one side of the confer-
ence table. Jumblatt sat next to Sabaa, unsmiling, his arms crossed and
staring at the polished table top before him. Sabaa, who was to read the
statement, sat at the centre, his broad brow glistening with perspiration
under the glare of television camera lights. He began by describing the
‘criminal bombing’ as an unprecedented act since the end of the war and
said the opposition vowed to ‘foil the diabolical scheme’ of the assassins.
But it was toward the end of the statement that Sabaa came to the
substance.
Regarding Hariri’s death, the opposition ‘holds the Lebanese authority
and the Syrian authority, given that it is the de facto authority in Lebanon,
responsible for this and other similar crimes in Lebanon’.
‘Allahu Akhbar,’ yelled a young Hariri supporter who had wormed his
way into the room.
It was a forceful declaration after all. The opposition decided to spread
the blame between the Lebanese and Syrian governments rather than
focus solely on Damascus. But there could be no going back from a
such a bold accusation, and suddenly Lebanon was entering uncharted
waters. Reading on, Sabaa demanded an international investigation into
Hariri’s murder, the immediate resignation of the government and the
formation of a provisional government, the withdrawal of Syrian forces
from Lebanon before the beginning of parliamentary elections, and the
holding of a three-day national strike beginning the next day.
 The Beirut Spring 143

The meeting concluded, the opposition members escaped the media

mêlé by bustling out of a side door through a kitchen.
‘From this morning I have been living my husband’s assassination
15 years ago,’ Nayla Mouawad, a prominent figure in the Qornet
Shehwan gathering, told the author as she paused in the hallway beside
the mansion’s lower entrance. Her son, Michel, stood attentively beside
her. Mouawad, an energetic and attractive woman with a crown of
auburn hair, was fired up from the historic events of the day. ‘It’s about
time that the Lebanese people are freed from tutelage . . . We are not afraid
any more,’ she said. ‘You can’t stop people expressing their frustration. I
think sooner or later the street will grow stronger.’
It would be sooner rather than later. The crowd surrounding Koreitem
had grown larger and, in the wake of the televised opposition statement,
had lost all inhibitions.
‘Syria out, Syria out,’ they roared. And the anger was not confined to
the vicinity of Koreitem. That night, furious Sunnis took to the streets
around the country, brandishing pictures of Hariri and blocking major
roads with burning tyres. At the Cola intersection in west Beirut, a crowd
tore down a large banner of Hafez al-Assad while others besieged a local
Baath party building, breaking the windows with stones and burning a
picture of Bashar. In the Bekaa, a truck carrying 20 Syrian labourers was
sprayed with machine gun fire, and in one town leaflets signed by the
‘The Secret Group – Group of Martyr Rafik Bahieddine Hariri’ warned
all Syrians in the area that they had until February 20 to leave the country.
In Sidon, Hariri’s home town, Syrian workers were attacked by a mob
chanting ‘There is no God but God, and Syria is the enemy of God.’
These were unprecedented, unthinkable scenes, yet perhaps in keeping
with the audacity of dispatching someone of Hariri’s prominence in such
a ruthless and blatant manner. This was no cloak-and-dagger assassi-
nation, no phial of poison secreted into the bedtime cocoa or stiletto silently
thrust into the back. Whoever killed Hariri wanted to make a very stark
and bold point.
‘It’s the first major peacetime political assassination,’ Farid Khazen, a
professor of politics at the American University of Beirut who would
later be elected to parliament, told the author hours after the bomb
blast. ‘This is as far as you can go when you target someone of Hariri’s
stature. This has broken taboos.’
Syria’s reaction to Hariri’s death was keenly anticipated. While most of
the world was wary of apportioning instant blame – even the White
House steered clear of accusing Damascus – the Lebanese were in no
doubt who was to blame. ‘You ask me about party?’ responded Saad
144 Killing Mr Lebanon

Hariri to a reporter’s question on who he thought was responsible. ‘They

are well known,’ he said.
Bashar was quoted as saying simply that the assassination was a
‘heinous criminal act’. Other Syrian officials, along with the Lebanese
government, said that the murder targeted Lebanon’s stability and, in
Lahoud’s phrase, aimed at ‘instigating sedition’. The only reaction from
Damascus that was heart-felt and contained a genuine sense of shock was
that of Abdel-Halim Khaddam.
‘With distressing bewilderment, I received the news of the assassination
of my brother and friend Abu Bahaa, whom I have known for more than
25 years,’ he said, using the phrase ‘Father of Bahaa’, a familiar term of
affection for Hariri. Khaddam went on to describe Hariri as a ‘Lebanese
patriot who loves his country and the people’ who was ‘loyal to Syria and
this was manifested in everything that concerned Syria’.
Khaddam was the only senior Syrian official who on hearing the news
of Hariri’s murder drove straight from Damascus to the American Uni-
versity Hospital, braving the enraged crowd gathered outside. He must
have had a sense of déjà vu pressing through the throng into the hospital,
repeating the same call he had paid to the injured Marwan Hamade just
over four months earlier. Khaddam also attended the condolences at
Koreitem held over the next three days in which thousands of mourners
from the humble to the great filed past the grieving family to shake their
hands and murmur their commiserations. Jacques Chirac flew in from
Paris on Tuesday and was shown on television comforting a grief-stricken
Nazek, tenderly holding her hand as she sobbed beside him on the sofa.
The Hariri family rejected an offer by the government to hold a state
funeral, announcing that he would be buried beside the unfinished
Mohammed al-Amine mosque in Martyrs’ Square. It would be a ‘popular’
farewell, the family said, one at which Lebanese officials would not be
welcome. Jumblatt advised Lebanese officialdom to stay away from the
funeral to ‘avoid the stones and eggs of the people’.
Beirut ground to a halt the next day as the nation observed the opposi-
tion call for a three-day strike. The normally jammed streets were eerily
empty and television stations aired readings from the Koran. Schools,
shops and businesses closed, with most people choosing to stay at home
as the government imposed a security clampdown, cancelling all leave for
the military and police and stationing troops at key intersections in the
city. Beside the cordoned-off bomb site at the St George, a crowd of
mourners gathered, laying flowers on the pavement, praying, reading
verses from the Koran and the Bible or simply gazing in teary-eyed awe at
the scene of destruction before them. A large portrait of Basil Fleihan
 The Beirut Spring 145

pinned to a palm tree near the cordon formed the basis of a small shrine
marked by candles and offerings of flowers.
Amid the grief, however, Beirut’s Sunnis were making it abundantly
clear that they regarded the Hariri family as a political and social dynasty
that would continue to endure despite Rafik Hariri’s death. Although
Hariri’s eldest sons were businessmen, not politicians, they understood
the duty that fate had thrust upon them.
‘My father served Lebanon all his life, and we will keep serving
Lebanon also, like him,’ said Saad Hariri as he stood beside the crater
where his father had died 24 hours earlier.
Indeed, with his death, Hariri had completed the transformation of his
family from a humble farming background in a two-room stone hovel
among the orange groves of Sidon into the latest, and certainly one of the
most powerful, members of that select clique of ruling family dynasties in
Lebanon.
And the esteem in which Hariri was held was made impressively clear
the next morning, Wednesday, February 16, when the Lebanese bid fare-
well to ‘Mr Lebanon’, the man who had come to symbolise the country’s
post-war rebirth and had dominated the national political scene like no
other for more than a decade.
In their tens of thousands they came – rich and poor, old and young,
Christian and Muslim – a heaving tide of humanity led by a line of Sunni
clerics, a pencil stroke of full-length grey tunics topped by white turbans,
their arms interlocked to contain the surging mass gathered behind them.
Like a vast amorphous organism compressed and shaped by the narrow
confines of Beirut’s streets, the crowd of mourners accompanied Hariri
on his final six-kilometre journey from Koreitem to the Mohammed
al-Amine mosque in Martyrs’ Square. Women leaned out of windows
overlooking the procession to fling handfuls of rice over the funeral
cortège. Jumblatt’s Druze had been bussed in from the Chouf mountains,
their presence in the throng marked by the profusion of PSP flags, the
socialist-style crossed hammers on a red background. Submerged in the
frenzied sea of mourners were the limousines carrying the Hariri family
to Martyrs’ Square and the flower-bedecked ambulances containing the
coffins of Hariri and his seven bodyguards. The cavalcade’s progress
could only be discerned from the young men balancing like surfers on the
roofs of the ambulances yelling at people to clear a way, their voices lost
amid the wailing sirens, and the chants and cries of the mourners.
A steady stream of people separate from the main procession continued
to flow into the square from Muslim areas of west Beirut as well as the
Christian districts in the east. The loudspeakers from the Mohammed
146 Killing Mr Lebanon

al-Amine mosque carried Koranic verses against a backdrop of pealing

bells from the Armenian Orthodox church on the opposite side of the
square.
‘This is the first time in 30 or 40 years where I have heard the same
slogans emanating from both sides of town,’ said Youssef Zein, a prom-
inent Lebanese businessman, as he gazed down at the throng from the
over-pass known as ‘the ring’ at the southern end of Martyrs’ Square.
‘These aren’t the $10 crowd. This is the bourgeoisie,’ he added, pointing
at the mourners walking from the adjacent Christian neighbourhoods of
Ashrafieh and Gemaizeh. ‘You never get them out of their homes, but
they have come today. They are here for independence and for a
dream.’
Indeed, it was a remarkable sight. Glamorous Maronite women, wear-
ing chic black dresses and sporting designer sunglasses, chatted in French
and held aloft pictures of Hariri. Next to them stood Muslim women in
white headscarves and full-length gowns whose husbands at midday
kneeled on the road to pray. Christian students chatted to their Muslim
and Druze counterparts; turbanned Shiite clerics stood next to Christian
priests.
Hanging on the walls of the towering Mohammed al-Amine mosque
were huge portraits of Hariri. In one, his chin rested casually on his fist, a
warm, relaxed smile on his face. A full-length picture on the southern
wall of the mosque showed him standing with his hands in his pocket,
head slightly cocked as he gazed with a seemingly paternalistic eye
out over the city centre that he had helped rebuild from the devastation of
war.
The coffins were unloaded from the ambulances and conveyed on a
stormy sea of upturned palms to the waiting graves. Several young men
scaled the cranes surrounding the unfinished mosque, hanging perilously
from the sides several metres up to escape the crush below and obtain a
better view.
Hariri’s coffin, draped in the red and white Lebanese flag with its green
cedar emblem, swayed unsteadily on the shoulders of his sons as it inched
toward the grave, its progress impeded by the hundreds of hands reach-
ing out for the coffin, as if the intimacy of touching the wooden casket
somehow brought Hariri closer to them in these final moments before he
disappeared into the ground. As Hariri’s shroud-wrapped body was
lifted from the coffin and gently lowered into the grave, in accordance
with Muslim tradition, a distraught cleric cried out ‘The martyr was a
dear friend of God . . . Thank God he was able to have such fine sons.’ The
crowd roared back ‘Allahu Akhbar.’
 The Beirut Spring 147

Lebanon had never seen a funeral to match this, and yet it was
more than just a funeral. It was also a huge demonstration against Syria’s
tutelage over Lebanon. Indeed, Hariri’s funeral was really the first of the
mass anti-Syrian rallies that would shake the political foundations of Leb-
anon over the next month.
‘Syria out, Syria out’ and ‘Revenge, revenge’, chanted the mourners.
Many held placards with bold anti-Syrian phrases. One read ‘Syrial
killer’, a pun that would become popular with demonstrators.
If the Syrians and their Lebanese allies hoped that the anti-Syrian sen-
timent would exhaust itself through the emotional outpouring at Hariri’s
funeral, they were wrong. On the day of the funeral, wrote Samir Kassir, a
columnist for An Nahar and a leading democracy campaigner and critic of
Syrian rule in Lebanon, ‘Beirut was the beating heart of a new Arab
nationalism . . . This nationalism is based on the free will of citizens, male
and female. And this is what the tyrannical [Syrian] regime should fear
more than anything else if it tarries about ending its hegemony over
Beirut and Lebanon.’

Hariri’s death had unleashed a newfound sense of exhilarated

determination among many ordinary Lebanese who had tired of Syria’s
heavy hand and the Lebanese regime’s clumsy subservience. In the
days that followed his funeral, Hariri’s grave became at once a shrine
of heaped flowers and flickering candles for tearful mourners and a
nucleus for the revolution building on the streets of Beirut. Panels of
bare white hoarding used to seal off the mosque’s construction site
beside Hariri’s grave became sounding boards for a new spirit of rebel-
lion, with multi-lingual graffiti ranging from emotional tributes, ‘You
will always live in our hearts, O Rafik’ to brisk insults, ‘Fuck you,
Bashar.’
Like a pebble cast into a pond, Hariri’s murder initiated ripples that
were to spread well beyond Lebanon’s borders. It would hasten and fur-
ther cement the emerging geo-strategic shifts and realignments in the
Middle East, spawned by the Bush administration’s policies following
9/11 and the invasion of Iraq. For the West, Lebanon would become a new
point of pressure against Damascus, a sharpened needle jabbing at Syria’s
flank to goad the recalcitrant state onto a path acceptable to the United
States. Even though the Bush administration declined to publicly blame
Damascus for Hariri’s murder, Washington’s unhappiness with Syria was
made clear when Margaret Scobey, the US ambassador to Damascus, was
recalled ‘for consultations’ a day after Hariri’s death. That same week,
Bush demanded a Syrian troop withdrawal from Lebanon, saying that
148 Killing Mr Lebanon

Damascus ‘is out of step with the progress being made in the greater
Middle East’.
A diminishing Syrian influence over Lebanon threatened domino-effect
repercussions on Iran’s ability to project itself onto the Arab–Israeli
conflict via Hizbullah and its Tehran-supported Palestinian allies. Hiz-
bullah was the nexus for Iran’s anti-Israel strategy. Its clandestine
operations included channelling funds and providing technical know-
how and specialised training to cells of Palestinian militants in the
Occupied Territories. Hizbullah’s Al-Manar television station broad-
cast an unremitting diet of anti-Israel propaganda and encouragement
for the Palestinians while its disciplined, battle-hardened fighters
menaced Israel from Lebanon’s southern frontier. But after four and a
half years of bloodshed, the Palestinian intifada was showing signs of
terminal fatigue. Just days before Hariri’s murder, Palestinian president
Mahmoud Abbas and Israeli prime minister Ariel Sharon had agreed to a
ceasefire brokered by the Egyptians. If Syria’s position in Lebanon was
weakened, Hizbullah’s freedom of action – and therefore Iran’s – risked
being reduced, which in turn would have an impact on the sustainability
of the intifada.
If Syria risked an erosion of its position in Lebanon, it also would find
itself increasingly isolated by its Arab neighbours, the death of Hariri
further reducing Arab patience for the young and seemingly feckless
Syrian president. Saudi Arabia, in particular, was incensed at the callous
dispatching of its Lebanese protégé, seeing in Hariri’s death and the pre-
ceding months of humiliation and death threats a deliberate attempt to
weaken the kingdom’s influence in Lebanon. The Arab world had quietly
tolerated Syria’s virtual annexation of Lebanon since 1989, choosing to
ignore the subjugation of a fellow member of the Arab League over the
perpetual fear of displaying anything other than unruffled Arab unity to
the public gaze. But after Hariri’s murder, no Arab state was going to lift a
finger to help Syria prolong its presence in Lebanon. Even Iran, Syria’s
one dependable (non-Arab) regional ally, was baulking at supporting
Damascus’s continued hegemony over Lebanon. Al-Hayat reported a
week after Hariri’s death that ‘some Iranian officials’ consider ‘there is no
going back on Iranian support of Syria in the face of Israel, but Iran is not
ready to support the Syrian presence in Lebanon because Lebanon’s
sovereignty is important for Iran’.
The strategic picture did not bode well for Syria in the immediate
aftermath of Hariri’s murder. Yet Syria’s Lebanese allies seemed almost
oblivious of the political earthquake under way in the Levant and the fate
that was to befall them judging from the ham-fisted manner in which they
 The Beirut Spring 149

launched their investigation into the assassination. A UN fact-finding

mission, led by an Irish policeman, Peter Fitzgerald, reported in March
that there was a ‘distinct lack of commitment on the part of the Lebanese
authorities to investigate the crime effectively’.
The report listed a host of measures undertaken by the Lebanese
security services that not only thwarted a proper investigation into the
crime scene but appeared to be a barely disguised cover-up. The six
vehicles that formed Hariri’s destroyed convoy and a black BMW (the car
with the Snoop Dogg CD in the rear seat) were removed from the site of
the blast on the night of February 14 and taken to a nearby police com-
pound, foiling any chance of an on-site ballistics analysis. Parts of a white
Mitsubishi truck, thought to be the vehicle carrying the bomb, were
thrown into the crater, photographed by police and labelled as evidence.
Broken water pipes flooded the crater within 24 hours because nobody
switched the water off, destroying potential evidence. Although the site
was sealed off to the public, intelligence and security officers tramped
around the scene at will. The Fitzgerald fact-finding report recommended
that the UN launch a full investigation of its own into the Hariri assassin-
ation, as the Lebanese authorities clearly were incapable or unwilling to
do so themselves.
It later transpired that General Mustafa Hamdan, the head of the Presi-
dential Guard and Lahoud’s right-hand man, had instructed Ali Hajj, the
head of the Internal Security Forces and former chief bodyguard to Hariri,
to have the crater filled in immediately so that the road could be opened
by 10 a.m. the day after the explosion.5 Hamdan denied giving the order.
But the procedural mistakes pale in comparison to the negligence and
insensitivity shown by the Lebanese authorities toward the victims of the
bombing and their families. The body of Zahi Abu Rujaili, Carole Farhat’s
colleague at the St George Hotel, was recovered from the burned ruin of
the St George Annexe the next day. A post-mortem showed that he had
survived for approximately 12 hours after the explosion and had died
alone in the rubble undiscovered. The body of Farhan al-Issa has never
been found. On February 22, a second body was discovered by accident.
On March 1, 15 days after the explosion, the remains of Abdel-Hamid
Ghalayini, 53, were found buried beneath a thin layer of rubble close to
the bomb crater.
Ghalayini’s family had been pressing the authorities to find their
missing relative since the day of the blast, but were brushed off. When
they were finally allowed to inspect the scene for themselves, it took
less than five minutes to discover Ghalayini’s badly decomposed corpse.
Lebanese television stations broadcast extensive footage of the dead
150 Killing Mr Lebanon

man’s distraught daughters screaming their fury at the authorities and

demanding Lahoud’s resignation.
‘For weeks they did nothing,’ cried Lama Ghalayini, the eldest daugh-
ter. ‘They kept telling us that cats were finding feet and hands, and today
the flies helped find my father. Do we have to count on cats and flies?
What is the state doing?’
The television footage of the grieving Ghalayini family was bitingly
juxtaposed with scenes of a smiling Lahoud in the presidential palace in
the hills above Beirut conversing with his political allies.
‘That fatuous image shows just how remote and clumsy Lahoud’s
image is now,’ a European diplomat noted in a conversation with the
author at the time.
A day after the explosion, Suleiman Frangieh, the interior minister,
said initial indications suggested that the perpetrator ‘might have been a
suicide [bomber] who blew himself up’.
Adnan Addoum, the staunchly pro-Syrian justice minister, said that
investigations were centring on several ‘bearded’ Australian passport
holders who departed Beirut airport the same day as the explosion. He
claimed that traces of TNT had been found on two seats used by the
suspects on the plane.
In the days that followed the bombing, a heated debate erupted in the
media and on the internet as to whether the explosives were planted
below ground or on the surface. It was an important point. The Lebanese
authorities clearly were pressing the idea of an above-ground blast caused
by a suicide bomber, citing the mysterious Abu Adas video confession
and the suspect Australians. But those who firmly believed Syria was
responsible for the assassination pinned their hopes on a subterranean
blast, as digging a hole in the main road outside the St George Hotel
would require the collusion of the authorities. An anonymous Lebanese
explosives expert circulated by email a photo analysis of the bomb scene
to back his argument for an underground explosion. It appeared compel-
ling. The burned remains of Hariri’s private ambulance and the fifth car in
the motorcade rested on the lip of the crater, suggesting the force of the
blast was directed upward, in accordance with a subterranean explosion,
rather than laterally, which would suggest a surface blast. The crater
itself, the blown manhole covers and the large amounts of earth and
chunks of asphalt found hundreds of metres from the epicentre also sug-
gested an underground bomb. But how could one explode a bomb
planted below the road given that Hariri’s convoy was equipped with
three powerful jammers designed to block electronic signals used to det-
onate bombs? One possibility was if the perpetrator was able to bypass
 The Beirut Spring 151

the frequencies covered by the jammers, although that would require

advanced technical knowledge and equipment. Another less plausible
explanation was for the bombs to be detonated mechanically by a com-
mand wire. However, that would entail someone unfurling a cable to a
spot several hundred metres from the explosive charge to escape the
effects of the blast. Insurgents in Iraq have used wires 300–400 metres long
to explode roadside bombs. But those attacks occur in open countryside,
not in the heart of a capital city where anyone seen laying hundreds of
metres of cable would have attracted attention. And the perpetrator
would still need to retain a clear line of sight to the bomb to judge
the correct moment to press the button. The street layout around the
St George’s promontory was not conducive to a line-of-sight detonation.
A side-on view of the road is preferable to best judge the moment when
the target aligns with the bomb, but obtaining such a view at the
St George would have been fatal, as the best side-on locations were either
in the hotel itself or in the annexe building opposite.
There was also intense speculation that two bombs were detonated
simultaneously, particularly given the insistence of Carole Farhat and
Fady Khoury, among the survivors closest to the bomb, that they heard
two distinct blasts. The double explosion theory could have explained
some of the conflicting evidence, such as the chunks of asphalt found on
the roofs of surrounding buildings and the ballistic evidence that the Mit-
subishi van was the bomb carrier. In May 2006, the UN commission re-
examined the bomb site. In mid-June, the commission reported that it ‘was
of the view’, pending final forensic examinations, that Hariri was killed
by one above-ground explosion of at least 1,200 kilogrammes of a TNT
and plastic explosives mixture, triggered ‘most likely’ by an as yet
anonymous individual.6
Two weeks after the explosion, it emerged that a surveillance camera
attached to the front of the HSBC bank branch near the St George had
caught the last moments of Hariri’s convoy. The time-lapsed images
give the footage a jumpy look as cars and trucks race silently along the
main road 100 metres from the bank, passing a corner of the St George
hotel and out of view. A clock ticks away the time. At 12.56.17, the first
vehicle in Hariri’s convoy enters the frame. The other cars follow and the
ambulance in the rear disappears out of sight behind a corner of the St
George Annexe at 12.56.25. A second later, the camera catches a blurry
shockwave and then a second of static. The blast knocked the camera from
its mooring and as the picture clears it is pointing downward at the road
outside the entrance of HSBC, recording ghostly figures staggering out of
the front entrance.
152 Killing Mr Lebanon

It is chilling to watch, but the real significance of the tape is what it

shows just two minutes before Hariri’s convoy came into view. At
12.54.00, a white Mitsubishi van inches onto the screen, travelling
approximately six times slower than other vehicles. The small van is fully
laden, a grey sheet covering the contents in the back. It maintains a steady
speed, hugging the right-hand side of the road next to the St George Hotel
before it passes out of sight at 12.54.37, one minute, forty seconds before
Hariri’s motorcade heaves into view. The actual explosion occurs just
around the corner from the camera’s view. But the investigators believe
that the truck carried the bomb, and it was probably the same vehicle that
Carole Farhat noticed and puzzled over briefly as she crossed the road to
the St George Annexe a few seconds before the blast.
It was no coincidence that the bomber chose the vicinity of the
St George Hotel to ambush Hariri’s motorcade. Of the three routes Hariri
could have taken from Nijmeh Square to his home in Koreitem, the
shorter two converge to within 600 metres in the vicinity of the St George
Hotel. The connecting street is a broad, relatively traffic-free avenue run-
ning up a hill from the St George past the Phoenicia Hotel to a junction
beside which lies the derelict, 32-storey Murr Tower.
In the assessment of Abed Arab, who replaced his cousin Abu Tarek
as the head of the Hariri family’s security team, the Mitsubishi van
would have been parked somewhere between the St George and the
Murr Tower. The driver would have moved into position only after
the spotter outside parliament telephoned to confirm Hariri’s route as the
motorcade departed the square. If Hariri had taken the inland route,
the bomber would have intercepted his convoy near the Murr Tower.
Furthermore, if the bomber had been unable to manoeuvre into position
prior to the arrival of the motorcade on February 14, there would have
been two more days for another attempt as the parliamentary debate on
the electoral law was scheduled to last until Wednesday.
While the Lebanese investigation plodded along, the opposition, buoyed
by the huge outpouring of rage and grief that accompanied Hariri’s
funeral, as well as international anger, was preparing to take its campaign
to the streets.
It called for an ‘independence intifada’ involving all Lebanese to dem-
onstrate for a Syrian troop withdrawal and the resignation of the Karami
government. ‘Liberation, Sovereignty, Independence’ would become
their battle cry and ‘Al-Haqiqa’ (The Truth) behind Hariri’s death their
objective.
The first demonstration was held on February 21, exactly one week
after Hariri’s murder, when some 25,000 people ignored the government’s
 The Beirut Spring 153

warning that such protests were ‘extremely dangerous’ and gathered near
the St George Hotel. The green and white scarves that had been prepared
for Hariri’s election campaign had been changed to red and white to
symbolise the blood of his ‘martyrdom’, and were worn by many of the
protestors.
A profusion of flags denoted the political, and thus sectarian, allegi-
ances of the demonstrators. Many carried placards in English, among
them ‘Break the silence’ and ‘Hey Syria! Who’s next?’ One middle-
aged, smartly dressed woman held up a hand-written placard reading
‘Independence is our right. Free Lebanon!’
At 12.55 p.m., the crowd fell silent, a deathly hush as the moment of
Hariri’s death was marked. It ended with a thunderous rendition of the
Lebanese national anthem which echoed from the gaunt, bullet-riddled
skeleton of the Holiday Inn hotel, which still bore the scars of the 1975–
1990 war. The demonstrators jammed the streets of central Beirut as they
made their way to Hariri’s grave beside Martyrs’ Square. Lebanese Army
commandos and riot police lined the route. Hariri’s grave was surrounded
by a permanent cordon of mourners, Christians praying and making the
sign of the cross, Muslims next to them reading from tiny copies of the
Koran, all taking a few moments out from the rally. Some protestors clam-
bered up the bullet-holed bronze statue depicting the nationalist ‘martyrs’
who were hanged by the Ottomans in 1915 to wave Lebanese flags and
banners. One of them, dressed as Osama bin Laden with a sign on his chest
reading ‘Syrian terror’, aimed a toy rifle at one of the ‘martyrs’.
‘This is the beginning of something important,’ said a beaming Gibran
Tueni, general manager of An Nahar newspaper and a courageous and
prolific columnist whose opinion pieces for years had been and continued
to be relentless hammer blows against Syria’s hegemony over Lebanon.
His eyes shone with barely suppressed excitement at what was unfolding.
‘We asked a few students to attend a sit-in and look how many people
showed up. The people are taking the lead, not us.’
Tueni was one of the architects of the independence intifada. From his
office on the sixth floor of An Nahar’s gleaming glass building on the
northern edge of Martyrs’ Square, he could gaze with some satisfaction at
the colourful, flag-waving throng below, putting into action what he had
long advocated in his newspaper.
And it was having an effect. Three days after the rally, on February 24,
Walid Muallem, Syria’s deputy foreign minister, grudgingly announced
that Syria would redeploy into the Bekaa valley in accordance with the
Taif Agreement. Rumours of a six-point Syrian withdrawal plan were
aired in the Arabic media, in which Damascus would pull out all its
154 Killing Mr Lebanon

troops except for 2,000 which would be deployed in the eastern Bekaa. No
mention was made of the pervasive intelligence apparatus.
Not good enough, clamoured the UN and the US, both of which
demanded a full and unambiguous withdrawal in accordance with Reso-
lution 1559. The Lebanese opposition also was sceptical of Syria’s vague
commitment to a partial withdrawal.
‘This is the sixth Syrian redeployment in five years. How long is it going
to take them to leave completely? Another 50 years?’ quipped Jumblatt to
the author.
In the days that followed, the budding independence intifada hardened
as protestors erected tents on a grassy knoll surrounding the statue in
Martyrs’ Square, the genesis of what would become a tent city, dubbed
Camp Freedom, a symbol of the independence intifada. On February 26,
thousands of people formed a human chain linking the St George to
Hariri’s tomb. Two days later, the opposition held the largest rally to date
to coincide with a parliamentary debate on the Hariri murder at which
opposition MPs had tabled a no-confidence motion. There was one major
difference between this rally and the previous one a week earlier at the
St George – there was not a party flag in sight. The opposition had
decided that the first demonstration had looked like a ‘battle of the flags’,
in the words of Ghattas Khoury. From now on the only flag at the demon-
strations would be the national flag and the red and white motif of the
‘independence intifada’.
The army set up checkpoints and roadblocks on the main highway
leading to the Christian heartland north of Beirut to prevent protestors
from reaching the city. But still they came. A surging sea of demonstrators
carrying the red and white national flags flowed along the cramped
streets of east Beirut until they ran up against a wall of riot police and
tough-looking, green-bereted special forces soldiers who had strung coils
of barbed wire across the eastern access points into Martyrs’ Square. A
crowd of several thousand began building up, but, despite some pushing
and shoving, it remained a good-natured event. Some protestors sang the
national anthem and joked with the soldiers. Others threw rose petals
over the soldiers and called out ‘The army are our brothers and stand by
us and not against us.’ Occasionally small groups of protestors would
breach the cordon and sprint through, whooping with delight as the curs-
ing soldiers struggled to block the gap. But the crowd eventually grew too
much for them. A small group of demonstrators, red and white ban-
dannas tied around their heads, dodged through the line of soldiers and
yanked the coils of barbed wire out of the way before the stunned soldiers
could respond. The crowd on the other side of the wire roared in triumph
 The Beirut Spring 155

and surged through the gap as the troops watched helplessly, clearly
unwilling to use force.
‘What are they going to do?’ asked Fadi Romanos, one of the protestors.
‘Kill us all or put us all in jail? We have removed the mask of fear. We are
not afraid any more.’
The parliamentary debate on the no-confidence motion was watched by
the protestors live on giant television screens erected in Martyrs’ Square.
One by one, the opposition MPs took to the podium to castigate the
government and Lahoud’s regime. Omar Karami looked gaunt and tired
as his government was bludgeoned with accusations and criticism.
‘All the Lebanese want to know their enemy, the enemy of Lebanon
who killed the martyr Rafik Hariri, those who took the decision, planned
and executed it, those who ignored and prevented the truth from coming
out,’ said a tearful Bahiya Hariri.
It was too much for Karami. Without informing anyone of his decision,
he rose and wearily announced the resignation of the government, adding
‘May God preserve Lebanon.’
A moment of stunned silence was broken by the cheers of the oppos-
ition MPs and a huge roar of delight from Martyrs’ Square which even
could be heard in the parliamentary chamber. A visibly startled Nabih
Berri glared at Karami from his speaker’s seat, and said ‘Don’t you think
that I deserve to be informed of the most important decision in the
country?’
It was a remarkable moment. Karami had been expecting to win the
confidence vote, as some two-thirds of parliament belonged to the loyalist
camp. But the pressure on him had taken its toll. He was being shunned in
his home city of Tripoli in the north where his family is traditionally held
in high esteem, and was finally defeated by the massive crowd in Martyrs’
Square and the withering scorn and biting accusations heaped upon
him and his government, which never had much credibility with most
Lebanese anyway.
Capitalising on its success in ousting the government, the opposition
issued a seven-point list of demands which included the resignations of
the seven top security chiefs in the country, among them Jamil Sayyed,
Raymond Azar, the head of Military Intelligence, Ali Hajj, the head of
the Internal Security Forces, and Mustafa Hamdan, the head of the
Presidential Guard.

The collapse of the government proved that the independence intifada

had teeth, and it swiftly gained international attention. Organised mass
demonstrations against discredited regimes are a rare event anywhere
156 Killing Mr Lebanon

and almost unheard of in the contemporary Arab world. The sight of tens
of thousands of Lebanese marching through the streets of Beirut demand-
ing freedom and sovereignty conjured up irresistible images of Ukraine’s
recent ‘Orange Revolution’ and Georgia’s ‘Rose Revolution’. Washington
recognised that there was an opportunity to be had in identifying with
and supporting the Lebanese street rallies against Syria and its Lebanese
‘puppet’ regime. The Bush administration dubbed the uprising the ‘Cedar
Revolution’, an unoriginal appellation that sanitised the less palatable
Lebanese preference for intifada which, to a Western audience, had
uncomfortable associations with Palestinian suicide bombers blowing up
pizza restaurants in Tel Aviv. The phrase ‘Cedar Revolution’, first aired by
Paula Dobriansky, US undersecretary for global affairs,7 displayed little
understanding of the sensitivities aroused by Lebanon’s national emblem.
The cedar was adopted by nationalist Christian militias during the civil
war, such as the Phalange party whose symbol is a stylised triangular
cedar tree, and the Guardians of the Cedars, an ultra-nationalist group
whose leader Etienne Saqr once proclaimed that it was the duty of every
Lebanese to kill at least one Palestinian.
Embracing Lebanon’s ‘Cedar Revolution’ not only served as a useful
means of maintaining the pressure on Syria, but it also was in accord with
Bush’s faltering policy of fostering democracy in the Arab world. The
invasion of Iraq and the overthrow of Saddam Hussein was supposed to
be the catalyst for a democratic revolution in the Middle East, according
to the agenda of the Bush administration’s neo-cons. It was a laudable, if
naive, aspiration that sought to overturn decades of perceiving the Arab
world through the lens of realpolitik, tolerating vicious dictatorships and
repressive theocracies so long as they remained friendly to the US. A case
in point was Iraq, America’s friend when it was engaged in its bloody
eight-year war against Iran in the 1980s. From now on, Bush argued,
America’s security interests would be best served through encouraging
the democratisation of the Arab world. Yet the programme’s half-hearted
and clumsy implementation suggested that the Bush administration had
underestimated and oversimplified the complexities of the Arab milieu.
Even Iraq’s role as the paradigm for Arab democracy was undermined by
the mismanagement of post-Saddam Iraq. When the Greater Middle East
Initiative, Bush’s main platform to promote political, economic and social
reform in the Arab world, was prematurely leaked in early 2004 it was
greeted with contempt and derision in Arab countries for failing to men-
tion that Israel’s illegal occupation of Arab land might have a bearing on
instability in the Middle East. A diluted version of the initiative was
released at the G-8 summit in June, whereupon it promptly sank without
 The Beirut Spring 157

trace, scuppered by the suspicion of traditionally anti-American Arab lib-

erals, the hostility of Arab regimes and the preoccupation of the US with
the forthcoming presidential election.
But the Bush administration recognised that Lebanon’s independence
intifada could provide a necessary shot of adrenalin into the moribund
Arab democracy initiative. Unlike most Arab countries, Lebanon had a
genuine, if flawed, democratic tradition upon which to build. The world,
Bush said, ‘is speaking with one voice when it comes to making sure that
democracy has a chance to flourish in Lebanon’.
The hyperbole even ensnared the ever-mercurial Walid Jumblatt, who
in a reversal of his traditional hostility toward US policy in the Arab
world began a dialogue with Paul Wolfowitz, who as deputy secretary of
defence was one of the leading proponents of using American military
muscle to democratise the Arab world. Ironically, just 18 months earlier,
the US State Department had stripped Jumblatt of his diplomatic visa
after he publicly called Wolfowitz a ‘virus’ that should be destroyed, and
lamented the fact that the American official had escaped injury in a rocket
attack on his hotel during a visit to Baghdad.
While American officials hailed the independence intifada as an expres-
sion of a freedom-seeking people, Lebanese leaders spoke of the uprising
as having unified the nation.
‘February 28 was a celebration of national unity, democracy and free
will,’ wrote Gibran Tueni in An Nahar. ‘The Lebanese unity is stronger
than all forms of tutelage, weapons, terror and occupation. Lebanese
unity is the strongest weapon. It is stronger than the Taif Agreement, UN
Resolution 1559 and all the Arab and international decisions.’
While the independence intifada was a truly historical event, it was
not the demonstration of national unity that its organisers claimed,
more a convergence of confessional interests united by opposition to
Syrian hegemony over Lebanon. Although the Sunnis had turned out for
Hariri’s funeral, the bulk of the subsequent rallies were composed of
Christians and Druze, the backbone of the opposition. Crucially, however,
the independence intifada was missing a key component of Lebanese
society – the Shiites.
Many Shiites had little fondness for Syria as they more than most
Lebanese paid the daily economic price of Syrian hegemony over Leba-
non. The estimated 1 million Syrian labourers provided competition
for jobs, and Shiite farmers in the rural south and the Bekaa were also
forced to compete in a market flooded with Syrian agricultural imports,
which bred deep resentment. Few Shiites would shed tears if the
independence intifada forced Syria to disengage from Lebanon. But those
158 Killing Mr Lebanon

Shiites who supported Hizbullah and Amal – the vast majority of the
community – suspected that the end of Syrian influence would mean
the advent of American influence. As far as they were concerned, the
‘Syria out’ chants of the independence intifada should not be replaced by
‘America in’.
In the immediate wake of Hariri’s assassination, Hizbullah adopted a
low profile. Nasrallah visited Koreitem to pay condolences to Hariri’s
family, and the party issued appeals for calm and dialogue between the
loyalist and opposition camps. Hizbullah was biding its time to see how
the political struggle would play out. Hariri’s death and the independ-
ence intifada posed a serious dilemma for Hizbullah. If Damascus was
forced to withdraw from Lebanon, the party would lose the political
cover it had enjoyed since the end of the Lebanese war, which risked
jeopardising its autonomy in south Lebanon. Hizbullah perceived the
crisis as a struggle for the future of Lebanon epitomised by the poles
of Resolution 1559 and the Taif Accord. For Hizbullah, fulfilling 1559
entailed abandoning the anti-Israel axis of Lebanon, Syria and Iran and
falling under the political influence of the West. The Taif Accord was the
Arab alternative, allowing for close ties with Syria, and leaving the option
open for Hizbullah to retain its military wing.
‘Resolution 1559 contradicts the main principles of the Lebanese,’
Mahmoud Haj Ali, a member of Hizbullah’s political Council, told the
author in March. ‘The need now is to hold onto Taif and reject 1559
because 1559 wants Lebanon to move from one bank [anti-Israel, anti-
America] to another bank [pro-America, pro-Israel].’
Hizbullah was not alone in feeling the pressure. In early March, Syrian
officials began touring leading Arab states looking for a diplomatic solu-
tion to the crisis. Bashar was given a frosty reception in Saudi Arabia
where the royal family was still seething over Hariri’s killing. According
to a Lebanese source with close ties to the Saudi royal family, Crown
Prince Abdullah asked Bashar why Syria had murdered Hariri, to which
the Syrian president replied that if Syrian hands were responsible ‘it’s
probably one of those intelligence pockets that we have’. Whether the
Saudis believed that or not is unclear, but they ‘advised’ Bashar that he
should withdraw fully and immediately from Lebanon; that meant all
troops and intelligence agents. When Bashar said that it was ‘not entirely
up to me’ and that it would take several months to withdraw, Abdullah
told him he had to leave within weeks or risk upsetting Syrian–Saudi
relations.
On March 5, the day after his tense meeting with Abdullah, Bashar
delivered a speech to the Syrian parliament which was broadcast live on
 The Beirut Spring 159

television and watched by a crowd in Martyrs’ Square on giant TV

screens. Lebanese protestors booed loudly every time the Syrian MPs
interrupted their president with applause. When Bashar chuckled at a
couple of points in the speech, the Lebanese mocked him, chanting ‘Ha
ha, Syria.’
Although Bashar played down the extent of the anti-Syrian senti-
ment in Lebanon, Abdullah’s ‘advice’ apparently had been heeded. He
announced that, in line with Taif and 1559, ‘we will withdraw our forces
that we have stationed in Lebanon fully to the Bekaa area and then to the
Syrian–Lebanese border area’.
Lahoud and Bashar met in Damascus two days later to provide a formal
stamp to the initial phase of the withdrawal, which began the same day.
At Dahr al-Baidar, the lofty, snow-streaked mountain pass on the main
road between Beirut and the Bekaa, an aged Syrian truck ground to a halt
in a cloud of thick black diesel smoke, having inched painfully up a steep
side road. A soldier jumped out and wedged a rock beneath one of the
back tyres to prevent the vehicle rolling back down the hill, while another
soldier lifted the bonnet to inspect the smoking engine. It was not an
auspicious start to the redeployment.
There was little sense of activity in the Syrian camps spread along the
gentle grassy slopes behind the Bekaa towns of Chtaura and Zahle. Sol-
diers played football or lounged in the sun while sentries stood guard at
the entrances decorated with the Syrian national colours and faded
pictures of Hafez al-Assad. Hidden behind earth berms were several
T-55 tanks covered in canvas sheets. Fuel bowsers and water trucks
painted in green and brown camouflage were parked in the sprawling
encampments.
Outside the Syrian military intelligence headquarters in Anjar, soldiers
lolled around the swing gate at the entrance to the compound consisting
of small square houses originally built by the French to house Armenian
refugees in 1939. Among the ruins of the eighth-century town built by the
Islamic Omayyad dynasty, several ancient stone dwellings were used as
billets by plain-clothes Syrian intelligence agents. Signs of their habitation
lay scattered around one corner of the site, empty cans, plastic water
bottles and laundry hanging to dry in the warm spring sunshine. Two
intelligence officers, unshaven and dressed in black leather jackets, light
cotton trousers and sandals – the ubiquitous uniform of the Syrian
mukhabarat – squatted over an open fire brewing tea, their rifles leaning
against a wall. Their presence struck a bizarre and incongruous contrast to
the graceful columns and arches of the nearby palace of the Omayyad
caliph Al-Walid Ibn Abdel Malik.
160 Killing Mr Lebanon

Even as Syrian troops packed their bags and began the process of mov-
ing out, some 30,000 Lebanese gathered for another rally in central Beirut,
marching from Martyrs’ Square to the St George Hotel. But the independ-
ence intifada was about to have competition. After nearly a month of
sitting on the fence, Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah announced on March 6 that
the loyalist camp would hold a rally in two days’ time which would be a
demonstration of support and gratitude to Syria for ‘all the sacrifices’ it
had made for Lebanese ‘unity and integrity’.
The crowd that gathered in central Beirut on March 8 packed the
car park in front of the glass UN building and spilled out into surround-
ing streets, beneath over-passes and up avenues and walkways like a
creeping lava flow of humanity. The Lebanese government estimated the
turnout at 1.5 million, but the media estimated that 500,000 showed up.
The majority of the crowd consisted of Shiites, but some Christians also
attended, members of pro-Syrian parties. There were also several thou-
sand Syrians, most of whom had been bussed across the border from Syria
the night before.
‘We are here for President Assad and our Lebanese brothers,’ said one
beaming Syrian who was holding a sign reading in English ‘no to foreign
interference’ upside down.
The size of the demonstration was due in no small measure to the
organisational skills of Hizbullah. Many people had walked up from
the southern suburbs of Beirut, Hizbullah’s stronghold. Women pushed
prams or carried babies in their arms. The throng was so tightly packed in
Riad al-Solh that it was difficult to move. The roads leading into Beirut
from the south were jammed with minibuses and cars carrying Hizbullah
supporters up from the towns and villages of south Lebanon. As with the
opposition rallies, Hizbullah instructed that all party flags be left at home.
Only the Lebanese flag was to be carried by the crowd. The speech was
classic Nasrallah. He appeared on a small balcony smothered in red and
white Lebanese flags rather than the customary yellow party emblem and
launched into a long oration that combined fiery rhetoric with flashes of
humour and glints of conciliation. Apologising for the ‘insults’ heaped on
Syria by some of his fellow countrymen, Nasrallah said ‘You are present
in the souls, in the hearts, in the minds, in the past, in the present and
future, and no one can drive out Syria from Lebanon or Lebanon’s mind,
or Lebanon’s heart or Lebanon’s future.’
The crowd booed when he mentioned the name of Jacques Chirac. It
booed louder and longer when Nasrallah mentioned George W. Bush.
‘Lebanon will remain the country of Arabism, the country of national-
ism, the country of resistance. Lebanon is the nation itself,’ he roared.
 The Beirut Spring 161

It was powerful rhetoric. Nasrallah’s speech and the huge loyalist rally
cast a pall over the optimism and defiance generated by the anti-Syrian
independence intifada. Critics of Hizbullah and proponents of the anti-
Syria campaign mocked the loyalist demonstration for its press-ganging
of a sizeable section of the Shiite community as well as the blatant attempt
to boost numbers by ferrying Syrians into Beirut and dragooning Palestin-
ian refugees. But nobody could disguise the stark fact that Lebanon was
a country divided, not united, over the broader issue of international
influence on Lebanon, be it Syria or the West. That the division fell along
sectarian lines – generally the Shiites versus the rest – only exacerbated
the tension and sense of unease.
Hizbullah promised that further ‘farewell’ rallies would be held for
Syria in the coming days. The opposition received another blow two days
later when Lahoud, emboldened by the Hizbullah rally, re-appointed
the hapless Karami as prime minister, a move that Gibran Tueni described
as the ‘utmost insult’. Karami called for a government of national
unity, saying the alternative was ‘chaos’, but the opposition refused to
deal with him.
Hizbullah organised a second massive rally in the southern town of
Nabatieh, the heart of the party’s territory, which drew some 200,000. But
instead of being cowed by the strength of the loyalist rallies, the organ-
isers of the independence intifada picked up the gauntlet and called for a
huge demonstration on March 14. For the first time, the Sunnis turned out
en masse to side with the Christians and Druze in what was the largest
demonstration in Lebanese history, with a turnout of around 1 million
people, about a quarter of Lebanon’s population. The March 14 rally was
the climax of the month-long independence intifada and was deliberately
intended to convey a message to the Shiites that, as far as other com-
munities were concerned, the bulk of Lebanese wanted the Syrians gone
and a new independent government installed.
The army once again set up roadblocks along major roads leading to the
capital and insisted on body-searching protestors to delay their arrival in
Martyrs’ Square. But it made little difference. The whole of central Beirut
turned into a sea of red and white flags, the extent of which could only
be fully appreciated by the helicopter-borne television cameras filming
the scene high above.
Hizbullah wisely decided to abandon its plans for other protests, rec-
ognising that even its formidable skills in mustering the faithful could not
outdo the extraordinary scale of the March 14 demonstration.
After the setback of the Hizbullah-organised loyalist rally, the tide
seemed to be turning in favour of the opposition once more. Two days
162 Killing Mr Lebanon

earlier, Terje Roed Larsen, the UN envoy, had secured a pledge from the
Syrian authorities that its troops and intelligence apparatus would be out
of Lebanon by the end of April.
While the announcement that the Syrians were actually planning to
leave in weeks was widely welcomed by the opposition, the sheen of
victory was tarnished by the spectre of renewed violence in the shape of
several late-night bomb attacks in Christian districts. The first blast on
March 19 in the Jdeidet suburb of Beirut was heard over the eastern half of
the city, a gentle reverberation that rattled windows and was recognised
instantly as a bomb explosion by the war-hardened Lebanese. Eleven
people were wounded in the blast which devastated several warehouses
and factories. There were three more bomb attacks over the next two
weeks, mainly late at night and in sparsely populated locations. They
were clearly intended to terrorise rather than inflict heavy casualties. And
in that they succeeded. The restaurants, cafés and shops lining the pedes-
trianised streets of downtown Beirut stayed empty as people remained at
home. Security guards manning checkpoints at car park entrances to
shopping malls became a permanent fixture. Small bands of vigilantes set
up their own checkpoints in some east Beirut districts, monitoring traffic
throughout the night and stopping and questioning strangers. Crude
hand-drawn posters appeared on walls, jokily asking that their cars be
spared a bomb. Inevitably, as the attacks continued, some Christians
began muttering darkly about why the Muslim areas were not being
targeted as well.
In early April, the US and France submitted a draft resolution to the
UN Security Council for an international investigation into the Hariri
assassination. It met with some robust opposition from the representa-
tives of the Lebanese government and its sympathisers on the council,
mainly Algeria, which successfully reduced the commission’s mandate
from six months to three. Resolution 1595, which was passed unani-
mously on April 7, called for the creation of an international investigation
commission to be based in Lebanon which would begin work as soon as
possible.
Meanwhile, as the deadline for the final phase of the Syrian troop with-
drawal neared, the last military positions in the Bekaa were dismantled
and bulldozed. Tanks on the backs of lengthy transporters trundled along
the highway cutting across the Bekaa towards the Masnaa border crossing
accompanied by green military buses festooned with Syrian flags and
portraits of Bashar. Other trucks over-loaded with equipment lashed
down by tarpaulin and ropes swayed precariously toward the border. A
Syrian Army officer, a television camera on his shoulder, stood beside the
 The Beirut Spring 163

main road before the Lebanese customs building at Masnaa filming each
truck as it passed by, capturing for posterity what many Syrians regard as
a humiliating retreat.
‘I am sorry to leave like this because the Syrian and Lebanese people are
brothers,’ the officer said. ‘We would have liked to stay.’
His was not an opinion shared by many Lebanese. In the cluster of
Sunni towns and villages around Masnaa, the final Syrian pull-out was
conducted under the watchful eye of Hariri, whose beaming countenance
gazed down from hundreds of posters plastered over walls, shop fronts,
telegraph poles, advertising hoardings and the rear windows of cars and
trucks. What would he have made of these inglorious final moments of
Syria’s military control over Lebanon? Hariri had always wanted to be
Syria’s friend and ally, and was even willing to accept a limited Syrian
troop presence in eastern Lebanon. Yet his murder had transformed him
into the figurehead of the anti-Syrian struggle and the catalyst that had
led to this rather dismal last withdrawal.
It is hard to extract any glory or dignity from a military retreat, but
the Lebanese and Syrian army commands attempted to gloss over the
humiliation by staging a farewell ceremony on April 26 at a military
base in Rayak in the Bekaa. That morning, the road between the border
and Rayak was lined with Syrian soldiers spaced every 50 metres,
clutching rocket-propelled grenade launchers or rifles with fixed bayon-
ets. They were supposed to be guard of honour for the visiting Syrian
generals, yet all they looked was faintly comical in their wide-brimmed
tin helmets. Rustom Ghazaleh had vacated his headquarters in Anjar
the day before and spent the night in Damascus, less than an hour’s
drive away. But he returned to Lebanon the next day for what must
have been a profoundly embarrassing experience. Wearing a dark-grey
suit, white shirt and dark glasses against the brilliant spring sunshine,
Ghazaleh sat in the grandstand, stony-faced, looking slightly out of
place among the paunchy and perspiring Syrian generals in their brown
wool uniforms dripping in gold braid and rows of coloured ribbons. He
studiously ignored the photographers who jostled before him for the
rare opportunity of capturing his picture. What was Ghazaleh think-
ing as these final minutes of Syria’s military domination of Lebanon
ticked by? How quickly the whole enterprise had collapsed. The
passing of Resolution 1559 may have signalled the beginning of the end of
Syria’s tutelage over Lebanon, but not even the most optimistic sup-
porter of the resolution could have predicted that it would take only
seven months for Syria to pull out of Lebanon. And where were those
Lebanese officials who a few months earlier had so ardently defended
164 Killing Mr Lebanon

Syria as a legitimate presence in Lebanon and so fervently attacked 1559

as an unwarranted interference in Lebanese affairs? Certainly, they were
not to be seen in Rayak that spring morning. Most of the zaims had
already turned their backs on their erstwhile Syrian patrons, playing to
the new mood of independence, adjusting to the post-Pax Syriana realities
in Lebanon to ensure their own political survival. Lebanese officialdom
stayed away, but Syria’s enemies, in the form of Western military
attachés, including those from the US and France, were there, wearing
crisp, starched uniforms and sitting quietly next to Lebanese and Syrian
generals.
Some of Syria’s crack troops were bussed in from across the border for
this last hurrah. Tall and lean, the red-bereted paratroopers were a cut
above the poor, ill-educated conscripts that most Lebanese were familiar
with seeing at Syrian Army checkpoints. The soldiers jog-marched down
a narrow pine tree-lined avenue to the parade with their rifles clutched to
their chests, small portraits of Bashar, his brother Basil and their father
Hafez al-Assad fixed above their right breast pockets.
Lined up beside a company of Lebanese soldiers, the Syrian para-
troopers pledged to sacrifice their souls and their blood for Bashar,
punching the air with their fists as they chanted.
‘By withdrawing all its forces from Lebanese territory, Syria has imple-
mented all its commitments to 1559,’ Syrian General Ali Habib said in an
address to the troops. ‘This farewell celebration is proof that the relations
between Syria and Lebanon are very special and will continue to increase
more and more.’
‘Brothers in arms, farewell.’
‘Farewell,’ the soldiers roared back.
And then it was all over.
The Syrian troops climbed back on board their lorries, smiling and
waving V-for-Victory signs as they made the final journey home.
Lebanese troops had already deployed at the Syrian military intelli-
gence headquarters. At the ‘onion factory’, the notorious mukhabarat
interrogation centre, several soldiers sat in a courtyard, relaxing in the
sunshine. Syrian military motifs had been painted out on the walls of the
farm buildings, although the departing intelligence agents spray-canned
one wall with slogans and quotations from the Koran.
One slogan read ‘The Arab nation won’t die.’

In the following days, the UN team charged with verifying the Syrian
troop withdrawal visited former Syrian positions to make sure there
were no soldiers lurking behind. It was evident that the troops had left,
 The Beirut Spring 165

but what was impossible to verify was whether the Syrians had dis-
mantled their intelligence system in Lebanon. Few Lebanese doubted
Damascus would continue to exert a potentially malevolent influence in
Lebanon through its elaborate and extensive networks of agents and
informers. The troops might have gone, but the civilian–military appar-
atus that was created to ensure control over Lebanon remained largely
in place with Lahoud still president and much of the military, security
and judicial administrations essentially intact. The only significant
changes were to the top security positions. Jamil Sayyed, head of the
General Security directorate, and Ali Hajj, the head of the Internal
Security Forces, announced their resignations on the eve of the final
Syrian troop withdrawal. Raymond Azar, the head of military intelli-
gence, who in early April took a month’s leave of absence, flew to
France with his family four days before he was due to return to work
on an open-ended 1 million Lebanese lira ($660) a day assignment
authorised by the outgoing pro-Syrian defence minister Abdel-Rahim
Mrad. The new defence minister, Elias Murr, rescinded the assignment
days later and then in early May Azar was dismissed along with Ghas-
san Toufeili, the head of signals intelligence responsible for wire-
tapping, Edward Mansour, the head of State Security, and Adnan
Addoum, the justice minister. The only senior security official to retain
his position was Mustafa Hamdan, the head of the Presidential Guard
and Lahoud’s chief aide.
Despite concerns of a lingering Syrian mukhabarat presence, the sack-
ing of the once all-powerful security chiefs and the departure of the Syrian
Army from Lebanon was ‘a huge achievement’, according to Samir Kassir,
the An Nahar columnist and democracy campaigner.
‘Even if there is undercover mukhabarat, they can’t detain people, they
can’t torture people, they can’t kidnap people. They could do some
sabotage but nothing more,’ he told the author following the Syrian
withdrawal.
It was not just the hidden hand of Syria in Lebanon that caused some
anxiety, but also the small military encampments manned by pro-Syrian
Palestinian groups that could be found tucked among the rugged hills
and mountains along Lebanon’s remote eastern frontier with Syria. The
Palestinian bases, many of them over 30 years old, had existed under the
protection of the Syrian military. With that umbrella having been lifted,
there was a growing clamour in Lebanon to have the bases shut down and
the fighters returned either to Syria or to the refugee camps in Lebanon.
There might be profound disagreements in Lebanon over whether or not
to dismantle Hizbullah’s military wing, but few Lebanese were willing to
166 Killing Mr Lebanon

tolerate the presence of armed Palestinian groups. The Palestinians, how-

ever, had no intention of abandoning their positions with the rapidity of
their former Syrian Army protectors.
The largest of the Palestinian bases in the eastern Bekaa, consisting of
huts and tents scattered over a mountain plateau about 1,000 metres
above the Bekaa valley floor, was operated by the Popular Front for the
Liberation of Palestine – General Command (PFLP-GC), a small radical
group headquartered in Damascus. The base could only be reached by a
precipitous winding stone track which led to a swing gate blocking the
entrance. Wind-tattered and sun-faded Palestinian flags snapped in the
icy wind beside a tiny hut. Inside, Abu Abdullah, the nom de guerre of an
officer, and six of his comrades sat on beds made from cinder blocks
covered with thin mattresses and grey blankets. An AK-47 rifle hung from
the roof with two magazines bound together with yellow tape. An old
military radio set connected to car batteries sat on the table next to a small
red portable television.
‘We have many posts in the Bekaa but we are not going to leave any of
them because the Palestinian issue has not been resolved,’ Abu Abdullah
said.
Residents of the Christian village of Qussaya in the valley below
claimed that the PFLP-GC were using the numerous tracks that criss-
crossed the border to bring in weapons and equipment. But Abu Abdul-
lah claimed the position was for administrative purposes only. ‘We don’t
carry weapons and we don’t wear military uniforms,’ he said.
The Palestinian commander was polite but reticent and clearly unused
to uninvited guests. A day after the author dropped by, the Palestinian
gunmen fired their weapons over the heads of the visiting team of UN
inspectors who beat a hasty retreat back down the mountainside. The
shooting incident stirred further calls for the Palestinians to be brought
under control. But the Lebanese government was unwilling to be side-
tracked from its sole task of ensuring that the parliamentary elections
were held on time. Omar Karami had resigned for a second time in April
after conceding his inability to form a government. Najib Mikati, a Sunni
businessman from Tripoli, was appointed prime minister and he unveiled
his cabinet four days later.
For the opposition, now dubbed the ‘March 14 coalition’ after the mil-
lion man rally on that date, the next step following the Syrian troop with-
drawal was to overturn the pro-Syrian majority in parliament, which
would lead to the formation of a more representative government. Some
of the young opposition activists had developed a taste for the visceral
politics of the street and mulled over the prospect of translating what they
 The Beirut Spring 167

had begun into a broader movement to involve the younger generation in

mainstream politics.
In Lebanese parliamentary elections, the airing of political platforms
and earnest debate over key policy issues is generally overshadowed by
fervid speculation over which candidate is going to be included on whose
electoral list. The principal criterion adopted by political bosses in choos-
ing candidates for their lists is how many votes they each can bring with
them. Consequently, the heads of large families or established business-
men tend to be selected over young idealists or women, unless they come
from one of Lebanon’s political dynasties. These elections would prove no
different and, as the electoral horse-trading began in earnest in early May,
it became clear that there was little room for those youthful champions of
the independence intifada who sought to trade street activism for a seat in
parliament.
The sight of the familiar former warlords, powerful businessmen and
scions of Lebanon’s political families bickering and bartering to ensure
political survival left many Lebanese jaded, disillusioned and bitter.
‘It’s a betrayal of all those demonstrations which represented a moment
of true popular anger with the system,’ Karim Makdissi, a young pro-
fessor of politics at the American University of Beirut, told the author.
‘It could have gone in a different positive direction but it was taken over
by the political sharks who used that idealism to serve their own
purposes.’
Among those old faces competing for a share of power was Michel
Aoun who ended 14 years of self-imposed exile in France by returning to
Beirut one week after the final Syrian withdrawal.8 The fiery-tempered
general had barely touched down at Beirut airport before he was courting
controversy, however, angering the March 14 coalition by suggesting that
Syria withdrew its troops because of his lobbying efforts in Washington
rather than Hariri’s death.
Walid Jumblatt snapped back that ‘Hariri’s blood’ was responsible for
the Syrian withdrawal, not the ‘returning tsunami’ of Aoun. Down-
playing the effect of Hariri’s murder in propelling the extraordinary
events of the previous three months was regarded by the Hariri and Jum-
blatt blocs as tantamount to sacrilege, and signalled that the irascible
Aoun was charting his own political course independent of the March 14
coalition.
The one new face who would play a key role in the elections was Saad
Hariri, Rafik’s second son. In mid-April, at the end of the traditional
40-day mourning period, the Hariri family announced Saad as Rafik’s
political heir, the eldest son, Bahaa, having chosen to remain in business.
168 Killing Mr Lebanon

‘I was the unlucky one,’ Saad later joked to the author.

Tall and well built with slicked-back dark hair, thick moustache and
goatee beard, the 35-year-old Saad bore a striking physical resemblance to
his slain father, which undoubtedly resonated with the public. His mild-
mannered, almost shy, persona, soft voice and quiet, self-deprecating wit
could have been mistaken for insecurity, but Saad was no neophyte. He
may have been new to the cut and thrust of Lebanese politics, but he was
an accomplished businessman, having helmed Oger for over a decade.
Sharing his father’s workaholic reputation, Saad had built a personal for-
tune that ranked him at 548 in Forbes Magazine’s annual list of billionaires,
with an estimated fortune of $1.2 billion. He had inherited his father’s
penchant for globe-trotting and was on good terms with numerous world
leaders. Hariri used to tell friends that, of all his children, ‘Saad is the one
that is most like me’.
But even with these credentials, Saad was unable to prevent the broad
opposition coalition from gradually unravelling along sectarian lines as
parochial political interests overrode the more altruistic goal of creating a
‘new’ Lebanon. Indeed, on the eve of the elections the new Lebanon was
looking very much like the old, with the creation of electoral alliances that
were bizarre even by Lebanese standards. The list Saad Hariri headed in
Beirut included some uncomfortable bedfellows. Among them were
Solange Gemayel, the widow of former president-elect Bashir Gemayel
who had helped engineer Israel’s 1982 invasion, and a member of Hizbul-
lah, an organisation which was born to resist that same Israeli invasion.
In mainly Shiite south Lebanon and the Bekaa, Hizbullah forged an
alliance with the rival Amal Movement. It had been assumed that,
with Syria gone, Hizbullah and Amal would have fought it out for
dominance of the Shiite community at the first available opportunity.
Yet both groups recognised that their mutual needs were greater than
their differences. By allying with Amal, Hizbullah was strengthening its
domestic position against pressure to disband its military wing, turning
the fate of its weapons into a sectarian issue. From now on, calls to disarm
Hizbullah would mean disarming the Shiites. In turn, Nabih Berri needed
Hizbullah’s assistance to bolster his own political position now that his
Syrian benefactors had gone.
Then there was the irony of the Hariri and Jumblatt blocs, sponsors of
the anti-Syrian March 14 demonstration, hammering out electoral agree-
ments with Hizbullah and Amal, the driving forces behind the pro-Syrian
March 8 rally.
Perhaps the strangest electoral alliance building was by Michel Aoun.
Once the most persistent and harshest critic of Syrian influence in Lebanon,
 The Beirut Spring 169

Aoun felt squeezed out by his erstwhile opposition allies in the March 14
coalition, so instead he suddenly began cutting deals with some of Syria’s
traditionally most loyal supporters. It was an unconventional but astute
move. The collapse of Damascus’s hegemony over Lebanon had to a large
extent erased and rendered meaningless the previous political division
pitting pro-Syrian loyalists against the anti-Syrian opposition, a confron-
tation that had blurred the country’s established confessional faultlines.
Syria’s dominion over Lebanon had allowed it to curb, control and
manipulate Lebanese sectarianism to suit its own interests. Consequently,
the departure of that constraining factor was leading to fresh political
realignments based on the spontaneous and unchecked resurgence of
confessionalism.
The splintering of the political landscape along confessional lines
was as evident as it was predictable. The broad-based Muslim alliance of
Hizbullah, Amal, Hariri’s Future Movement and Jumblatt’s Democratic
Gathering bloc, combined with pressure from France and the US, ensured
that the electoral law of 2000 (the one drawn up by Ghazi Kanaan to spite
Lahoud) would remain in place for the 2005 polls, overcoming the strong
objection of the Christians. Indeed, the Christians were growing disil-
lusioned, resentful and worried that their political renaissance after a dec-
ade and a half of marginalisation under Syrian rule was about to be
undone by the bulldozing tactics of the Sunni–Druze–Shiite alliance. That
sectarian polarisation even resulted in an unlikely wave of Christian sup-
port for Lahoud, whose removal from Baabda palace was energetically
pursued by Jumblatt and Hariri. The fate of the presidency remained a
prerogative of the Maronites, and, although Lahoud lacked credibility in
the Christian community, the Maronites had no intention of standing
aside so that he could be unseated by the Sunnis and the Druze.
The tensions between the Sunnis and Christians were manifest in the
first round of voting in Beirut. In west Beirut, huge banners featuring a
beaming Saad Hariri were suspended above streets carrying the Hariri
campaign slogan, ‘Maak’ (With you). Many posters portrayed Saad super-
imposed on a picture of his father. One read ‘He who fathers children lives
on.’ Paramilitary police in blue camouflage uniforms guarded crowded
polling stations while cars plastered in campaign posters and pictures of
candidates tore up and down the unusually traffic-free streets. Saad called
for a large turnout, saying ‘Each ballot is a bullet fired at Rafik Hariri’s
assassins.’
But in the mainly Christian eastern half of the city, voter turnout
was low, with many residents heeding a boycott by Aoun supporters in
protest at the electoral law.
170 Killing Mr Lebanon

Christian discontent failed to stop Saad Hariri from sweeping Beirut. A

week later, the Shiite–Hizbullah–Amal alliance secured all the available
seats in south Lebanon. But the third round in Mount Lebanon caused a
major upset when the frustrated Christians sided overwhelmingly with
Michel Aoun against the March 14 coalition. Aoun was an avowed secu-
larist, but as far as the Christians were concerned they had found in the
70-year-old general their first popular and effective leader since the end of
the war in 1990.
Aoun’s temporary home was a heavily guarded villa lent by a sup-
porter set among the hills and pine trees of an exclusive suburb overlook-
ing Beirut. A green canvas screen erected around the perimeter of the
property provided privacy, while coils of razor wire, searchlights, closed
circuit television cameras and armed bodyguards provided security.
From here, the general had mounted an intensive and slick election
campaign, adopting the colour orange and the Greek letter omega (the
symbol of resistance in electrical terms) as his motifs. He was the only
political leader to actively promote an electoral platform, a 43-page mani-
festo printed in English, Arabic and French outlining a comprehensive
political, economic and administrative reform programme.
Aoun was in his element when bathed in the light of television cameras
and surrounded by supporters and journalists. He commanded attention
and conveyed an image of resolve, dependability and honesty. His critics
accused him of being a martinet and a ‘little Napoleon’ with naked presi-
dential ambitions. And there was something of the Napoleon about this
short, egotistical army general. But away from the media limelight, he
could be reticent and unassuming, uncomfortable among strangers and in
unfamiliar surroundings. Invited to a dinner at the American embassy, an
ill-at-ease Aoun barely said a word, leaving some of the foreign guests
wondering what his supporters saw in him.
When the author met Aoun at his villa for an interview in mid-June
after his Mount Lebanon election triumph, it was a somewhat timid but
polite grandfatherly figure who shuffled into the salon smiling shyly.
With his thinning hair, sagging jowels and paunch, Aoun looked as if he
would be more comfortable pruning roses in the garden or bouncing his
grandchildren on his knee than aspiring to the presidency. But there was
steel in his words as he accused Saad Hariri of vote buying on a massive
scale in north Lebanon, the venue for the final round of the elections
which was turning into a showdown between the Sunnis represented by
the Future Movement and the Maronites represented by Aoun’s Free
Patriotic Movement.9 He remained resolutely unapologetic for allying
himself with some of Syria’s staunchest allies.
 The Beirut Spring 171

‘I don’t care if Syria supports me,’ he said in French-accented English.

‘They respect me because I am an honest adversary. They don’t respect
those who claimed to be their allies for 15 years but right now are insult-
ing them like animals. Since 1988, I said the Syrians have to withdraw
from Lebanon and then we will become good friends. What I said in 1988 I
say in 2005.’
But Aoun’s critics accused the general of being a turncoat, selling out on
his former comrades in the anti-Syrian opposition in exchange for an
unimpeded return to Lebanon after 14 years in exile and a future shot at
the presidency.
If some members of the March 14 coalition were disappointed and
angered at Aoun’s perceived defection from their ranks, there was out-
right alarm at reports in the media claiming that Syrian military intelli-
gence officers were back in Lebanon, holding secret meetings to forge
electoral alliances among their old Lebanese friends.
Mohammed Khallouf, the former head of Syrian intelligence in north
Lebanon, was reported to have met Jamil Sayyed and Suleiman Frangieh
for lunch, which led to a reshuffling of candidates for the northern polls
and an alliance between Aoun and Frangieh, whose powerbase was in the
northern town of Zghorta.
Rustom Ghazaleh, Jumblatt charged in a television interview, had been
spotted eating lunch at a restaurant in the Bekaa and had scuppered an
electoral deal between Hariri’s Future Movement and a local Christian poli-
tician. Other senior military intelligence officers were sighted in the Chouf,
one of them asking questions about Jumblatt’s security arrangements.
The news reports suggested that sinister forces were at work in Lebanon.
And the grim evidence of that menace could be found on the morning
of June 2 in the crumpled, smouldering remains of the Alfa Romeo in
Beirut’s Christian district of Ashrafieh. Samir Kassir couldn’t have known
what hit him when the bomb placed under his seat exploded as he started
his car to go to his office at An Nahar. An eloquent and incisive critic of
Syrian hegemony over Lebanon and an ardent democracy campaigner,
the 45-year-old journalist’s writings in An Nahar had earned him some
powerful enemies.
A stunned crowd clustered around the vehicle until they were pushed
back by soldiers stretching yellow tape across the road to seal off the
crime scene.
‘Samir was very optimistic,’ said a tearful Malek Mrowe, a Lebanese
businessman and friend of Kassir who had dined with him just the night
before. ‘He said “Now the Syrians have gone we can say whatever we
want. Lebanon will be the democratic model for the region.” ’
172 Killing Mr Lebanon

Had Kassir’s optimism blinded him to the threats that still lurked
unseen in Lebanon’s darker corners? What was it he had told the author
barely a month earlier about the lingering Syrian intelligence presence?
‘Even if there is undercover mukhabarat, they can’t detain people, they
can’t torture people, they can’t kidnap people. They could do some sabo-
tage but nothing more.’ Those words had a chill echo now as Kassir’s
gutted body was extracted from the twisted remains of his car.
Against the backdrop of Kassir’s murder, the last round of elections
was held on June 19. It was a thoroughly bad-tempered and rampantly
sectarian affair, in which the Christian axis of Suleiman Frangieh and
Michel Aoun stood no chance against the alliance of Sunnis and Hariri’s
Christian allies in the Muslim-dominated northern constituency. Omar
Karami, who had refused to stand in the elections, attacked Saad Hariri
for vote-buying and accused Lebanon’s Sunni Mufti, Sheikh Mohammed
Qabbani, of instructing Sunni sheikhs in Tripoli to politicise their ser-
mons on behalf of the March 14 coalition. Frangieh, who lost his parlia-
mentary seat in the polls, declared that Saad Hariri ‘has used the ugliest
and most provocative confessional tactics’, pitting Muslims against
Christians, as a result of which ‘the north of Lebanon is divided along
sectarian lines’.
As Safir newspaper opined the next morning that ‘no one knows how to
overcome the sectarian tension that characterised the elections across
Lebanon’.
Saad Hariri had been gunning for a majority of more than two-thirds of
the 128-seat parliament, necessary to begin the untested and complicated
constitutional process of unseating Lahoud. Lahoud’s removal was con-
sidered a prerequisite for a thorough purge of state institutions of all
lingering traces of Syrian control. But the success of Michel Aoun in the
third leg of voting had left the March 14 coalition 13 seats short, thus
sparing Lahoud an early retirement. With Lahoud entrenched in Baabda
palace for the foreseeable future, Saad Hariri ruled himself out of the
premiership race. How could he sit around the same table with the man
who he believed was at least partially responsible for his father’s murder?
Lahoud was not the only leading figure of the former pro-Syrian regime to
safeguard his position. Even Nabih Berri, that most wily and opportun-
istic political survivor, was back as parliamentary speaker, buoyed by the
support of Hizbullah, his powerful new ally.
Still, although Hariri was denied the clean sweep he was seeking and
despite the heightened sectarianism accompanying the polls, the elections
had resulted in the most representative parliament since the end of the
war in 1990.
 The Beirut Spring 173

The day after the northern round of voting, Saad Hariri held a press
conference in the underground ballroom at Koreitem in which he prom-
ised to pursue the ‘project of Rafik Hariri’ of coexistence, social and
economic development and administrative reform.
Rafik Hariri gazed down at his son and political heir from more than a
dozen large portraits hanging on the walls or mounted on stands as
Saad read from a prepared speech. All Lebanese, he said, knew who
had obstructed his father’s goal of bringing ‘prosperity to Lebanon and
dignity to the Lebanese’.
‘They crippled Rafik Hariri’s project deliberately, but the Lebanese will
not accept from now on any policy that will stop the economical, social
and developmental progress,’ Saad read in his soft, at times barely aud-
ible, voice. ‘We assert today that elections are behind us. We only see the
future of Lebanon, its freedom, sovereignty, independence, democratic
system, economic prosperity and social solidarity.’
But those same sinister forces that murdered Samir Kassir were still at
work in Lebanon, seemingly intent on ensuring there would be no easy
transition from Syrian domination to full sovereignty.
The morning after Saad’s upbeat press conference, George Hawi, a for-
mer leader of the Lebanese Communist party, was killed when a bomb
exploded beneath his dark-blue Mercedes moments after he left his home
in west Beirut.
Hawi’s death appeared to confirm what was first suspected with Kassir’s
death – an assassination campaign was being waged against opponents of
Syria’s enduring influence in Lebanon. The violence, which had begun
with the bomb attack against Marwan Hamade the previous October,
peaked with the brutal slaying of Rafik Hariri and continued with the
killings of Kassir and Hawi, was still to cast a dark shadow over Lebanon.
 A new Lebanon?
7
As the storm clouds of winter scudded across the Mediterranean, lashing
Lebanon’s coastline with sheets of icy rain, the ghosts of the independence
intifada continued to linger in Martyrs’ Square. By the end of the year, the
grass had yet to grow back on the mound beside the martyrs’ monument
where the tents of Camp Freedom had stood in the spring sunshine. The
graffiti that once choked the white marble walls surrounding the bronze
statue of the martyrs had been scrubbed off, yet it was still possible to
discern the faint traces of scrawled anti-Syrian insults, nationalist slogans
and maudlin eulogies for the slain Hariri. Mourners and the curious con-
tinued to trickle past Hariri’s flower-smothered grave 100 metres from the
martyrs’ monument. A giant digital clock ticked the number of days since
February 14 in glowing red numerals. ‘The Dream’ read an inscription in
Arabic gold letters on a wooden archway leading to the grave.
The shadow of Rafik Hariri continued to loom large over a Lebanon that
began 2006 deeply divided, split by a resurgent sectarianism generated by
the argument over Hizbullah’s weapons, threatened by the emergence of
a militant brand of Sunni Islam that had taken hold in the poorer areas
of the north, and torn by competing visions over the future direction of
the country. The traditional Christian–Muslim faultline in Lebanon was
being superseded by an inter-Muslim struggle between Shiites and Sunnis,
reflecting the broader cleavages rending the Middle East. Lebanon seemed
fated to be a pawn in a broader struggle for control of the Middle East,
pitting the strengthening axis of Iran, Syria and Hizbullah against the
influence of the West, chiefly the United States, Britain and France.
‘Lebanon will be engulfed again in a huge power game that will last
quite a long time. This is the tragic destiny of Lebanon.’ Such was the bleak
prognosis of Walid Jumblatt, who by December had become a virtual
prisoner in his castle in the Chouf mountains to avoid the same fate
that had befallen Hariri, Samir Kassir, George Hawi and others.1 For the
 A new Lebanon? 175

campaign of assassinations and bomb attacks that began with the attempt
against Marwan Hamade in October 2004 had continued to claim victims,
a remorseless vendetta, it seemed, against some of the leading voices of
the independence intifada.
The killings gave an added sense of urgency to the United Nations
International Independent Investigation Commission (UNIIIC) charged
with investigating Hariri’s murder which began work in mid-June. The
commission initially was headed by Detlev Mehlis, a German prosecutor
who led a team of more than 100 investigators, technicians, translators
and security personnel. Mehlis was picked to head the investigation
because of his 25 years’ experience in handling trans-national terrorism
cases, notably the La Belle disco bombing in Berlin in 1986. The commission
was granted a three-month mandate by the UN Security Council with the
possibility of an additional three months if needed. Mehlis, a soft-spoken
and methodical investigator, was fully aware of the formidable task ahead
of him, commenting in May that ‘I hope one can uncover the crime in
three months; otherwise it will take 10 years.’
He could expect the full assistance of the new government which
was formed at the end of July and headed by Fouad Siniora, Hariri’s
long-serving right-hand man for financial affairs. The new consensus
government included for the first time a member of Hizbullah, recogni-
tion by the Party of God that with Syria gone it would have to defend its
interests by participating more fully in Lebanese political life.
But these were not easy months for Siniora’s government or those who
had spearheaded the effort to remove Syria from Lebanon. In August,
Gibran Tueni, the battling columnist and general manager of An Nahar who
had been elected to parliament in May, revealed that the UN commission
had handed to the Lebanese government a ‘hit list’ of prominent anti-
Syrian Lebanese it had compiled through its interrogations of witnesses
and suspects.
‘There is an assassination list and my name tops it,’ Tueni said in France
where he, along with several other Lebanese, had sought refuge. The
precautions were well founded. Elias Murr’s prediction in October 2004 to
Marwan Hamade that he would be the target of an assassination attempt
came true in July when a car bomb exploded beside his motorcade as it
passed through a wealthy east Beirut suburb. Murr, who was travelling in
an armour-plated Porsche four-wheel drive, survived the blast, suffering
facial wounds and a broken hand. He subsequently blamed the bomb
attack on Rustom Ghazaleh, revealing for the first time in a talk show on
Lebanese television that the Syrian general had threatened him following
the discovery of the Italian embassy bomb plot.
176 Killing Mr Lebanon

Lahoud, who was becoming an increasingly isolated figure as he clung

onto Baabda palace, released a statement in reaction to his son-in-law’s
revelations, lavishing praise on ‘sister’ Syria and earning the headline in
the Beirut Al-Balad daily ‘Lahoud removes the shrapnel of his son-in-law’s
bombshell.’
Random bombings in Christian areas continued from July to September.
A small bomb planted beneath a parked car in a narrow alleyway exploded
one Friday evening just 50 metres from Rue Monot in east Beirut, one of
the city’s busiest nightspots. Another bomb targeted the Kuwaiti informa-
tion office, killing one person. The Kuwaiti media had been particularly
critical of Syria, especially Al-Siyassa newspaper whose near-daily ‘scoops’
against the Syrian regime were widely read for entertainment value if not
accuracy.
At the end of September, May Chidiac, an anchor for a political news
programme on Lebanon’s LBC television channel, was critically wounded
when a bomb exploded beneath the seat of her parked car hours after her
Sunday morning talk show was aired. She survived, but lost her left arm
and leg in the explosion.
The bomb attacks evidently were part of a calculated attempt to under-
mine political stability and thwart Lebanon’s economic recovery. Yet who
were these ruthlessly efficient hit men stalking the country, dispatching
their victims with such effortless, cold-blooded precision? One rumour
posited that they were former Christian militiamen from the Damascus-
allied Syrian Social Nationalist Party (SSNP) who prepared their car
bombs in an underground car park in the Jeanne d’Arc district of Hamra
in west Beirut, an area traditionally under the control of the SSNP. If
Syria was responsible for the attacks, as most Lebanese firmly believed,
there was no shortage of willing perpetrators to carry them out. Syrian
military intelligence over the years had built up numerous small groups
and networks that they could draw upon to foment trouble. Some of these
groups existed within broader political organisations such as the SSNP
and Baath party; others operated as small mercenary gangs supplied
with cash, vehicles and weapons from local offices of Syrian military
intelligence.
Although the Lebanese authorities appeared unable to catch the killers,
despite technical assistance from European and US law enforcement
agencies, they did discover several arms caches, which not only suggested
that the acts of violence were a pre-planned and systematic campaign of
terror, but also tellingly pointed to the involvement of individuals and
groups associated with Lahoud and the Syrian regime. In late July, police
arrested Sheikh Ahmad Abdel-Aal, a security officer with the pro-Syrian
 A new Lebanon? 177

Ahbash Islamist group, and his brother Mahmoud after a weapons cache
was discovered in the latter’s home south-east of Beirut. The religiously
moderate Ahbash had been promoted in Lebanon in the 1990s by Syrian
intelligence to undercut fundamentalist Sunni Islamic groups, in particular
the Jamaa Islamiyya, the Lebanese branch of the Muslim Brotherhood
which fought a bloody insurrection in Syria in the late 1970s and early
1980s.
Also in July, a police raid uncovered a stockpile of new and unused
weapons in the Beirut home of an employee of Majid Hamdan, brother
of Mustafa Hamdan, commander of the Presidential Guard and right-
hand man of Lahoud. Majid Hamdan owned a security company in
partnership with Ralph Lahoud, the president’s son, which among its
operations was responsible for security in the area of the St George Hotel
– the scene of Hariri’s murder. The Hamdan employee claimed to be a
member of the Mourabitoun, the Sunni militia which had been chased
out of Beirut by pro-Syrian militias in the mid-1980s only to return in 2001
at the instigation of the Lebanese and Syrian intelligences services in a
vain attempt to counterbalance Hariri’s influence over the Sunni com-
munity. Mustafa Hamdan also had connections with the Mourabitoun,
being a nephew of the group’s former leader Ibrahim Koleilat and
having fought with the militia in the opening stages of the Lebanese war
in the 1970s.
The activities of the Hamdan and Abdel-Aal brothers were also attract-
ing the interest of the UN commission. Operating from an isolated and
heavily protected hotel set in the forested Monteverde suburb of east
Beirut, Mehlis ordered the first arrests at the end of August. Investigators
accompanied by Lebanese paramilitary police stormed the houses of
several senior former security officials in a pre-dawn raid that included
temporarily cutting the power in the city. Among those arrested were
Jamil Sayyed, Raymond Azar, the former head of military intelligence,
and Ali Hajj, the former head of the Internal Security Forces. All three had
been fired from their posts in May. Mustafa Hamdan turned himself in for
further questioning after being summoned by the police. He was the first
senior security official to have been questioned by the commission and
named formally as a ‘suspect’ a month before the arrests.
‘We think . . . they were to some extent part of the planning that led to
the assassination,’ Mehlis said, adding that the four men were only ‘part
of the picture . . . We do think more people were involved.’
The arrests of the former security barons electrified the Lebanese. Just
one year ago they had been the most powerful men in Lebanon, com-
manders of the top security and intelligence services, who served as loyal
178 Killing Mr Lebanon

guardians of Syria’s dominion over Lebanon. Now languishing in their

solitary underground cells, they had ample time to brood on where it had
all gone wrong. If they were brought to trial and convicted they could face
the gallows or a firing squad.
The investigation into Hariri’s murder was clearly tilting toward the
involvement of the Lebanese and Syrian intelligence services, including
security officers considered close to Lahoud. The intriguing connections
between the arrests of the security chiefs, the discoveries of the arms
dumps, Lahoud, Hamdan and the Syrian regime continued to sustain
calls for the president’s resignation.
Yet Lahoud appeared resolutely blasé at his unpopularity. He enraged
the March 14 coalition by describing his arrested aide Hamdan as a ‘most
honest, loyal and dedicated’ army officer. Lahoud then ignored the advice
of friends and foes alike not to attend the annual UN General Assembly
meeting in New York in September. Instead, he departed for New York
at the head of an 80-member delegation stuffed with family members
and officers from the Presidential Guard. While Saad Hariri was fêted by
world leaders in New York and Fouad Siniora discussed preparations for
a donors’ conference for Lebanon tentatively scheduled for November,
Lahoud remained ensconced in his five-star hotel, shunned from diplo-
matic receptions, including a banquet hosted by President Bush for
visiting heads of state.
The Syrian regime continued to deny involvement in Hariri’s murder,
arguing, correctly, that the assassination had rebounded on Syria more
than anyone else. The UN commission had requested interviews with
up to 15 Syrians, including military intelligence officers previously res-
ponsible for security in Lebanon, but the Syrian regime was less than
forthcoming in cooperating with the investigation. It insisted that its sov-
ereignty be preserved and cast doubt on the impartiality of a commission
whose very existence was due to US and French muscle in the Security
Council.
‘Syria is still dealing with the issue as though it is a suspect,’ wrote
Sahar Baasiri in An Nahar at the end of August. ‘What does it mean that
Syrian officials repeat that discovering the truth is in Syria’s interest while
it behaves in return in a manner that actually harms its interest? Why is
Syria delaying the work of the committee?’
On October 20, Mehlis released his first interim report, which concluded
that there was ‘converging evidence pointing at both Lebanese and Syrian
involvement in this terrorist act’.
‘Given the infiltration of Lebanese institutions and society by the Syrian
and Lebanese intelligence services working in tandem, it would be difficult
 A new Lebanon? 179

to envisage a scenario whereby such a complex assassination plot could

have been carried out without their knowledge,’ the report said.
But it added that the investigation was not complete and recommended
that it continue ‘for some time to come’.
An unedited version of the report which found its way into the hands
of journalists, the author included, carried the names of several senior
Lebanese and Syrian officials allegedly involved in the Hariri assassin-
ation plot. They were Maher al-Assad, Bashar’s younger brother, Assef
Shawkat, the president’s brother-in-law and at the time the deputy head
of military intelligence, Hassan Khalil, the then head of Syrian military
intelligence, Bahjat Suleiman, the then head of the internal affairs section
of the General Security Directorate, and Jamil Sayyed.2
The report was critical of Syria’s lack of cooperation with the UN
commission, saying that, although it had cooperated to a ‘limited degree’,
some Syrian officials interviewed had ‘tried to mislead the investigation
by giving false or inaccurate statements’, among them Farouq al-Sharaa.
The report went beyond merely updating the Security Council on
progress so far. By judiciously including enough damning information
to point a clear finger at Syria – and suggesting that he had much more
that remained unpublished – Mehlis apparently hoped to provide suf-
ficient ammunition for the Security Council to pass a resolution obliging
Damascus to be more cooperative. If so, it worked. Resolution 1636
adopted by the Security Council on October 31 demanded that Syria
detain any Syrian national whom the commission suspected of involve-
ment in Hariri’s assassination and warned of ‘further action’ if Damascus
continued to procrastinate, an implicit threat of sanctions.
But Damascus denounced the Mehlis report as lacking ‘credibility,
seriousness and professionalism’ and, other than announcing the creation
of its own commission of inquiry into the Hariri assassination on the eve
of Resolution 1636 being adopted, showed little sign of yielding to the
intensifying pressure. In a speech to Damascus University on November
10, Bashar was defiantly belligerent, accusing Lebanon of being a ‘route, a
manufacturer and financier for . . . conspiracies [against Syria]’ and
describing Fouad Siniora as a ‘slave’ of his American masters. In an
address redolent with Arab nationalist rhetoric, he savaged the March 14
coalition, calling them ‘blood traders’ who had ‘made a stock market of
Hariri’s blood; and this stock market is yielding money and positions’.
The ferocity of Bashar’s comments on Lebanon spurred Gibran Tueni
to opine that it was tantamount to a ‘declaration of war on Lebanon’.
Certainly, it illustrated the depth of distrust and antipathy between Beirut
and Damascus, the poisoned legacy of Syria’s long and humiliating
180 Killing Mr Lebanon

dominance of its neighbour. Attempts at a rapprochement had faltered

even before Fouad Siniora had composed his government. Tentative
discussions to demarcate the joint border between Lebanon and Syria
had led nowhere. A deal for Syria to supply natural gas to Lebanese
electricity plants went unfulfilled. Even Hizbullah’s new addition to the
cabinet, Mohammed Fneish, the energy minister, was unable to persuade
Damascus to honour the arrangement, although his party remained
supportive of Syria.
In July, Syria effectively closed its border to goods vehicles departing
Lebanon, which left hundreds of truck drivers stranded bumper to bumper
along a remote 10-kilometre stretch of highway snaking through the
mountains between the Lebanese and Syrian border posts. Syria said the
delays, which were costing Lebanon some $300,000 a day in lost business,
were due to increased checks to prevent weapons and explosives being
smuggled into Syria, part of a nationwide security crackdown. But most
Lebanese believed that the Syrians were acting out of spite.
More alarming, however, were the reports from September of weapons
being smuggled into Lebanon via the remote mountain trails along the
border with Syria by pro-Syrian Palestinian militants belonging to the
Fatah Intifada organisation. The reports provoked an outcry and spurred
renewed calls for the closure of the small Palestinian military outposts in
the eastern Bekaa and international warnings for Syria to cease destabilis-
ing Lebanon. But if weapons were being smuggled into Lebanon, it was
not by Fatah Intifada’s grizzled veterans.
The handful of isolated Fatah Intifada positions set in remote, rock-
studded wadis along the border were more like secluded retirement homes
for wrinkled veterans of the Palestinian Revolution. Dressed in an eclectic
mix of olive green or camouflaged fatigues with tracksuits, sweaters and
sandals, they whiled away their final days reminiscing about past glories,
smoking cigarettes and sipping endless tiny glasses of hot sweet tea.
A more likely culprit was the Popular Front for the Liberation of
Palestine – General Command, a tougher and better-armed outfit than
Fatah Intifada who hunkered down when the Lebanese Army surrounded
their positions in October. At the entrance to a PFLP-GC base in a shallow
valley near the village of Sultan Yacoub, Lebanese soldiers wrapped in
thick camouflage jackets and wool hats against the chill breeze manned a
checkpoint and milled around armoured personnel carriers. A dirt track
meandered across the valley floor leading to the Palestinian base, which
consisted of a few foxholes covered in camouflage netting and narrow
tunnels sunk into the sides of the valley. Near a swing gate leading into
the base, the Palestinians had rigged up an improvised explosive device
 A new Lebanon? 181

made from a half-buried tank shell connected to a black cable which

snaked across the track and up into the rocky hillside.
‘Go away. This area is forbidden,’ yelled a Palestinian fighter emerging
from a rock outcrop above the track, waving a rifle above his head.
After the bomb attack against May Chidiac in late September there
was a lull in violence, and for a moment it seemed that the menacingly
proficient killings might have ended. That illusion, however, was shat-
tered one sunny December morning on a narrow lane cut into the side of
a steep valley above the dried-up bed of the Beirut river. Gibran Tueni
didn’t stand a chance. It was the most professional assassination since
Hariri’s killing ten months earlier. The estimated 40-kilogramme shaped
charge bomb hidden in a Renault Rapide blasted Tueni’s armour-plated
four-wheeler through a concrete balustrade, sending the burning wreck
tumbling 100 metres down the side of the valley. The explosion set light
to the grass on the side of the valley and smashed windows for hun-
dreds of metres in a nearby industrial estate, lightly injuring at least ten
people. Other than Tueni, two people were killed, one of them his
driver.
The proficiency of the assassination was chilling. Tueni had returned to
Lebanon only the night before from Paris where, like so many prominent
Lebanese critics of Syria, he had been spending much of his time because
of death threats. His assassins must have been tracking him from the
moment he touched down at Beirut airport on Sunday night, following
him to his home in the mountain village of Beit Meri on a ridge overlook-
ing Beirut. A security camera recorded footage of the bomb-laden Renault
driving down the road shortly before 9 a.m. the next morning and parking
beside a BMW. Two men got out of the car and climbed into the BMW and
drove off at high speed. The road was used by local residents as a short
cut to avoid the rush-hour traffic on the nearby main road leading into the
eastern half of the city. The assassins must have known that Tueni regu-
larly took the short cut. It was a well-chosen site. From the other side of
the narrow valley, the bomber would have had a clear view of the road
and Tueni’s vehicle as it approached, just two minutes after the car bomb
was parked, triggering the remote control at the exact moment the two
vehicles were aligned. Shaped charge explosives channel the blast in a
single direction and are designed to punch through the sides of armoured
vehicles. Tueni, who was sitting in the passenger seat, took the full brunt
of the blast and was torn to shreds.
‘I had a discussion with Tueni about me returning to Beirut, and he
said “Don’t even think about it,” ’ says Saad Hariri, who had been living
between Jeddah in Saudi Arabia and Paris since July. ‘He was adamant
182 Killing Mr Lebanon

that I not return and I was adamant that he should not return. And look
what happened.’3
The bullheaded, uncompromising Tueni had returned to Beirut anyway,
telling a friend on the flight from Paris that he felt encouraged by the
calm. The temporary cessation in bomb attacks in Lebanon had lulled him
into a false sense of confidence.
Two days later after his murder, tens of thousands of mourners con-
verged on central Beirut, standing vigil beside the glass An Nahar building
and cramming the cobble-stoned streets outside the St George Greek
Orthodox cathedral where Tueni’s funeral was held. In the parliament
building opposite the cathedral, a special session was held prior to the
funeral for MPs to pay tribute to their slain colleague. Tueni’s empty chair
was draped in a Lebanese flag with a red rose placed on his desk. Cover-
ing five floors of the An Nahar building was a vast portrait of Tueni, the
red and white scarf of the independence intifada that he had so actively
helped promote wrapped around his neck, his hand raised in greeting.
Tueni’s dark 1930s-matinee-idol looks beamed over the crowd of mourners
gathered below.
Following the flag-draped coffin as the funeral procession wound
through central Beirut to the Greek Orthodox cemetery in Ashrafieh was
a gaunt and frail-looking Ghassan Tueni, the publisher of An Nahar and
former ambassador at the UN who had helped Hariri’s humanitarian aid
ship sail under the UN flag from Cyprus to Israeli-occupied Sidon so
many years earlier. Tueni senior was no stranger to family tragedy, having
at the age of 80 buried his first wife, his only daughter and two sons. Now
the father would inherit his son’s position at An Nahar and weeks later his
political role as well, being selected unopposed to represent the Ashrafieh
district of Beirut.
Saad Hariri also knew what it entailed to inherit a political legacy. He
was the leader of the largest political bloc in the Lebanese parliament, the
Future Tide movement, and was regarded by many as a prime minister-
in-waiting, the capable Fouad Siniora filling in until his father’s nemesis
Emile Lahoud had stepped down or been evicted from Baabda palace. But
Saad was a political leader living in self-imposed exile, forcibly separated
from his constituents by the assassins lying in wait in Lebanon.
‘Me not going to Lebanon isn’t about being scared,’ he says in his soft,
slightly hesitant voice, ‘but about not giving them a present of the pleasure
of killing me because we have not achieved what we wanted to achieve.’4
Saad was dressed casually and slouched in a soft armchair in the
opulent purple and gold splendour of the Royal Suite on the fifth floor
of the Plaza Athenee, one of Paris’s most luxurious hotels. He was
 A new Lebanon? 183

surrounded by some of his father’s close advisors and staff, and the suite
had been transformed into a mini Koreitem overseas.
He had arrived two days earlier to hold talks with President Chirac amid
an attempt by Saudi Arabia and Egypt to promote a Syrian document to
reduce tension between Beirut and Damascus and relax Western pressure
on Syria.
The Lebanese government showed little enthusiasm for the initiative,
which was said to include muzzling inflammatory rhetoric in the media
and establishing a committee to forewarn the Lebanese and Syrian author-
ities about potential security breaches. Walid Jumblatt described the plan
as a ‘booby-trapped attempt by the Syrian regime to return to Lebanon’
while Fouad Siniora said that ‘top priority should be given to Syria’s
cooperation with the UN investigation’.
The Lebanese could expect little more than lip-service support from the
two Arab powerhouses when it came to Lebanon’s difficulties with Syria.
Both Saudi Arabia and Egypt are wedded to the creed of non-confrontation
and viewed the crisis from the perspective of their own interests. If Syria’s
Baathist regime buckled under the pressure, it could trigger a revival
of the long-suppressed Syrian branch of the Muslim Brotherhood, an
unwelcome prospect for Egyptian president Hosni Mubarak whose home-
grown Muslim brothers had fared strongly in the parliamentary elections
in November and December. Furthermore, the failure of Syria’s experi-
ment with a ‘hereditary republic’ could doom Mubarak’s own ambition to
bestow the presidency upon his son, Gamal. Similarly, Saudi Arabia was
worried that Bashar’s collapse could herald Iraq-style turmoil, which
would further destabilise the Middle East and possibly strengthen Al-
Qaeda’s brand of militant Islam which had sworn to overthrow the Saudi
monarchy.
Consequently, the Saudi–Egyptian initiative stoked a growing sense of
unease among many Lebanese who suspected that their interests would
be sacrificed as part of some broader deal concocted by the international
community to ensure regional stability. Saad’s visit to Paris was in part to
seek reassurance from Chirac that there was no deal being prepared at the
expense of the UN investigation into his father’s death. That reassurance
from Chirac was given, and confirmed by Condoleezza Rice, the US
secretary of state, who insisted that Washington rejected ‘any deals or
compromises that would undermine the UNIIIC investigation, or relieve
Syria of its obligations’.
‘Politics is a very difficult life,’ Saad says a day after meeting Chirac.
‘I am going through a learning process, a crash course on politics in
Lebanon. It was difficult to follow after my father. I tried to think about
184 Killing Mr Lebanon

what he would have done. I think of it as a replay of a boxing match. You

know the results but you have to go through the 12 rounds. You have to
go through some tough punches and maybe get some broken bones but
at the end of the day you will get the belt.’
Hariri had never intended that his children should follow him into
politics, disdaining the monopolisation of Lebanese politics by a handful
of family dynasties. The horror of Hariri’s murder and the outpouring
of public grief, however, had compelled the family to anoint a successor.
Saad was the only eligible choice after his elder brother Bahaa decided to
remain in business. But in January 2006, it seemed to be a legacy that
weighed heavily on the young man’s shoulders.
‘I was a businessman,’ Saad says, his knee jogging nervously up and
down as he speaks. ‘I had all my freedoms. I could travel wherever I want,
do what I want, walk alone. Now I have to have security. I have to live a
life where I’m afraid about my family and their safety. My son Hussam
was watching the TV and saw there was an explosion in Lebanon and he
ran to his mother and said “Where’s baba?” and she said, “He’s in Paris.”
And Hussam said “Thank God he’s not in Lebanon.” And he’s only six
years old.’
It had been a discouraging winter for the Lebanese government and the
March 14 coalition. Following the release in October of the first report of
the UN commission investigating Hariri’s murder and the adoption of
Resolution 1636, Syria began to fight back. It won a valuable propaganda
coup in November when Hussam Hussam, a key witness in the first UN
commission report, publicly recanted his testimony to the investigators,
saying he had been coerced by Saad Hariri and other March 14 coali-
tion leaders. His retraction came days after another witness, Zuhair Ibn
Mohammed Said Saddik, allegedly was paid to testify by Rifaat al-Assad,
Bashar’s uncle, who still had an eye on the presidency.5
Syria also engaged in brinkmanship with the UN commission in
November, baulking at a demand by the UN commission to interview in
Beirut six Syrian officials, among them Assef Shawkat, the head of Syrian
military intelligence, and to gain access to intelligence records on Lebanon.
The commission was told that all military intelligence documentation
related to Lebanon had been burned. Mehlis eventually backed down
and agreed to Syria’s demands that the interviews be held in the neutral
setting of Vienna and guaranteed that the Syrian officials could return
to Damascus afterwards. In the end, only five Syrians travelled to Vienna;
Shawkat remained in Damascus.
Mehlis made it clear in his second interim report and in his statement
to the Security Council on December 12 that Syria was still prevaricating.
 A new Lebanon? 185

But the Security Council avoided sanctions, instead issuing a tepid reso-
lution that granted a six-month extension to the commission and merely
‘took note’ of a Lebanese request to include other killings in the investiga-
tion and for the establishment of an international tribunal.
The Syrians had won some breathing space, helped by their sym-
pathisers in the Security Council, Russia, China and Algeria. The quandary
for those Security Council members who wanted to place additional pres-
sure on Syria was that sanctions were a double-edged sword. While the
imposition of sanctions would place additional pressure on Damascus,
it would also end all Syrian cooperation with the UN commission, which
risked the investigation grinding to a halt, causing even further stagnation
in Lebanon’s ability to shed the vestiges of Pax Syriana.
And for Walid Jumblatt, that would mean no imminent release from
his self-imposed incarceration in his mountain refuge in the Chouf. The
veteran Druze leader saw himself locked into a duel to the death with the
Syrian regime, his only chance of survival dependent on the fall of his
enemies in Damascus. But the odds were not in his favour. A few days
before the author met Jumblatt in mid-December, a bundle of rocket-
propelled grenades had been discovered on the side of a road near his
castle in Mukhtara. The rockets were not rigged to explode, but it was
interpreted as a death threat.6
‘I can do nothing. I can wait. I can rely on destiny. That’s it,’ Jumblatt
says with a rueful smile, his wiry frame hunched and his thin legs crossed
on a stool in a small antechamber.7 ‘There’s no means of protection against
a terrorist regime with advanced technical ways of killing.’
Jumblatt’s home is a testimony to his family’s violent past. In his
office, an old bolt-action rifle leans against a wall beside a modern
assault rifle. On his desk, beside a laptop computer are four identical
automatic pistols, all within easy reach. On one wall of a small reception
room is a photograph of his father, Kamal Jumblatt, his tie loosened and
top button undone, looking a little like a gaunt George Orwell. He is
flanked by photographs of the two bodyguards who died with him in
1977. Nearby is a blurred photograph of Walid Jumblatt’s grandfather,
clutching a rifle and sitting astride a horse, the very picture of a traditional
Druze warrior and proud chieftain. The sunlight streaming through the
tiny windows fails to dispense the chill in this room of memorialised
death.
‘My father used to always say “A Jumblatt never dies in his bed,” ’ he
says, repeating a favourite aphorism.
There was a certain bleak irony in the fate that had befallen Jumblatt.
He had earned a reputation as one of Lebanon’s great survivors, instinct-
186 Killing Mr Lebanon

ively and unashamedly switching allegiances to stay one step ahead of the
assassin’s bullet or political irrelevance. But his vocal hostility toward the
Syrian regime, which had steadily increased since the assassination
attempt against his friend Marwan Hamade, for once had left him bereft
of avenues of escape. He had taken to repeatedly calling Bashar a ‘terrorist
tyrant’, and turned against Hizbullah, his erstwhile ally in the parlia-
mentary elections the previous spring. From defending the right of
Hizbullah to retain its weapons, he was now demanding the party’s
disarmament and in February even suggested that it might be planning to
kill him.
In January, Jumblatt crossed perhaps the ultimate ‘red line’ with the
Syrians. When asked in an interview with the Washington Post what
America could do for Lebanon, he replied ‘You came to Iraq in the name
of majority rule. You can do the same thing in Syria.’ Jumblatt had flouted
the taboos of regime change in Damascus and the Alawites’ minority
status in Syria. No wonder he rarely left the safety of Mukhtara.
‘This tension [with Syria] will continue,’ he says with a sigh. ‘Their aim
is to change the [parliamentary] majority either by assassinating more
MPs or fixing new elections where they will have the majority which will
enable them to again forbid Lebanon to have an independent say.’
Jumblatt read Lebanon’s travails within the broader context of shifting
regional dynamics, where the Shiite Hizbullah was the ‘vanguard’ of
the Syrian regime, part of an axis stretching from the ‘shores of the
Mediterranean’ to Tehran, the Iranian capital.
‘We are engulfed in a new dimension in the Middle East. The regional
environment is not in Lebanon’s favour,’ he says gloomily.
So was it all for nothing? The independence intifada, the removal of
Syrian forces, the overturning of the pro-Syrian majority in parliament?
Jumblatt pauses for several seconds and then gives his biggest sigh yet.
‘No. We had to do it. We were convinced that we had to do it. We
thought we could achieve some stability, some free will, but now we fear
they [the Syrians] might come back. They never left in the sense of their
[continuing] criminal deeds. If they create havoc, they will tell the rest of
the world “Look, the Lebanese are unable to rule themselves. We are the
only people who can guarantee stability.” ’
‘Have you read the book by Bernard Lewis about the Ismailis?’ he asks.
Jumblatt was referring to Lewis’s history of the secretive Ismaili sect of
Shiite Islam which, under the leadership of Rashid al-Din, the ‘Old Man of
the Mountain’, achieved infamy in the twelfth century as the legendary
Assassins. The Assassins, who introduced the art of political murder to
the world and were feared by Crusaders and Muslims alike, lived in the
 A new Lebanon? 187

same mountain chain in Syria inhabited by Syria’s modern-day rulers,

the Alawites.
‘We have the same story today,’ Jumblatt observed dryly. ‘History
repeats itself.’

The narrow, potholed road running due east from the Bekaa village of
Nabi Sheet cuts across a sharp ridge before falling in a stomach-churning
gradient into a narrow valley surrounded by jagged limestone peaks. In
late spring, it is an impressively beautiful place. A shallow river winds
along the valley floor, its churning waters flashing in the sunshine through
the swaying poplars and walnut trees that line its course. The road crosses
a small bridge at Janta and continues for another kilometre hugging the
river before petering out at the ruins of the old Ottoman railway station
at Yahfoufa, a hamlet of small stone houses clustered on the hillside. It is
still possible to discern the path of the track as it passes the station and
disappears down a narrow, tree-shrouded gorge to the border with Syria
two kilometres further on.
Despite its pastoral ambience, the valley is effectively a military zone
under the control of Hizbullah. It was in these craggy mountains and the
dusty hill villages of Nabi Sheet and Janta that the organisation first
emerged in the summer of 1982, spreading into the Bekaa, recruiting and
training legions of resistance fighters to confront Israeli troops in the
battlefields of south Lebanon.
‘We are all over these hills. If you had come here in the dark, you would
have been stopped by armed fighters,’ says a young Hizbullah man sit-
ting in the shade of his small home up the hill from the river. With an
unusual lack of discretion for the normally secretive Hizbullah, he admits
that training continues in the surrounding hills, although it has declined
since Israel withdrew from south Lebanon in 2000.
‘The level is about half what it used to be,’ he says, pouring tea into
tiny glasses and offering walnuts from a bowl. ‘New recruits are still
trained and the older fighters receive refresher courses to keep them in
shape.’
What he does not discuss, however, is the reports of Hizbullah’s
arsenal of rockets which by 2005 Israel claimed numbered 13,000, many of
them long-range variants capable of striking targets deep inside Israel.8
Hizbullah traditionally declines to discuss details of its weapons inven-
tory or military tactics, preferring to keep its Israeli enemy guessing.9 If
the reports are to be believed, then it is probably in these remote and
rugged mountains that they are stashed away in natural caves or specially
constructed underground bunkers.
188 Killing Mr Lebanon

Lebanese advocates of Hizbullah’s disarmament are principally con-

cerned with the continued existence of the Islamic Resistance itself – a
well-organised and equipped, experienced and disciplined military force
– rather than the party’s long-range rocket arsenal. Non-Shiite Lebanese
regard a militarised Hizbullah as giving the Shiites unfair leverage
through the implicit threat of violence in the tussle for political influence.
In the domestic political context, long-range rockets are irrelevant. Israel
and the US, on the other hand, recognise that the rockets are a strategic
asset for Hizbullah, having the potential to inflict serious damage on
Israel. In the opinion of some American and Israeli military analysts, if
Hizbullah was to hand over its rockets to the Lebanese Army or to a
neutral third party, Israel could live with Hizbullah’s armed presence
along its northern border and even the periodic artillery bombardments
of Israeli military positions in the Shebaa Farms pending the conclusion of
Middle East peace.
Since the onset of the Shebaa Farms campaign in October 2000 with the
kidnapping of three Israeli soldiers, Hizbullah has developed a complex,
finely calibrated and multi-dimensional strategy in launching operations
against Israeli forces along the Blue Line. The Blue Line serves as a locus
of Hizbullah retaliation to Israeli-initiated actions, such as assassinations
of resistance commanders and breaches of Lebanese territory by Israeli
jets or ground forces.10 Hizbullah can act with relative impunity because
its long-range rocket arsenal grants the organisation a strategic parity
with Israel, a ‘balance of terror’ that limits Israel’s traditional freedom of
action against its enemies in Lebanon. If Israel were to resort to punishing
air strikes against Lebanese infrastructure, such as power stations and
bridges, in response to resistance assaults in the Shebaa Farms, Hizbullah
would retaliate with rocket bombardments of northern Israel.
However, the deterrence value of Hizbullah’s rockets is not limited to
the dynamics of the Lebanon–Israel border conflict. They also tacitly serve
as part of Iran’s deterrence against the possibility of a US or Israeli strike
against its nascent nuclear industry, a prospect that has grown since the
election in August 2005 of the confrontational Mahmoud Ahmadinejad
as president of Iran, whose inflammatory rhetoric and threats against
Israel had by early 2006 placed him on a collision course with the US and
Europe.
US and Israeli military planners have to take into account the possibility
that Hizbullah, acting on the orders of Tehran, would unleash its arsenal
of rockets against northern Israel in the event of an attack against Iranian
nuclear sites. However, while the existence of the rockets is intended to
convey that threat, it is not a given that they would be immediately
 A new Lebanon? 189

employed against Israel in a knee-jerk retaliation in the event of an attack

on Iran. Hizbullah’s domestic interests would be seriously jeopardised if
it blindly followed Iranian orders to attack Israel. Lebanon’s Shiites sup-
port Hizbullah’s self-declared role as a defender of Lebanese sovereignty
against Israeli aggression, but that support would tail off if Hizbullah
dragged Lebanon into a war against Israel for the sake of Iran’s nuclear
ambitions. For what it is worth, Hizbullah has tried to reassure doubters
that it is mindful of its responsibilities as an armed force. In a May 25, 2005
speech marking the fifth anniversary of Israel’s withdrawal from south
Lebanon, Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah said ‘We do not want to attack anyone
and will not allow anyone to attack Lebanon . . . We do not want to drag
the region into a war . . . We want to protect our country.’
Hizbullah is constantly struggling to balance the often-conflicting
agendas of abiding by its broader ideological aspirations as an exemplar
of anti-Israel ‘resistance’ to a pan-Arab, pan-Islamic audience with its
obligations and interests as a player on Lebanon’s parochial political
stage. It was able to contain both visions during the 1990s when under
the umbrella of Pax Syriana it could freely wage its resistance campaign
against the Israelis in south Lebanon while securing a foothold in the
Lebanese parliament and building its political presence. It was able to
weather the challenge posed to the continued existence of the Islamic
Resistance following the withdrawal of Israeli forces from south Lebanon
in May 2000, which threatened to deprive the party’s military wing of its
raison d’être. Even the danger represented by Resolution 1559 was in part
ameliorated by Nasrallah’s dialogue with Hariri in the months before the
latter’s murder.
Hizbullah regards Resolution 1559 as a blatant attempt by the US
to defang an ardent and resilient foe of Israel. It is an argument that
wins some sympathy. Resolution 1559 was principally intended to erode
Syria’s grip on Lebanon by opposing Lahoud’s presidential extension and
pressuring Damascus to withdraw its forces from Lebanon. But the US
overreached by throwing in unrelated clauses calling for the deployment
of the Lebanese Army along Lebanon’s southern border with Israel
and disarming Hizbullah and Palestinian groups in Lebanon. Initially,
the Hariri–Nasrallah dialogue appeared to have resolved the potentially
destabilising ramifications of 1559’s demand for Hizbullah’s disarma-
ment. Hariri understood that forcing Hizbullah to disarm would have
perilous consequences for Lebanon’s stability. Instead, he pursued a
gradualist approach in which Hizbullah’s pretext for retaining weapons
would subside over time as the party became more deeply entrenched
within the Lebanese political framework. This is a process that has been
190 Killing Mr Lebanon

under way since 1992 when Hizbullah reversed its original opposition to
Lebanon’s confessional political system and entered parliament for the
first time. Some critics dismiss Hizbullah’s ‘Lebanonisation’ as a mirage,
a fig leaf to disguise its militant anti-Israel Islamist agenda, intact since
the 1980s. Such criticism, however, misses the point. Although Hizbullah
continues to adhere, on paper at least, to its core ideological pillars (the
destruction of Israel, liberation of Jerusalem, Islamic state in Lebanon),
the party has ‘Lebanonised’ because it now plays an important domestic
political role and has a constituency to which it is answerable. It cannot
afford to disregard its constituency if it wishes to maintain relevance in
Lebanon’s political arena. The Palestinian resistance movement, Hamas,
may well undergo a similar process of pragmatisation after winning the
Palestinian legislative elections in January 2006. Hamas will discover that
there is little room for rigid ideological dogma when confronted with the
grinding daily responsibilities of running the Palestinian territories.
Hizbullah is often regarded as a monolith, a well-oiled, disciplined
party machine with a tight chain of command dancing to one tune. But
hidden beneath that veneer of unanimity lies a constantly evolving dis-
course encompassing a wide variety of opinions. Some within Hizbullah
understand that the role of the Islamic Resistance is finite and are more
open to a purely political future for the party. One Hizbullah official told
the author that there are non-violent means to continue the anti-Israel
struggle.
In December 2004, Mohammed Raad, the Hizbullah MP, hinted that the
party could one day trade the Islamic Resistance for greater political
influence, in which Hizbullah would capitalise on the numerical super-
iority of the Shiites over other confessions. Raad told the author in an
interview that, if a referendum was held in Lebanon, the majority of the
population would support the continuation of the resistance.
Was he calling for such a referendum?
‘No, but if you did, you would have to ask another questions as well,’
he said.
What question was that?
‘You should ask whether the presidency should still be reserved for the
Maronites,’ he replied with a sly smile.
That said, Hizbullah’s priority is to maintain the Islamic Resistance,
the party’s beating heart, for as long as possible, and it is unlikely to
countenance a trade-off until faced with no other option.
Ultimately, the conclusion of the Middle East peace process is the key
that will unlock the door to Hizbullah’s disarmament. Peace between
Israel and its northern neighbours, Lebanon and Syria, will leave no room
 A new Lebanon? 191

for Hizbullah’s continued militancy and is the safest and most satisfactory
means of disarming the party. In that context, the Bush administration has
been criticised for disregarding the Israel–Syria track of the moribund
peace process. In December 2003 and on several occasions in 2004, Bashar
declared he was willing to resume peace talks with Israel without pre-
conditions. The Syrian president may have been insincere and looking for
an avenue of escape from the mounting international pressure, but the US
declined to give Ariel Sharon the coercive nudge required to call Bashar’s
bluff.11
Hariri recognised that the ultimate solution to Hizbullah’s disarming
was a regional peace deal. Consequently, in his talks with Nasrallah in
the months before his death, Hariri reached a compromise in which
Hizbullah would be allowed to retain its weapons until the conclusion of
the Middle East peace process on the understanding that the Shiite party
would act wisely and not resort to actions that could seriously jeopardise
the national good. Hariri’s assassination destroyed that compromise and
re-energised the international and domestic effort to disarm Hizbullah.
Thus, by early 2006, unrelenting international pressure to fulfil Resolu-
tion 1559’s disarmament clauses had catalysed a degree of political and
sectarian polarisation in Lebanon unseen since the 1975–1990 war and, on
a regional level, helped reinforce an anti-Western axis grouping Iran,
Syria, Hizbullah, anti-Israel Palestinian groups and some Shiite elements
in Iraq.
In the initial period following Hariri’s death, with Lebanon in turmoil
and Syria under intense pressure to disengage, Hizbullah trod warily
while assessing what lay in store for the party. It co-opted and appeased
other political actors in the run-up to the parliamentary elections, striking
a tactical alliance with the March 14 coalition and a strategic alliance with
erstwhile rival, the Amal movement, in a bid to retain them as allies and
defenders of the resistance, rather than turn them into opponents through
competition at the ballot box. The Hizbullah–Amal alliance effectively
shifted the disarmament debate from one targeting Hizbullah into one
perceived as targeting the Shiite community as a whole. The alliance
strengthened Hizbullah’s position, but at the expense of exacerbating an
increasingly tense sectarian climate.
The participation by Hizbullah in the government of Fouad Siniora
also represented an opportunity to defend its armed wing against pro-
ponents of Resolution 1559 and resist the growing influence of the West
in Lebanese affairs which it regarded as a threat to its interests.
Certainly, the level of international involvement in Lebanon since the
Syrian disengagement has reached unprecedented levels, including a
192 Killing Mr Lebanon

raft of UN Security Council resolutions and the involvement of at least

three senior UN officials in Lebanese affairs.12 The US, Britain and France
have assisted in the process of overhauling Lebanon’s cumbersome and
unsophisticated security agencies while the FBI and French investigators
provided technical assistance in the investigation of some of the bombings
in Lebanon. A ‘core group’ was established in September 2005 bringing
together the US, the UN, the World Bank, Britain, France, Italy, the
European Union, Russia, Egypt and Saudi Arabia to examine and assist
Lebanon’s political, economic and administrative reform effort. A donor
conference organised by the ‘core group’ was scheduled for late November
to attract international funds to bankroll Lebanon’s reform programme.
Political turmoil pushed the date to December and then January. As of the
time of writing in late February 2006, no date for the much-needed con-
ference has been set, fuelling the belief that the holding of the event is
conditional on the fulfilment of the remaining clauses of Resolution 1559.
‘The Americans’, Nasrallah said in September 2005, ‘order the countries
of the world not to meddle in Lebanon’s internal affairs, but they allow
themselves from the US president to the secretary of state to the US
ambassador to Lebanon to interfere in every single detail in Lebanon. We
reject that, since we don’t need any tutelage. We want to be sovereign.’
In late October, Hizbullah began flexing its political muscles, embold-
ened by the overwhelming support of the Shiites, Lebanon’s largest
confession, and in tandem with Syria’s counter-attack against the UN
commission following the release of its first interim report into Hariri’s
murder. Nasrallah ignored a request from Siniora to cancel Hizbullah’s
annual ‘Jerusalem Day’ military parade in the southern suburbs of Beirut,
defiantly staging the party’s largest-ever march. In November, it led a
walk-out by the five Shiite ministers from a cabinet meeting that was
about to discuss Bashar’s fiery speech earlier that day in which he called
Siniora a ‘slave’. On November 21, the eve of independence day, Hizbullah
fighters launched the most ambitious assault against Israeli border posi-
tions since the Israeli withdrawal in 2000. Under the cover of an artillery
barrage of nearby Israeli outposts, a Hizbullah squad attempted to cap-
ture Israeli soldiers from a position close to the Blue Line. The attack
was thwarted when an Israeli sniper shot dead four members of the
Hizbullah team.
In December, the Shiite ministers staged a six-week boycott of cabinet
sessions to extract from the government an unambiguous declaration
that Hizbullah’s military wing was a ‘resistance’ organisation, rather
than a ‘militia’, thus exempt from the provisions of Resolution 1559.
An embattled Siniora eventually agreed on a compromise statement,
 A new Lebanon? 193

declaring that Hizbullah was a ‘national resistance’, while making no

reference whatsoever to the term ‘militia’.
Hizbullah’s domestic position was further strengthened in February
when it struck an unlikely agreement with Michel Aoun, who not
much earlier had been a champion of the party’s disarmament. The rela-
tionship, cemented by a memorandum of understanding, brought Aoun’s
goal of winning the presidency a little closer by securing the backing of
the Shiites, while Hizbullah had broadened its support base into Christian
circles.
Hizbullah’s growing sense of confidence in late 2005 was spurred by
the emergence of the anti-Western axis centred on Damascus and Tehran,
an alliance which ironically was cemented in part by the fallout from
Hariri’s assassination. Hariri’s death not only changed the political land-
scape in Lebanon but resonated far beyond, a ‘butterfly effect’ where the
shockwaves of a bomb blast on Beirut’s seafront rippled across the Middle
East to be felt in Damascus, Jerusalem, Tehran and the Gulf, adding its
dynamic to the turmoil in Iraq, Sunni–Shiite tensions and the Israeli–
Palestinian conflict.
The election of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad reinvigorated the long-
standing alliance between Damascus and Tehran. Both countries were
drawn to each other because of the pressure they faced from the inter-
national community over Iran’s nuclear ambitions and Syria’s hesitant
cooperation with the Hariri murder investigation. Syria was the geo-
strategic linchpin connecting Tehran to Hizbullah, the conduit for the
transfer of weapons from Iran to the Islamic Resistance. It was also
regarded by Iran and Hizbullah as the weak link in the chain and required
buttressing.
On January 20, 2006, Bashar hosted a summit in Damascus with
Ahmadinejad, his first state visit. Also attending were Nasrallah, Nabih
Berri and the leaders of several anti-Israel Palestinian groups, including
Khaled Meshaal of Hamas and Ahmad Jibril of the Popular Front for
the Liberation of Palestine – General Command. It was an explicit affirm-
ation of the anti-Western ‘rejectionist’ axis and its preference for defiance
toward the West rather than accommodation.
‘The meeting between Ahmadinejad and Assad’, commented Sateh
Noureddine of Lebanon’s As Safir newspaper, ‘did not come as a sign of
defeat, but rather as a joint warning to the world. A warning that the
alliance between the two neighbours is on its way to becoming stronger.’
The following month Iran and Syria signed sweeping economic and
trade agreements including one establishing gas, oil, railway and elec-
trical links between Syria and Iran via Iraq. The electoral victory of Hamas
194 Killing Mr Lebanon

in January gave Syria and Iran greater leverage in the Israeli–Palestinian

arena, with Tehran vowing to provide funds to fill the void created by
Washington’s declaration not to support a Hamas-led government. The
axis also reached into Iraq where Shiite factions close to Tehran dominated
the elections in December.
The strengthening of this alliance, and its Shiite emphasis, contributed
to the growing unease among Sunni-majority Arab countries, especially
Jordan, Egypt and Saudi Arabia. In December 2004, King Abdullah of
Jordan famously warned of a new ‘crescent’ of Shiite movements and
nations stretching from Iran to Lebanon which could upset the traditional
balance of power between Shiites and Sunnis and pose serious challenges
to Washington’s Middle East policies. The Sunni nervousness was aggra-
vated by the presence of sizeable Shiite communities around the rim of
the Arabian Gulf – in Kuwait, where they form about one-third of the
population but do not enjoy the same privileges as the state’s Sunni
rulers, in the oil-rich Eastern Province of Saudi Arabia, and in Bahrain
where Shiites constitute about 70 per cent of the population. The idea of
an Iran armed with nuclear weapons manipulating discontented Shiite
communities in the Gulf and enjoying an uninterrupted chain of allies all
the way to the Mediterranean is a prospect that does not sit well with the
region’s Sunnis.
For some, Hariri’s murder plays into this emerging dynamic. Hariri
was a powerful Sunni whose influence spread well beyond Lebanon, a
potential bulwark against the nascent rise of Shiite power and, for the
minority Alawite-dominated Syrian regime, a dangerously inspirational
model for Syria’s majority Sunni population.
Although the ‘Shiite crescent’ appellation has become a familiar term
and a perceived reality by many in the Middle East, it oversimplifies the
trans-sectarian and political nature of the Tehran–Damascus–Hizbullah–
Hamas alliance, perhaps a reflection more of Sunni fears rather than Shiite
intentions.
‘Are the Palestinians Shiites? Is the Palestinian issue a Shiite issue?’ asks
Sheikh Naim Qassem, Hizbullah’s deputy secretary-general.13 ‘Our rela-
tionship with Syria is not based on religion, but on politics to fight Israeli
aggression. In Iraq, we said that we are very clearly against American
aggression [there] even though the Americans say that their occupation
has helped the Shiites obtain political power. Whoever tries to draw a big
Shiite picture will get muddled by all the contradictions.’
Based on a misconception or not, tensions between Sunnis and Shiites
in the region are on the rise, hastened by the radicalisation of a generation
of young Sunnis frustrated with the privations and inequities of life under
 A new Lebanon? 195

dictatorial regimes, angered by Western interference in the Arab and

Islamic world, the invasion and occupation of Iraq in particular, and
inspired by the defiance of Osama bin Laden and the durability of the
Iraqi resistance. The Shiite–Sunni friction has been aggravated by bomb
attacks against Iraqi Shiites perpetrated by Al-Qaeda in Iraq headed by
the Jordanian militant Abu Musab al-Zarqawi until his death in June 2006,
in what is apparently an attempt to foster a civil war.
Lebanon has not been immune to the rise of a militant brand of jihadi
Islam, which quietly has taken root in the poorer peripheral Sunni areas
such as Dinnieh and Akkar in the far north, parts of the Bekaa valley and
the predominantly Sunni cities of Tripoli and Sidon. The phenomenon
first came to light in dramatic and bloody fashion in January 2000 when
a small band of diehard militants belonging to Takfir wal-Hijra fought a
brief but vicious insurrection against the Lebanese Army in the icy moun-
tains of Dinnieh. Thousands of Lebanese troops backed by tanks and
helicopters flooded into the mountains east of Tripoli after the militants
ambushed an army patrol near their mountain hideaway. Pumped up on
morphine to withstand the bitter cold and injuries, some of the militants
had mounted a last stand in two houses they overran in a Christian village.
Surrounded by Lebanese commandos, the militants cut the throats of their
hostages, a mother and daughter, and prepared to die fighting. As dusk
fell, tanks ground through the muddy olive groves to within 50 metres of
the two houses and pounded both buildings into rubble while soldiers
poured machine gun fire into the burning ruins.
‘They mutilated the women with knives,’ said a weary soldier, his face lit
by flickering flames as he watched Lebanese Red Cross workers haul the
mangled bodies from the rubble. ‘I have never seen fighting like this. You
shoot these terrorists and they won’t die. They just keep shooting back.’
The Dinnieh rebellion, Lebanon’s mini ‘war on terrorism’, sounded an
ominous warning, but Hariri’s dominance of the Sunni political scene and
Syria’s control of security matters in Lebanon helped keep the militants
to the shadows. From time to time, the Lebanese authorities would
announce the breaking of an ‘Al-Qaeda cell’, although sceptics noted
that the arrests invariably occurred during periods of increased tension
between Washington and Damascus. But the resurgent sectarianism in
Lebanon since Hariri’s death combined with a weak government and a
disorganised state security system is giving rise to concern that Al-Qaeda
sees Lebanon as ripe for the establishment of a presence. In July 2005, a
statement purportedly from Al-Qaeda Jund al-Sham posted on a jihadist
website threatened to kill several leading Shiite clerics, politicians and
members of Hizbullah. The statement was dismissed by Sunni clerics as a
196 Killing Mr Lebanon

fake. On December 29, Zarqawi’s Al-Qaeda in Iraq organisation claimed

responsibility for the firing two days earlier of four Katyusha rockets from
south Lebanon into northern Israel. The attack replicated similar rocket
firings in the past three years which were generally blamed on Palestinian
militants.14 Days later, the Lebanese authorities arrested 13 suspected
Al-Qaeda militants who were accused of establishing ‘a gang to carry out
terrorist acts’. Al-Qaeda in Lebanon subsequently claimed responsibility
for a bomb attack against a Lebanese Army barracks in Beirut which it
said was in retaliation for the arrests.
Hizbullah has been observing the rise of Sunni radicals in Lebanon with
barely concealed alarm. The Katyusha rocket attack from south Lebanon
in particular was regarded by Hizbullah as a direct challenge to its tight
operational control of the Blue Line.
‘It’s impossible to have stability with this Takfiri movement,’ says
Hizbullah’s Qassem, referring to the branch of Sunni extremists who
regard other Muslims as apostates. ‘There are some in Lebanon but we
don’t know what their plans are or if they want to do operations here. It’s
important to caution everyone not to make Lebanon an arena for settling
scores.’
The discord is exacerbated by Hizbullah’s retention of an armed wing
which perhaps is tolerated even less by Sunnis than by Christians.
Muslim religious leaders routinely speak out against jihadist militancy
and promote inter-Muslim coexistence. But the tensions between the two
communities are palpable, even overshadowing Lebanon’s traditional
Christian–Muslim divide.
Dawood al-Sherian, a columnist for Al-Hayat newspaper, wrote in
January that it was the first time in Lebanon’s history that a crisis had
emerged between Lebanese Sunnis and Shiites.
‘Lebanon has paid the price of a civil war between Muslims and
Christians, and is now preparing for another one between Sunnis and
Shiites,’ he wrote.
Any doubts about the extent of the Sunni militancy that had taken hold
in some parts of Lebanon were shattered on February 5 when thousands
of Sunni demonstrators rampaged through a quiet Christian neighbour-
hood in central Beirut, smashing cars and shop fronts, attacking a church
and burning a building housing the Danish embassy. The violence came
amid a wave of demonstrations in the Islamic world protesting against the
publication in Danish and other European newspapers of cartoons depict-
ing the Prophet Mohammed. Outnumbered troops and police retreated
before the rioters as furious Christians dusted off weapons that had lain
dormant for 16 years and prepared to defend their homes. Islamic clerics
 A new Lebanon? 197

vainly appealed for calm as the mob stoned a Maronite church and ripped
a metal cross from the entrance to the Greek Orthodox Bishop of Beirut’s
residence.
‘What [Lebanese Sunni leaders] don’t want to tell us is that they have,
at best, nominal influence (if indeed any influence at all) over a swathe
of radical Sunni Islamist groups,’ wrote columnist Michael Young in
Lebanon’s English-language Daily Star. ‘While a large majority of Sunnis
accept the rules of the game . . . there are myriad splinter groups endorsing
a far more aggressive, exclusivist ideology, supporting the establishment
of an Islamic state.’
Lebanese officials were quick to condemn the riot and pointed the
finger at ‘fifth columnists’. For many Lebanese, the riot carried Syria’s
fingerprints, particularly as it came just a day after a similar demonstration
in Damascus in which protestors attacked buildings housing the Danish,
Swedish, Chilean and Norwegian embassies.
Although the Syrian demonstration appeared to be an impulsive and
unplanned outpouring of anti-Western anger, spontaneous protests
simply do not occur in Damascus. Indeed, witnesses noticed that plain-
clothes agitators equipped with walkie-talkies were directing the crowd
while the police stood to one side smoking cigarettes. The protest merely
re-affirmed that Bashar was pursuing the path of confrontation with the
West.

Bashar al-Assad is perhaps the most enigmatic leader in the Middle East,
a conundrum who has confounded analysts, diplomats and journalists
since coming to power in 2000. He was initially seen as a breath of fresh
air, a young, British-trained doctor, married to an attractive and accom-
plished anglophone Syrian Sunni, a technocratic modernist who would
reform the creaking, ossified Baathist state and usher his nation into the
globalised economy of the twenty-first century. When the political and
economic reforms took longer to materialise than expected, it was the
fault of the ‘old guard’, the cronies of Hafez al-Assad who were resistant
to change. Then gradually the doubts began to set in. Perhaps Bashar was
a chip off the old block, his father’s son who believed in the Baath party’s
Arab nationalist ideology, who unreservedly regarded Israel as an enemy
and the US as a country to be distrusted.
Bashar’s sympathisers blamed the Bush administration for taking too
tough a stance against Syria, warning that too much stick and not
enough carrot would force the young president to hunker down and
flex his Arab nationalist muscles. His critics argued that Bashar was
incapable or unwilling to reform his country, a weakling before the
198 Killing Mr Lebanon

corrupt vested interests within his regime, an amateur who blundered

from one diplomatic disaster to another.
Syria watchers adopted the ‘Godfather’ analogy to analyse the regime.
If Hafez al-Assad was Vito Corleone, was Bashar the weak-kneed and
ultimately doomed Fredo, the hot-headed and impulsive Sonny (a role
often ascribed to his older brother, Basil) or the unassuming Michael
whose ruthless leadership qualities only surfaced with time and
adversity?
Bashar was never supposed to be president – that was a destiny selected
for Basil – and he must have been conscious, as his father groomed him
for power following his older brother’s death, that his was an inheritance
that was hard to justify in a republic. There were powerful and experi-
enced potential rivals with stronger claims to the presidency lurking on
the sidelines. Chief among them was Abdel-Halim Khaddam who could
do little but silently seethe as his presidential ambitions withered before
Assad’s determination to hand over the reins of power to his son.
Not only did Bashar have to contend with the regime’s discontented
éminences grises, but Syria’s strategic position had eroded by the time he
took office in July 2000 owing to the collapse of the peace process and the
Israeli withdrawal from Lebanon. The Clinton administration in its last
months abandoned the Syria track to concentrate on finalising a peace
deal between the Palestinians and Israelis. The Bush administration
initially paid little attention to the Arab–Israeli conflict, and after 9/11
its policies toward Syria were seen through the prism of the ‘war on
terrorism’.
Consequently, although Bashar’s reformist instincts are probably genu-
ine, they were smothered beneath the weight of external and internal
pressures augmented by an instinctive need to prove to his doubters and
rivals that he was a strong and capable leader and deserving of the
presidency.
‘Bashar’, says a childhood friend, ‘is insecure. He always wants to prove
himself as a tough guy who can take tough decisions. He is the opposite of
his father. His father could be tough without being unpredictable. With
Bashar, one moment you will say how nice and polite he is; the next he
becomes unreasonably violent.’
Indeed, diplomatic and political U-turns have been a hallmark of
Bashar’s presidency, his actions contradicting earlier commitments, con-
founding and irritating his interlocutors and earning him a reputation as
undependable.
‘He tends to ramble on a bit, not terribly concise,’ said Patrick Seale, the
British biographer of Hafez al-Assad, in a conversation with the author in
 A new Lebanon? 199

June 2002. ‘He probably has a rather high opinion of himself. I don’t think
he has much experience in power, how to hold it, how to run things, how
to put his people in key positions.’
In the treacherous and unforgiving environment of the Middle East,
character traits such as these tend to bring vultures circling overhead.
Fares Boueiz, the former Lebanese minister, received a telling glimpse
into Bashar’s mindset and the constraints upon him during a meeting he
held with the Syrian president in 2002.15
Boueiz was explaining to Bashar that many Lebanese resented the
heavy hand of Syria and its associated corruption which was ‘destroying
the principle of good brotherly relations’.
‘I told him that I was afraid it would get worse and some moderate-
minded people would not be able to stop it,’ Boueiz says. ‘Then Bashar
al-Assad said “You know that I am also upset with many of our allies
who are doing bad things and are corrupt. You know that I have started
to withdraw the army [from Lebanon]. I want to institute relations only
with the government and officials, not parties. I want to make a total
reform [islah] of our relationship with Lebanon. But I can’t do that
under pressure, nor under threats and demonstrations, especially if it
takes on a confessional [countenance]. In Syria we have many com-
munities and, if I accept the pressure in Lebanon, I will have to accept it
in Syria.” ’
‘He hinted to me that he had a very sensitive situation in Syria and
could demonstrate no weakness in Lebanon, although he could reform
[the relationship],’ Boueiz recalls.
The two men agreed that Boueiz would convey Bashar’s message to
Cardinal Sfeir, the Maronite patriarch, and, if the Lebanese opposition
toned down its rhetoric, the bilateral relationship would be revised.
‘The patriarch was impressed and used his authority to calm things
down,’ Boueiz says. ‘So I was shocked to see [Bashar] going against what
he told me when he extended Lahoud’s mandate. We had waited two
years. But Lahoud was a symbol of the same policy and Syria had no
intention of changing.’
The intensifying American pressure on Syria in the two years between
Boueiz meeting with Bashar and the Lahoud presidential extension left
the Syrian president with little margin for manoeuvre on the internal and
Lebanese fronts. The Syrian regime absorbed an unceasing barrage of
hostile rhetoric from the US, and threats of ‘regime change’, targeted by
the ‘war on terror’ and ranked in a second-tier ‘Axis of Evil’ of countries
allegedly pursuing weapons of mass destruction. Reams of newsprint
from American think-tanks and policy planners equated Baathism to
200 Killing Mr Lebanon

Fascism and Stalinism and promised that Saddam Hussein’s removal

would have a ‘domino effect’, toppling the Middle East’s dictatorships
and theocracies one by one.
In the paranoid Baathist mindset, yielding to external pressure was a
sign of weakness, a fatal flaw that would be seized upon by the regime’s
internal and external enemies. Bashar adopted Bush’s dictum in his
dealings with the Lebanese: either they were with Syria, or they were
against Syria. The kind of middle course compromise typically favoured
by Hariri was unacceptable when the Syrian regime faced such existential
threats from the US.
Lebanese and Syrian officials who know Bashar personally or have
dealt with him professionally believe that today he is in charge in Syria
and makes the final decisions. But those decisions are often heavily
influenced by the opinions and advice he receives from the regime’s
inner core, an Assad family ‘kitchen cabinet’, the ‘Alawite nucleus’, in
the words of one former Arab diplomat,16 which represents the real
source of power in Syria today. Among others, it includes his younger
brother Maher, who heads the Republican Guard, Bushra, the eldest and
by reputation the most formidable of the Assad siblings, her husband,
Assef Shawkat, the ambitious and shrewd head of Syrian military intelli-
gence, and the Makhlouf brothers, Rami and Ihab, Bashar’s maternal
cousins.
The loss of Lebanon following Hariri’s assassination raised expect-
ations that Bashar would capitalise upon that trauma to introduce sweep-
ing reforms at the Baath party congress in June 2005. He gave an
encouraging signal in his March 5 address to the Syrian parliament when
he said that it was to be hoped that the conference ‘will be a leap for
development in this country’. Among the anticipated measures were the
abolition of Article 8 of the Syrian constitution which enshrines the Baath
party as the ruling party, a general amnesty for political prisoners and the
creation of a multi-party system. But once again Bashar confounded the
optimists. The new measures were limited to retiring many ‘old guard’
figures, among them Abdel-Halim Khaddam, former defence minister
Mustafa Tlass and former prime minister Mustafa Miro, and adopting a
law authorising independent political parties. The latter decision was
tempered by a caveat that no party could be based on religion or ethnicity,
dashing any chance of a revival of the Muslim Brotherhood or Kurdish
nationalist parties.
‘The message that emerged from the conference’, wrote Syrian political
analyst Sami Moubayed, ‘was that the Baath would do what it took to
survive, and was here to stay.’
 A new Lebanon? 201

Even the damning initial report released in October by the UN investi-

gation into Hariri’s murder failed to cow Bashar, indeed having the
opposite effect of bolstering his status in Arab eyes as the ‘anti-Bush’, in
the words of Syria expert Joshua Landis.
‘Resistance and steadfastness or chaos. There is no third choice,’ Bashar
said in his speech to Damascus University on November 10. ‘If [Western
nations] believe they can blackmail Syria, we tell them they have got the
wrong address.’
The speech continued a strategy that had commenced before the 2003
invasion of Iraq in which Bashar presented Syria as the last redoubt of
Arab pride and defiance against the aggressive predations of the West.
The subtext suggested that the Syrian regime was resigned to the near
inevitability at some point of UN sanctions and was appealing to the
instinctive nationalism of the Syrian people, deflecting their anger toward
the West rather than at their own leadership.
Yet Bashar’s stance ultimately is unsustainable, shackling desperately
needed economic and administrative reforms to the war of wills with the
US. Syrians are growing poorer as prices of basic commodities increase,
the economy is in decline, and promises of multi-million-dollar invest-
ments from private Gulf institutions remain just promises. But there
appears no imminent end to the confrontation so long as Bashar continues
digging in his heels and the Bush administration remains undecided
about what to do with Syria.
Although the spectre of US-imposed regime change has hovered
above Damascus since the invasion of Iraq in 2003, Washington con-
tinues to insist that it seeks a ‘change of behaviour’ rather than a
change of regime.
‘We have been very clear that our concern is the behaviour of the
Syrian regime,’ said Condoleezza Rice in February 2006. ‘The Syrian
regime needs to change its behaviour. It is a negative force in the Middle
East and it needs to become a positive force in the Middle East.’
The ace in Bashar’s dwindling and increasingly threadbare deck of
diplomatic cards is the lack of an organised and credible opposition
which could ease into power if the ruling Baath party was overthrown.
Syria’s sectarian and ethnic mix is as tangled and potentially as turbu-
lent as in neighbouring Iraq and it is the Baath party’s ruthless grip
that has kept it in check. The opposition in Syria, such as it is, consists
of an ageing and disorganised group of liberal civil society activists and
intellectuals who lack grassroots support, the banned Muslim Brother-
hood whose leadership is in exile, and the marginalised Kurds in
Syria’s north-east who lack cross-ethnic appeal. Although Syrians are
202 Killing Mr Lebanon

unhappy with the listless pace of reform and the economic hardships
they must endure, no one wants Iraq’s bloody sectarian and ethnic
turmoil to be visited upon Syria in the event of the Baath party’s
removal. Although Syria is nominally a secular country, Islamic senti-
ment has been rising steadily for years, manifested by greater mosque
attendance, the growth of Islamic study centres and the increased wear-
ing among women of the hijab, or headdress. The phenomenon has
been closely monitored by the state, which has carefully trodden a line
between permitting a degree of religious freedom and stamping down
on its more militant variations. In 2003 and 2004, the Syrian authorities
turned a blind eye to young Sunnis who slipped across the remote 600-
kilometre border with Iraq to join the insurgency. After all, was it not
better to let the young Islamic hotheads kill themselves fighting Ameri-
can troops in Iraq than mobilise and plot against the Baathist regime?
Washington repeatedly slammed Damascus’s lack of cooperation in
securing the border against infiltrators and for allegedly harbouring
remnants of Saddam Hussein’s regime in Syria.
But by mid-2005, the Syrian regime had tightened its physical security
measures along the border, and, more importantly, had spread the word
to the tribal smugglers that it was no longer permissible to earn a living
conveying militants into Iraq. Several Muslim clerics were arrested for
inciting young men to travel to Iraq, and relatives of Syrians fighting in
Iraq were detained to dissuade other would-be volunteers. According to a
Syrian intelligence report received by the author, the sand berm running
the length of the border was increased in height from 2 to 4 metres, and
the number of border positions was increased to 557 with some 4,500 to
5,000 personnel patrolling the frontier.
The policy of permitting Syrians to fight in Iraq may have boomer-
anged, however. Since 2004, there have been a number of clashes between
Syrian security forces and armed Sunni militants, some of whom had
fought in Iraq and appeared to be establishing a network of cells in
staunch Sunni areas of the country. There is a suspicion that some of
these incidents may have been deliberately staged by the authorities to
remind the West of what might arise should external pressure lead to the
collapse of Bashar’s regime. But it does not alter the fact that militant
Islamists would probably emerge as the main beneficiaries of Bashar’s
downfall if there is no credible and durable alternative.
Faced with unpalatable options, the US seemed undecided over how
much pressure to place on Syria, which has effectively strengthened
Bashar’s hand in the stand-off with Washington. Some American voices
called for stringent measures such as carving out a ‘security zone’ several
 A new Lebanon? 203

kilometres deep on the Syrian side of the border with Iraq, launching air
strikes and commando raids against suspected insurgent bases in Syria,
and channelling funds to US-friendly external opposition groups. Others
preferred the softer option of squeezing without breaking, hoping that
the US and Syria could forge an understanding to help stabilise Iraq.
In mid-October, The Times of London reported that Washington had
proposed a ‘Libya-style’ deal in which Syria’s diplomatic isolation would
end if it agreed to at least four key demands.17 They included full cooper-
ation with the Hariri investigation, ceasing to meddle in Lebanese affairs,
and ending its support for Iraqi insurgents, and Hizbullah. The informa-
tion, which came from a senior Bush administration official, appeared to
have been deliberately leaked to The Times to kill off any chance of the
compromise working, illustrating the lack of unanimity in Washington
over Syria.
Then, in early October, Beirut and Damascus were abuzz with the
whispers of a high-ranking Syrian official who was complaining to the
National Security Council and elsewhere in Washington about the disas-
trous state of affairs in Damascus. The rumours indicated that the search
was on in Washington for a suitable replacement for Bashar, possibly
drawn from the ranks of the army or intelligence services, a Syrian
equivalent to Pakistan’s Pervez Musharraf, an army general who seized
power in 1999 and was an ally of the US.
The speculation climaxed on the morning of October 12 when
Damascus announced that Ghazi Kanaan, the minister of interior and
former long-serving viceroy of Lebanon, had committed suicide in his
office.
The evening before Kanaan’s death, Lebanon’s New TV channel had
broadcast a report claiming that the Syrian official had given details to
the UN investigation commission of bribes he had received from Hariri
during his tenure in Lebanon. The next morning, Kanaan read out a
statement over the phone to the Voice of Lebanon radio station insist-
ing that New TV’s claims were ‘baseless’. His monologue, in which he
justified Syria’s role in Lebanon, had all the attributes of a final testimony,
and ended ominously with ‘I believe this is the last statement I might
make.’
Shortly after 10 a.m., a gunshot was heard in Kanaan’s office in the
interior ministry. A bodyguard found him lying on the floor in convul-
sions, having apparently fired a bullet from a .38 Smith & Wesson into his
mouth. Kanaan was pronounced dead in hospital. The Syrian authorities
blamed his suicide on the pressures he was facing because of the UN
investigation and the anti-Syrian campaign in the Lebanese media. Few
204 Killing Mr Lebanon

were persuaded that the redoubtable general had killed himself because
of some bad press, however.
‘He was of the calibre of strong security men, and strong people do
not usually commit suicide during such moments,’ wrote Sahar Baasiri in
Lebanon’s An Nahar.18
So was Kanaan the rumoured Syrian ‘Musharraf’? Was he ‘suicided’ after
the regime discovered he was plotting a coup with American support?
Kanaan was known to have had links to the US when in charge of
Lebanon, and his two sons had studied at Georgetown University in
Washington. Since returning from Lebanon to Damascus in 2002 when he
became head of the political security department, he had mediated
between the state and Syria’s discontented Kurds and played a key role in
building Syria’s ties to neighbouring Turkey. But his attempt to reorganise
the cluttered intelligence branches had brought him into conflict with
Assef Shawkat, the then powerful deputy head of military intelligence.
He was appointed minister of interior in a cabinet reshuffle in 2004,
widely regarded as a demotion that cut him off from his powerbase in the
army and intelligence services. Kanaan had advised against Lahoud’s
presidential extension, and must have watched aghast as Syria’s position
in Lebanon which he had spent so many years building crumbled follow-
ing Hariri’s murder.
Did Kanaan choose to take matters into his own hands to prevent Syria
from sliding inexorably into the abyss? If so, he would have had to secure
the cooperation of powerful allies in Syria as American support alone
would not have facilitated a successful coup. Who were his Syrian
partners?
The names that sprang to the mind of most people were Abdel-Halim
Khaddam and Hikmat Shehabi. All three men had been part of the pro-
Hariri clique who had overseen Lebanon in the 1990s. Shehabi had spent
most of his time between the US and Britain since leaving Syria in 2004.
After retiring as vice-president in June, Khaddam had moved to Paris,
ostensibly to write his memoirs.
According to a Lebanese source with close ties to the Syrian leadership,
in the two days before he died Kanaan had unsuccessfully tried to arrange
an appointment with Bashar.19 On the morning of October 12, he was out
of the office for a brief period, which the Syrian authorities said he spent
at home. According to the source, however, Kanaan went to the French
embassy instead and placed two phone calls, the first to Khaddam in
Paris and the second to Shehabi in Los Angeles. After he was unable to
reach either of them, he returned to his office in the interior ministry and,
shortly afterwards, was dead.
 A new Lebanon? 205

Abdel-Halim Khaddam’s home in Paris lies in a secluded mews off

Avenue Foch, about ten minutes’ walk from the Arc de Triomphe. A police
van was parked before the black steel-barred gate at the entrance to the
mews and a couple of policemen in black military-style uniforms with
submachine guns over their shoulders hovered in the shadows, ignor-
ing the persistent drizzle of a cold winter’s evening. The security was
courtesy of the French government, and few doubted that the former
Syrian vice-president needed protecting after a flurry of bombshell
interviews he had given to the media over the New Year, in which he
confirmed that Bashar had threatened Hariri, and averred that it was
impossible for Syrian intelligence to assassinate Hariri without Bashar’s
knowledge.
For several days in early January 2006, Arab and Western jour-
nalists filed up to record Khaddam’s increasingly damning allegations,
which were widely believed to have been encouraged by the Saudis
and French to force greater cooperation from Bashar on the UN investi-
gation.
The Syrian authorities branded Khaddam a traitor and accused him
of rampant corruption, but privately Bashar beseeched the Saudis to use
their influence to stem the flow of damaging claims. Bashar’s plea fell on
receptive ears. At least three scheduled interviews for Saudi media were
cancelled at the last minute and the French authorities half-heartedly tried
to prevent Khaddam from meeting any more reporters.
‘Don’t tell the police you’re a journalist,’ Jamal Khaddam, Abdel-
Halim’s eldest son, advised the author on the phone. ‘Just say that you are
a friend of mine.’
But the two policemen guarding the front door of Khaddam’s house
were not fooled. As they flicked through the author’s passport, one of
them smirked and muttered ‘journaliste’ to his colleague, as Jamal stood
by shuffling his feet guiltily.
Jamal led the author into a tall, brightly lit salon of white walls yellow-
ing with time and covered with oil paintings. The house was once owned
by the Greek shipping magnate Aristotle Onassis, and was allegedly pur-
chased by Hariri and given to Khaddam as a gift. The salon was stuffed
with marshmallow-soft sofas, stiff Louis XV-style armchairs, and marble-
topped mahogany tables carrying brass or marble lamps, art nouveau
figurines, and a porcelain ballerina. A broad staircase swept up one wall
leading to a balcony overlooking the salon, which Khaddam used as his
office judging from the persistent hum of computers and fax machines.
From this luxurious headquarters, Khaddam was planning his campaign
of revenge against Bashar.
206 Killing Mr Lebanon

Dressed casually in blue trousers and a matching sweater, Khaddam

padded silently down the carpeted staircase and gave a brief but distant
smile before sitting down in a stiff-backed chair. Jamal, an affable, rum-
pled figure with a thick mop of greying hair, lit another Marlboro and sat
on a sofa next to his neater younger brother, Jihad.
‘The regime cannot survive because it is against the interests of the
people and [Bashar] works as if he is living in the past century,’ Khaddam
says, his two sons looking on. ‘The regime does not have a future. I am 100
per cent convinced that it is going to break up.’
There was a certain formality in Khaddam’s stiff and upright bearing.
The only time he shifted position in his armchair was to place a small
pillow behind his back. His hands cupped the ends of the arm rests and
his feet were placed on the floor neatly before him. It was a pose that
looked vaguely familiar. Then it dawned that this was exactly how
Hafez al-Assad used to sit in those endless photographs of the old
Syrian leader meeting visiting dignitaries at the presidential palace in
Damascus.
The bitterness felt by the 77-year-old statesman was evident in his
words, but there was not a trace of emotion on his grey, lined face as he
savaged the young man who had dashed his presidential dreams.
‘Bashar doesn’t have any knowledge or experience,’ he says. ‘He
inherited his father’s position and this was one of the mistakes of Hafez
al-Assad. Bashar acted the same way as a young man who inherits his
father’s company and then fritters it away and loses it all. He doesn’t
understand international politics . . . He knows nothing about Arab polit-
ics. He dealt with other Arab countries as if he is special and that they
should accept all his ideas seriously. He doesn’t even know the Syrian
people . . . And now his family members and friends have become known
for their widespread corruption . . . That’s why we find Syria as it is after
five years, despite lots of advice from Syrians, Arabs and foreigners. He
was blinded and didn’t see the facts. He didn’t hear the voices of the
people.’
Yet Khaddam was not exactly known for listening to the voices
of the people either, having spearheaded the crackdown on the political
discussion salons that flourished during the Damascus Spring in 2001,
ending initial hopes that Bashar’s presidency would lead to swift
reforms.
Behind Khaddam’s polite but fleeting smiles and the cool, dispassion-
ate gaze lay an unbending self-belief in the virtue of his own convictions.
This was not a man accustomed to being corrected or acknowledging his
own contradictions.
 A new Lebanon? 207

At one point in the conversation when discussing how the failure of

the Geneva summit between Assad and Clinton in March 2000 changed
the political landscape of the Middle East, leading among other things
to the outbreak of the Al-Aqsa intifada in September that year, Khaddam
interjects, saying ‘The intifada started before Geneva.’
Before Geneva? Did Khaddam not recall how the intifada broke out
in September 2000 when Ariel Sharon took a controversial walk on the
Muslim holy site of Haram al-Sharif in Jerusalem?
‘No,’ he replies in a voice of utmost certainty. ‘The Al-Aqsa intifada was
in September 1999.’
Jamal and Jihad stared blankly at the author from the opposite sofa.
Surely, it was 2000.
‘Sharon visited Al-Aqsa in 1999,’ Khaddam says again, with that chilly,
self-confident stare.
Pause.
Okay. Let’s move on.
Khaddam was hoping to build a government in exile and was reaching
out to members of the opposition living in exile, and appeared to be
forging a union with Ali Sadreddine Bayanuni, the head of the Muslim
Brotherhood, strengthened perhaps by their mutual Sunni connection.
The domestic opposition, however, was giving Khaddam a cold shoulder,
sceptical of the former vice-president’s apparent conversion to dem-
ocracy and reform. The trigger for the regime’s collapse, he believed,
would be the conclusions of the UN investigation into Hariri’s murder.
But did he really think that Bashar had ordered the assassination of
Hariri?
‘I am convinced that, yes, he made the decision,’ Khaddam says. ‘Why
would Rustom Ghazaleh kill Rafik Hariri? Was there any political
struggle between Hariri and Ghazaleh? It’s an obvious matter because in
the security apparatus and structure in Syria no one would take such a
decision but the president. This operation requires 1,000 kilogrammes of
explosive. How can Ghazaleh get this by himself? It needed personnel to
execute it. Can Ghazaleh order one of his generals to execute such a plan if
he was not backed by the president? It needs jamming equipment and
from where would Ghazaleh get jamming equipment? This was a big
operation that no one could execute except an intelligence organisation
and I feel confident that the international investigation will prove this.’
Khaddam said he was speaking out now because Kanaan’s death had
effectively closed the door to his returning to Syria.
‘If I was in Syria now, I would meet the same fate as Hariri,’ he says.
Or Ghazi Kanaan?
208 Killing Mr Lebanon

‘Yes. Anyone charged with plotting against the president would

automatically be eliminated.’
Had he plotted against the regime with Kanaan?
‘No. When I used to meet him and talk about some of Bashar’s mis-
takes, he used to defend Bashar. Maybe he shared my feelings, but we
never discussed these things together.’
As for Bashar, Khaddam insisted that the Syrian president’s days ‘are
very short’.
‘Syria cannot tolerate a centralised system of rule,’ he says. ‘It doesn’t
need a president who regards the country as his own private farm. It
needs a president who has the confidence that the people are the source of
power.’
Someone like himself?
‘My ultimate goal is simply to move Syria from a centralised rule to
democratic system,’ Khaddam says. ‘The presidency is not important, not
a priority for me. What is important for me is to save Syria.’

Khaddam may have been bashful about his own lingering presidential
ambitions, but one person who was more than transparent about his
aspirations to become a head of state was the Lebanese lawyer and
democracy campaigner Chibli Mallat.
The momentum to unseat Lahoud as part of the anti-Syrian demon-
strations of the Beirut Spring had fallen by the wayside following the
Syrian disengagement in April and the subsequent parliamentary elec-
tions. Christian unease at the Maronite presidency coming under attack
from a mainly Sunni–Druze alliance effectively ensured Lahoud would
remain in Baabda palace, albeit vilified by most Lebanese and shunned by
visiting foreign dignitaries.
But Mallat believed that leaving Lahoud in Baabda was a mistake and
tarnished the achievements of the independence intifada. To hasten
Lahoud’s departure and inject a democratic edge into the debate, Mallat
announced in October that he was running for the presidency and
launched a small-scale but slick campaign to pursue what was a somewhat
quixotic goal.
‘We succeeded in our sovereignty revolution but we failed in our
democratic revolution,’ he says. ‘If we had succeeded in unseating Lahoud
it would have had a ten times greater effect on the Arab world. That is
why I’m running for the presidency.’
Mallat, a bespectacled, 44-year-old Maronite expert on Islamic law,
began his quest for the presidency armed with some impressive creden-
tials as a human rights activist and democracy campaigner. He was a
 A new Lebanon? 209

founder member of Indict, the campaign to bring Saddam Hussein to trial

for crimes against humanity. He also was one of three lawyers acting on
behalf of survivors of the 1982 massacre in the Sabra/Shatila Palestinian
refugee camp in Beirut who launched a petition in 2001 in a Belgian court
to indict Ariel Sharon on war crimes charges.20
Even though his chances of reaching Baabda palace were minimal, his
action succeeded in giving new impetus to removing Lahoud. And as the
country prepared to mark the first anniversary of Hariri’s assassination,
the parliamentary majority headed by Saad Hariri announced the launch-
ing of a new independence intifada which pledged to drive Lahoud from
office by March 14, the one-year anniversary of the million man rally that
had triggered Syria’s troop withdrawal from Lebanon.
On February 14, 2006, Lebanon’s ‘Cedar revolutionaries’ were back
in Martyrs’ Square, turning the city centre once more into a heaving sea
of red and white flags, in a bid to recapture the heady spirit of the
Beirut Spring after months of political tensions, violence and disillu-
sion. They packed the square waving flags and brandishing portraits of
Hariri, spilling into the surrounding streets like a vast red and white
octopus. Sunlight glinted off the golden tips of the four minarets on
the massive Mohammed al-Amine mosque overlooking Hariri’s flower-
bedecked tomb. Soldiers frisked participants at the entrance to the square
and checked bags for explosives and weapons. But it was a peaceful and
good-natured rally, with whole families having taken advantage of the
day-long mobilisation of the Lebanese bus system to convey people from
all over the country to Beirut.
Walid Jumblatt was there, making a rare foray from the safety of his
castle in Mukhtara. Standing on a podium and protected by a screen of
bullet-proof glass, the Druze leader delivered a typically harsh stream of
invective against the ‘terrorist tyrant’ in Damascus, demanding Bashar
‘take back his agent Emile Lahoud’. The crowd roared with delight, and
Jumblatt’s mouth creased into a mischievous smile.
And there too was Saad Hariri. His absence from Lebanon had become
a political liability. How could the leader of the largest parliamentary bloc
continue living in self-imposed exile with Lebanon politically gridlocked?
So Saad had come back to show the Lebanese that he remained cognisant
of the obligations incumbent upon him as the political heir of Rafik Hariri.
The crowd held him aloft and conveyed him to the podium on a sea of
hands, much like his father’s coffin had travelled the last few metres to the
grave almost exactly a year earlier.
‘As Lebanese, rather than Christians and Muslims, let us cry “Lebanon
First”,’ he told the crowd. ‘I call on all Lebanese to adopt a historic
210 Killing Mr Lebanon

position of unity on this day to show that our national unity is above all
else.’
But he was speaking to an audience that, like the rallies of the
Beirut Spring, was missing the Shiites. Even Michel Aoun’s followers
stayed away. Both Aoun and Hizbullah sent formal delegations to the
rally but only out of respect for the memory of Rafik Hariri and certainly
not to endorse the more fiery sentiments being expressed from the
podium.
Thus, this is where Lebanon stood a year to the day after that deafening
thunderclap and pall of thick black smoke marked the end of an era of
Syrian tutelage and signalled the beginning of a new uncertain chapter in
Lebanon’s tortured history.
Rafik Hariri was a unique figure in Lebanese politics, a powerhouse
driven by enormous financial resources and extensive diplomatic reach
who initially was able to win over or buy up Syria’s proconsuls in
Lebanon and their clientelist networks to pursue his altruistic vision of
a peaceful and prosperous Lebanon. Hariri gave new impetus to the
war-enfeebled Sunni body politic at a time when the newly empowered
and numerically superior Shiites were beginning to chip away at the tradi-
tional Sunni leadership of Lebanon’s Muslim communities. Although
he was the undisputed leader of Lebanon’s Sunnis, his talent, charm and
muscle resonated across the confessional divide, making him a national
figure capable of transcending Lebanon’s sectarian hurdles to steer the
country independently from the clutches of Syria. While those attributes
were regarded by many as an advantage, others saw them as a threat.
Hariri’s murder was one of those political earthquakes which periodi-
cally ripple through the Middle East, triggering tectonic shifts and
realignments along the region’s political faultlines. The assassination
broke Lebanon from Syria’s grip, and a beleaguered Damascus chose to
hunker down and confront the increased external pressure with defiance
and a reinvigorated relationship with Iran and Shiite allies in Lebanon
and Iraq. King Abdullah’s notion of a ‘Shiite crescent’ is exaggerated, but
not entirely fanciful. The strengthened alliance between Iran and Syria
has thrown the seething regional tensions between Sunnis and Shiites into
sharper relief and raised the stakes in the looming confrontation between
the West and Tehran over the latter’s nuclear ambitions. Hariri’s murder
helped crystallise these regional divisions, pitting those states and fac-
tions hostile to Israel and to Western interference against the Bush
administration’s goal of establishing a placid and compliant Middle East
won through its formidable military, diplomatic and economic might and
cloaked in a veneer of democratic values.
 A new Lebanon? 211

The tussle for control of the Middle East is played out in microcosm in
Lebanon, its inherent weaknesses and confessional cleavages seemingly
forever fating it to be a pawn of broader, more powerful interests. Indeed,
after demonstrating such inspirational qualities during the Beirut Spring
and evoking so much hope for change, how quickly the Lebanese had
succumbed to their old ways. The embers of sectarianism that Pax Syriana
had smothered or manipulated had flared into life once more, fanned by
the fears and suspicions of Lebanon’s confessional bosses who continue to
plot and intrigue, moulding and breaking alliances, clawing for the fickle
support of foreign patrons.
And what would Rafik Hariri have made of the Lebanon he left in
such a terrible fashion a year earlier? Would he have wrung his hands in
frustration perhaps, despairing at the inability of his fellow Lebanese to
act as a nation rather than a group of feuding sects? Little wonder then
that, 12 months after his death, whether one loved him or loathed him, the
Lebanese missed the reassuring, larger-than-life presence of ‘Mr Lebanon’.
The last of the speakers departed the podium and the masses slowly
drifted away from Martyrs’ Square, some pausing to pay their respects at
Hariri’s tomb. Lying discarded in the dust, stirred by the chill breeze, was
a placard with that familiar portrait of a smiling Rafik Hariri, his eyes
twinkling beneath those thick, bushy eyebrows. And beneath his picture,
written by hand in Arabic, was the forlorn question ‘Waynak?’ Where
are you?
 Epilogue:
the return of war
8
Monday, July 24, 2006 – Tyre, south Lebanon
The newly made coffins were stacked up six high and stretched down the
hospital courtyard as the carpenter continued to labour beneath the swel-
tering midday sun to complete his melancholy task.
Their faces covered with surgical masks and with two men brandishing
chemical sprays standing by, hospital workers swung open the back
doors of a refrigerated truck exposing an untidy pile of bodies wrapped in
blankets and plastic bags bound tightly with tape.
The initial victims of Israel’s onslaught against south Lebanon had been
stored in a makeshift morgue – a refrigerated meat transport truck
brought from Tripoli in northern Lebanon at the outset of the conflict in
anticipation of many fatalities. But the corpses had begun to rot, biology
defeating the clattering generator that blew cold air into the rear com-
partment, and the local people had begun to complain. More ominously,
officials at the government-run hospital feared they would soon need the
space for what might come next.
For Hizbullah’s battle-hardened fighters were displaying more tenacity
than expected, despite 11 days of the most punishing air and artillery blitz
against Lebanon since Israel’s 1982 invasion. With Israeli soldiers being
killed and Israeli tanks being knocked out by Hizbullah’s anti-armour
missiles, Israel had decided to ratchet up the pace of its offensive. The
Israeli military broadcast warnings by radio and recorded voice messages
in phone calls to local Lebanese officials instructing all residents of south
Lebanon to abandon their homes and head north of the Litani river, which
cuts across much of south Lebanon about 40 kilometres from the border.
The offensive had claimed over 300 lives. It had destroyed the southern
suburbs of Beirut, and created a humanitarian disaster in the south with
some 500,000 refugees fleeing the fighting and tens of thousands more
 Epilogue: the return of war 213

trapped by bomb cratered impassable roads in villages under air strike

and artillery shelling. Yet it promised to get much worse.
Israel has a long and bloody history of using disproportionate force
against its enemies, more often than not found in Lebanon. At this time of
writing it is unclear whether or not Hizbullah could foresee what was
about to befall Lebanon when it dispatched a squad of fighters to kidnap
Israeli soldiers along the border with Lebanon.
It was a well-coordinated operation, though, clearly one that had been
studied and refined for months. They struck in a remote brush-covered
section of the border south of Aitta Shaab village, a Hizbullah stronghold.
The fighters blasted through the 3-metre-high border fence, hitting an
Israeli jeep with a missile as rocket batteries further north staged a diver-
sion by firing Katyushas into the area between the Israeli towns of Shetula
and Zarit. Two soldiers were snatched by the Hizbullah squad and
dragged across the border to disappear into the thick undergrowth. In the
ambush and subsequent clashes, eight soldiers died, four of them when
an anti-tank missile destroyed a Merkava tank, the highest Israeli military
death toll in a confrontation with Hizbullah since 1997.
In the hours that followed, throughout the dusty hill villages of south
Lebanon, Hizbullah supporters in convoys of cars sporting yellow party
flags drove through the streets honking horns in celebration at the news.
Others stood in the centre of main roads handing out fistfuls of sweets to
motorists, a traditional symbol of celebration.
Israel’s initial response was to destroy three key bridges crossing the
Litani river, cutting off much of south-east Lebanon from Beirut.
Harassed-looking Lebanese soldiers blocked the roads leading to the
bridges instructing motorists to return north out of the area.
From Marjayoun, a Christian town of stone houses and terracotta roofs
lying on the crest of a valley within sight of the border with Israel, the
deep boom of Israeli artillery was heard as round after round exploded in
a valley at the foot of the Shebaa Farms hills to the east. The roar of an
Israeli jet was followed a moment later by a loud blast that echoed off the
hills and down the valley as a towering column of dust and smoke gently
rose into the sky from the far side of Khiam, Marjayoun’s Shiite
neighbour.
That evening as the sun bled into the Mediterranean, Lebanon held its
breath. It was a moment of decision for Israel. Ever since it had with-
drawn from south Lebanon in May 2000, it had turned the other cheek to
each of Hizbullah’s needling attacks along the Blue Line. By the same
token, Hizbullah had been careful not to overstep a certain threshold that
would compel the Israeli government to respond forcefully. It was always
214 Killing Mr Lebanon

a precarious equation, however, one that both sides knew from the
beginning would end in a showdown.
‘This will happen and we are constantly preparing for it,’ a Hizbullah
official told the author as long ago as February 2002. He added that, when
the confrontation finally occurred, ‘the whole of the Middle East will
change’.
Hizbullah’s kidnapping operation was carefully timed to coincide with
another abduction crisis, this one in Gaza where two weeks earlier Pales-
tinian militants had tunnelled out of the Gaza Strip, attacked an Israeli
position and snatched a soldier. Ehud Olmert, the Israeli prime minister,
sent tanks and troops into Gaza to recover the missing soldiers but to no
avail. Hamas, which was one of three groups that carried out the military
operation, said the soldier would be released only in exchange for thou-
sands of Palestinian detainees. Olmert was caught in a bind, suffering the
traditional insecurity of an Israeli leader with a non-military background
attempting to convey leadership and strength to an Israeli public wanting
results in a difficult military situation.
In terms of compounding the pressure on Olmert, Hizbullah’s kidnap-
ping came at an opportune moment. It even had the bonus of Hizbullah
outdoing Hamas by capturing two soldiers to the Palestinian movement’s
one.
Olmert could not afford to appear weak and indecisive before such a
flagrant provocation. His inner security cabinet met that evening to
decide the course of action. The Israeli military urged for a powerful
response ‘to teach Hizbullah a lesson once and for all’. Olmert agreed. The
kidnapping, he said, was ‘an act of war’. Israel’s response would be
‘restrained’ but ‘very very very painful’.
There was little evidence of restraint in what was to follow, however.
Israeli jets launched the offensive by bombing the runway at Beirut air-
port, which had been renamed the Rafik Hariri International Airport. The
runways cratered, the airport closed down and flights were diverted to
Cyprus. Then the jets struck at the southern suburbs of Beirut itself,
powerful guided missiles that turned apartment block after apartment
block into dust and rubble. Hizbullah’s entire headquarters in the sealed-
off area of Haret Hreik was utterly destroyed as day after day the Israeli
jets returned to drop tons of bombs on the area. The Shiite inhabitants
fled the area seeking refuge with relatives, in schools and abandoned
houses.
Beirut turned into a ghost town, shops closed and residents headed to
homes in remote mountain villages. Foreigners made plans to evacuate
the city. After a week, the US Marines were back in Beirut for the first time
 Epilogue: the return of war 215

since an older generation of Shiite fighters had suicide-bombed them out

of Lebanon more than 20 years earlier.
The air raids went as far north as Qlayaat on the coast near the border
with Syria where the runways of a disused military airport were bombed.
Most main roads were bombed and bridges destroyed or rendered
impassable, including the soaring road bridge, reputedly the highest in
the Middle East, spanning the Dahr al-Baidar pass on the main highway
linking Beirut to the Bekaa valley. The remaining bridges over the Litani
were destroyed, augmenting the south’s isolation.
The destruction of the southern suburbs was breathtaking in its
magnitude, but what was happening in south Lebanon was something
else entirely. The politicians and generals in Israel spoke of ‘neutralising’
Hizbullah’s leadership and ‘degrading’ its military infrastructure, of
‘pinpoint strikes’ and temporary ‘incursions’. But the rounded limestone
hills and swooping valleys of south Lebanon had turned into a killing
zone where Israeli jets pulverised hundreds of civilian houses and apart-
ment blocks, killing entire families at a time. Vehicles packed with civil-
ians escaping their villages were attacked by Israeli jets and helicopters,
blowing the occupants into pieces or incinerating them where they sat.
The dead rotted under the rubble of their demolished homes while the
wounded died in the street, unable to reach hospital because of the bomb-
cratered roads. By the end of the first week of the offensive, Lebanese Red
Cross workers in Tyre said they were seeing stray dogs eating the corpses
lying on the roads or protruding from debris.
This was not just about striking at Hizbullah. This was Israel taking
cold-blooded revenge for more than two decades of humiliation at the
hands of its Shiite adversaries in Lebanon.
Yelling for people to move aside, medics burst into the emergency room
of the Jabel Amel hospital in Tyre carrying a woman, her head lolling from
side to side, her body daubed in blood. ‘Allah Akhbar,’ God is greatest,
she moaned. She was one of five people – four women and one young
man – whose car had been targeted by an Israeli jet on a road near
Bourgheliyeh, a tiny ramshackle village off the coastal road just north of
Tyre.
‘Two bombs fell next to each other 15 metres in front of the car,’ said a
shaken Jihad Daoud, as he anxiously watched his relatives being treated
by doctors.
In the hospital’s intensive care unit lay Alia Alieddine, 30, one of only
two casualties to make it to the hospital from the village of Srifa, 16 kilo-
metres east of Tyre. Israeli jets flattened an entire neighbourhood in the
village. Residents initially recovered 10 bodies but at the time of writing it
216 Killing Mr Lebanon

was thought there could be another 60 to 80 people buried under the

rubble.
Connected to breathing tubes and her head heavily bandaged,
Alieddine’s bruised and half-closed eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling.
‘She suffered major head wounds, her arm is broken and she lost a lot of
blood,’ said Dr Abdullah Abbas. ‘Her chances are not good. It is in God’s
hands.’
The basement of the hospital was jammed with casualties and their
anxious relatives who had fled their homes from neighbouring villages to
sleep on thin mattresses in the corridors.
UNIFIL peacekeepers acknowledged that Israel was treating the south
as a free-fire zone with any vehicle travelling the roads at risk of being hit.
On the second day of the offensive, 21 people were killed when an Israeli
helicopter gunship rocketed a three-vehicle convoy carrying residents of
Marwahine, a hamlet on the border, to the relative safety of Tyre. Around
25 people had been packed into the back of an open-bed truck travelling
in between two cars. The residents had been instructed by loudhailer from
an Israeli military position a few hundred metres away on the other side
of the border to vacate their homes immediately. Many heeded the call.
The convoy was travelling along an open road running along the crest of a
ridge between the villages of Biyada and Shamaa when the helicopter,
whose pilot must have seen there were mainly women and children in the
back of the uncovered truck, opened fire. The first missile hit the truck,
killing all occupants but four. The second missile hit the rear car, killing
one and wounding three.
The next day, a UNIFIL relief column attempting to rescue beleaguered
residents of Marwahine and nearby villages came under Israeli shellfire,
with 12 155mm rounds exploding nearby. A peacekeeper who was on the
convoy said that body-armoured UN soldiers threw themselves on top of
the villagers to protect them from flying shrapnel.
But what happened in Marwahine was to be repeated throughout south
Lebanon in the days that followed.
The minibus had come to a stop on the side of a downhill road cut into
the side of a steep valley midway between the villages of Siddiquine and
Yater. Minutes earlier an Israeli helicopter gunship had fired a missile
through the roof of the vehicle, blasting it off the road. One man, with the
left half of his head torn off, sat almost upright, his yellowing hand hang-
ing with seeming nonchalance out of the window. The bodies of two other
people, their clothes sodden with blood, lay slumped over each other.
Sitting beside the dead man, covered in the contents of his skull, a
woman, dazed with shock, moved slowly back and forth.
 Epilogue: the return of war 217

‘Can you stand?’ asked a Lebanese Red Cross volunteer.

The woman mumbled an incoherent response. A few metres away,
some of the survivors lay on the ground, moaning and crying. The driver,
a thin man with a straggly beard, lay prostrate on the ground calling out
to God. One woman, her black dress drenched in blood and her face a
gory mask, writhed slowly while a medic treated her.
There had been 19 people on board the vehicle, most of them women
and children, who were at the tail end of a convoy fleeing the village of
Tiri, 10 kilometres to the south-east.
Abbas Shayter, a 12-year-old boy whose naked torso was speckled with
dried blood, said that the village had been instructed by the Israelis to
leave and his family had been waiting for transport.
‘Someone came for us and we drove with other cars out of the village,’
he said. ‘We were trying to keep up with the others when we were hit.’
His grandmother and uncle were among those killed. Abbas’ older
brother, Ali, sobbed beside his prone mother whose bandaged left arm
was streaked with blood. She raised her right hand and held her son’s arm
consolingly.
Hizbullah responded to Israel’s intensifying air strikes with its first ever
rocket attack against Haifa, Israel’s third largest city lying 40 kilometres
south of the border. That attack laid to rest once and for all the debate over
whether Hizbullah possessed long-range weapons. On the evening of the
third day, after the southern suburbs had been struck, Nasrallah gave a
televised address, saying that if Israel wanted all-out war then they would
get all-out war. He added that Hizbullah had many more surprises and if
the residents of Beirut looked out to sea at that very minute they would
see an Israeli ship burning and sinking. After his speech, the crackle of
gunfire erupted from the southern suburbs in celebration, thin beads of
red tracer arcing into the sky.
Nasrallah’s claim was true. Of all the missiles speculated to be in Hiz-
bullah’s possession, no one had thought it might have acquired anti-ship
radar-guided missiles. One had struck a navy patrol boat 10 kilometres off
shore, killing four crew members and disabling the vessel so that it had to
be towed back to Israel.
Israel responded the next day by hitting all the military radar sites
along the Lebanese coast, having concluded that the army had helped
Hizbullah attack the ship.
A series of loud bangs from trees close to the seashore north of Tyre
signalled the unleashing of the latest barrage of long-range rockets, coils
of smoke reaching into the blue sky charting their south-bound trajectory.
Shortly afterwards, the Arabic television channels reported that Haifa had
218 Killing Mr Lebanon

been struck again. It was taking Israel too long to disable Hizbullah’s
rocket batteries, and questions were beginning to be asked in the Israeli
press about why more had not been achieved after a week and a half of
bombing.
A hollow thump and a puff of smoke in the sky above the Christian
quarter on the tip of Tyre’s promontory signalled another leaflet drop
from the Israelis. A cloud of yellow paper rippled down like confetti
blown by the sea breeze inland east of Tyre, the plastic barrel which had
contained the warning slips crashing next to the Catholic bishop of Tyre’s
residence.
An hour later, the Maronite and Catholic churches had closed and a
convoy of more than 20 cars, most of them with white sheets fluttering
from windows, departed the Christian quarter and headed out of town.
Families lugged suitcases down the narrow alleys of the quarter to their
cars. Not all wanted to leave, however. One exasperated man pleaded
with his elderly mother to get in the car with the rest of his family, but she
refused.
‘How can I leave my home?’ she asked.
Some other residents refused to leave, mainly the old who sat outside
their front doors sipping tiny cups of coffee and gloomily watching their
neighbours depart.
Food and petrol began to run low and despair set in among officials of
Tyre’s municipal council, who found themselves overwhelmed by the
scale of the humanitarian disaster unfolding around them.
A crowd of anxious people thronged the reception area of the munici-
pality’s offices, begging for food handouts and bottled water.
‘There’s nothing for them. We have no supplies,’ said Hassan Al-
Husseini, the mayor, bitterly.
His staff castigated the government for abandoning them in their hour
of need, asking why a Christian charity had managed to dispatch several
truckloads of supplies down the dangerous coastal road from Beirut to
Tyre while the government had sent nothing. During Israel’s 16-day air
and artillery blitz against south Lebanon in April 1996, convoys of
humanitarian supplies had travelled from Beirut to the south, but not this
time.
‘That’s because in 1996 there was a man called Rafik Hariri,’ said
Mohammed Al-Husseini, the mayor’s son who was working at the muni-
cipality. ‘He was a very big man in international relations. A very big
man. But there is no more Rafik Hariri.’
No more Rafik Hariri to plead Lebanon’s case before the world. And his
absence was felt. Fouad Siniora, a decent man faced with an impossible
 Epilogue: the return of war 219

task, watched in anguish as the efforts of 14 years reconstruction col-

lapsed around him in days. He travelled to New York to deliver an emo-
tional heart-felt plea to the United Nations for an immediate ceasefire,
saying his country had been ‘torn to shreds’.
The international community ignored him. The Bush administration,
which had so swiftly adopted the ‘independence uprising’ as its own,
dropped Lebanon like a hot brick when it came to Israel’s war against
Hizbullah. While Israel’s air force dispassionately blasted civilians into
bloody fragments in south Lebanon, American officials went on about
Iranian and Syrian terrorism and the need for Hizbullah to stop firing
rockets into Israel. The leading Arab states of Saudi Arabia, Jordan and
Egypt muttered the usual platitudes about Israeli aggression but they had
little taste for Hizbullah and hoped for its destruction almost as fervently
as Israel. Lebanon was on its own, a victim once more of its own inherent
weaknesses and international exploitation. Hariri had always feared that
Hizbullah’s hostility toward Israel would lead Lebanon into just this kind
of slaughter and destruction. How he had bargained, negotiated and
manoeuvred to avoid such a catastrophe. Yet it had all come to nothing.
His death and the subsequent chain of events – the polarisation in Leba-
non over Hizbullah’s arms, resurgent sectarianism, government weak-
ness, Syrian meddling and international manipulation – had led to this
unfolding disaster.
Lebanon will rebuild. It always does. Its long-suffering, tenacious,
resourceful, enterprising and resilient people will collectively shrug their
shoulders and continue to live their lives, working hard to raise and edu-
cate their children while keeping a detached, half-amused eye on the
ceaseless squabbles of Lebanese politicians.
And as Tyre awaits the next phase of this brutal war, the rumble of a
passing Israeli jet high above is almost smothered by the reassuring
ineluctable hiss of breaking waves as the timeless Mediterranean laps and
foams gently against the green-algaed rocks and toppled ancient stone
columns on the beach.
 Notes

Chapter 1
1 The following account of the morning of February 14, 2006 is based on author
interviews with Adnan Baba, Carole Farhat, Fadi Fawaz, Nejib Friji, Marwan
Hamade, Rashid Hammoud, Fady Khoury, Ghattas Khoury, Samer Rida and
Amer Shehadi.
2 See Report of the International Independent Investigation Commission,
19 October, 2005, paragraph 144.

Chapter 2
1 Interview with the author – August 3, 2005.
2 Interview with the author – August 3, 2005.
3 Interview with the author – August 3, 2005.
4 Interview with the author – January 27, 2006.
5 Interview with the author – August 3, 2005.
6 Interview with the author – July 5, 2005.
7 Interview with the author – January 13, 2006.
8 Interview with the author – July 5, 2005.
9 Interview with the author – January 27, 2006.
10 Interview with the author – August 3, 2005.
11 Interview with the author – November 23, 2005.
12 Interview with the author – January 13, 2006.
13 Interview with the author – January 17, 2006.
14 Interview with the author – June 23, 2005.
15 Interview with the author – August 4, 2005.
16 Ibid.
17 Interview with the author – June 23, 2005.
18 Ibid.
19 Interview with the author – October 20, 2005.
20 Interview with the author – June 23, 2005.
21 Interview with the author – January 27, 2006.
 Notes 221

22 Interview with the author – September 18, 2005.

23 Interview with the author – August 22, 2005.
24 Interview with the author – January 17, 2006.
25 Interview with the author – September 18, 2005.
26 Interview with the author.
27 Interview with the author.
28 Interview with the author – December 16, 2005.
29 Interview with the author – August 4, 2005.
30 Ibid.
31 Interview with the author – June 23, 2005.
32 Interview with the author – August 22, 2005.
33 Interview with the author.
34 Interview with the author – January 17, 2006.
35 Interview with the author – January 27, 2006.
36 Interview with the author – August 4, 2005.
37 Interview with the author – August 22, 2005.
38 Interview with the author – January 17, 2006.
39 Daw’i al-Asfar: Al-Siyassa al-Amrikiyyi Tijah Lubnan. Beirut, Sharikat al-Matbu’
at lil-Tawzi’ wal-Nashr, 1991.
40 Interview with the author – August 22, 2005.
41 Interview with the author – January 13, 2006.

Chapter 3
1 Kamal Feghali. Displacement in Lebanon: The Strategy of Return and Development
(in Arabic). Beirut, Lebanese Center for Policy Studies, 1997.
2 Boutros Labaki. ‘The Postwar Economy: A Miracle That Didn’t Happen’. In
Limbo: Postwar Society and State in an Uncertain Regional Environment. (Eds)
Theodor Hanf and Nawaf Salam. Baden-Baden, Nomos, 2003.
3 Interview with the author – December 16, 2005.
4 Interview with the author – November 21, 2005.
5 Interview with the author – January 13, 2006.
6 Interview with the author – September 20, 2005.
7 Interview with the author – August 29, 2005.
8 Interview with the author – September 19, 2005.
9 Interview with the author – November 21, 2005.
10 Interview with the author – January 13, 2006.
11 Interview with the author – December 18, 2005.
12 Interview with retired general in the Lebanese Army.
13 Interview with the author.
14 Interview with the author – January 27, 2006.
15 Interview with the author – December 16, 2005.
16 Interview with the author – January 14, 2006.
17 Ibid.
18 Interview with the author – December 16, 2005.
19 Interview with the author – November 21, 2005.
222 Notes

20 Interview with the author.

21 Interview with the author – November 18, 2005.
22 One prominent and influential MP is said to have secured $15 million for his
endorsement.
23 Interview with the author – August 29, 2005.
24 Interview with the author – January 9, 2006.
25 Interview with the author.
26 Interview with the author – July 11, 2005.
27 Interview with Joe Faddoul – July 11, 2005. Allegations of corruption and
fraud at the casino were repeatedly aired in the Lebanese media and cited by
Lebanese politicians. In February 2006, President Emile Lahoud in a defence of
his presidential record claimed that he had insisted on an ‘honourable’ person
to run the Casino du Liban ‘in order to avoid the illegal funnelling of cash’.
28 Interview with the author – July 11, 2005.
29 Interview with the author – August 29, 2005.
30 Fadlallah is often mistakenly described as Hizbullah’s spiritual leader, but he
has never held a formal position within the party even though he is a marjaa
(model of emulation) for many Shiites, including Hizbullah members.
31 Interview with the author.
32 Interview with the author – July 20, 2005.
33 Interview with the author.
34 Interview with the author – October 20, 2005.
35 Interview with the author – December 16, 2005. Mashnouq fell victim to the
pressure exerted on Hariri by Bashar and Lahoud in autumn 1998 when a ‘file’
was opened on him by Syrian military intelligence. Mashnouq was accused of
being an Israeli spy, a false claim which he and Hariri recognised as a Syrian
decision that Mashnouq should leave Lebanon. Mashnouq left for Paris in
November 1998 and was able to return three years later after Taha Mikati, a
prominent Sunni businessman and brother of former prime minister Najib
Mikati, interceded with Bashar, a close friend. Another point of pressure
against Hariri was the permission granted to the MP Najah Wakim to publish
his book detailing allegations of corruption by Hariri and his aides. Al-Ayadi
as-Saud (The Black Hands) (Beirut, 1978) was a huge bestseller.
36 Interview with the author – February 9, 2006.
37 Interview with the author – 10 October, 2005.

Chapter 4
1 Interviewed by the author – January 20, 2006.
2 Ehud Barak defeated Benjamin Netanyahu in the May 1999 Israeli general
elections and took office in July. He promised that, if elected, he would with-
draw Israeli troops from south Lebanon, adding it would happen within the
framework of peace negotiations with Syria. For months after being elected, he
refused to say what would happen if no peace deal with Syria was forthcom-
ing, but the inference of his electoral pledge was that the troop pull-out would
take precedence.
 Notes 223

3 Interview with the author – January 14, 2006.

4 Interview with the author – January 13, 2006.
5 Interview with the author.
6 Interviews with current and former diplomats in Beirut.
7 Author interviews with retired and serving senior Lebanese Army officers –
April–December 2005.
8 Interview with the author. According to Qanso, Lahoud subsequently con-
tacted Bashar, saying he could no longer work with Kanaan and asked for his
removal. Although Bashar chose not to satisfy Lahoud’s request, Kanaan’s
days in Lebanon were numbered and he would depart Anjar in two years.
Another incident that highlights the poor relations between Lahoud and
Kanaan occurred when Bashar, accompanied by Kanaan, visited Lahoud at
Baabda palace. According to a senior Lebanese Army officer, Mustafa Ham-
dan, Lahoud’s closest aide, suggested to Kanaan that they wait outside while
the two presidents conferred. But Bashar told Hamdan that Kanaan ‘is me and
I am him’. Instead, it was Hamdan who had to wait outside while Kanaan sat
with Lahoud and Bashar, like a ‘third president’, according to the army officer.
Several pro- and anti-Syrian sources told the author that Lahoud sponsored a
whispering campaign against Kanaan, using his son, Emile Lahoud junior, and
son-in-law, Elias Murr, to tell senior regime officials, such as Maher al-Assad,
Bashar’s younger brother, that Kanaan was a danger to the president.
9 Kanaan was rumoured to have received large sums of money from Hariri for
tailoring the law to his advantage. The rumour resurfaced in October 2005
when Lebanon’s New TV channel claimed that, in an interview with the UN
commission investigating Hariri’s murder, Kanaan had admitted to receiving a
$10 million cheque from Hariri. ‘Premier Hariri had at the time given me a $10
million cheque and another $10 million to General Jamil Sayyed,’ New TV
quoted Kanaan as telling the UN investigators. ‘We were making money from
Premier Hariri so how could we possibly kill him and close the flow of his
riches?’ The morning after the report was aired, Kanaan read out a statement to
the Voice of Lebanon radio station insisting that New TV’s allegations were
‘baseless’ and ‘tendentious’. Hours later, Kanaan was dead, having apparently
shot himself in the head.
10 Qassem Qanso, the then head of the Lebanese branch of the Baath party, said
in a parliamentary debate on the Hariri government that Jumblatt’s comments
had ‘exceeded all limits’, adding that Israeli ‘agents . . . will not be protected
from the rifles of the resistance fighters by any red lines or by seeking refuge in
embassies’. The Lebanese media interpreted Qanso’s comments as tantamount
to a death threat against Jumblatt. Two days later, Qanso attended a meeting
of the Baath party National Command in Damascus and was berated by
Abdel-Halim Khaddam, the Syrian vice-president, for attacking Jumblatt so
strongly. Qanso told the author in an interview (February 8, 2006) that he
retorted that Jumblatt was against Syria and the Lebanese resistance and
deserved to be treated harshly. The two men argued heatedly until Farouq
al-Sharaa, the Syrian foreign minister, who was also present, sided with Qanso
against Khaddam, saying that he had discussed the incident with Bashar
224 Notes

al-Assad the day before. Bashar told Sharaa that Qanso was right to attack
Jumblatt. ‘Khaddam fell silent,’ Qanso recalls. The Baath party meeting
neatly illustrated Khaddam’s declining influence in Damascus as well as his
continuing ties to Jumblatt.
11 From taking office in November 2000 to mid-February 2001, Hariri travelled to
Qatar, twice to Saudi Arabia, Morocco, Egypt (where he negotiated a $2 billion
project to supply liquid gas to Lebanon, Syria and Turkey), Libya, Kuwait
(which provided $550 million in development funds) and Japan (where he
secured pledges of further loans and an offer to help launch a bond issue in
yen).
12 Interview with the author.
13 Interviews with ministers in Hariri’s 2000 and 2003 governments.
14 Interview with the author.
15 Interview with the author – November 23, 2005.
16 Interview with the author.
17 Interviews with former ministers in Hariri’s 2000 and 2003 governments.
18 Interview with the author – May 24, 2005.
19 Interview with the author – September 24, 2005.
20 Interview with the author – February 9, 2006.
21 Interview with the author.
22 Interview with the author.
23 Interview with the author – December 16, 2005.
24 ‘Following the old money trail’, US News and World Report. April 4, 2005.
25 Interview with the author – September 14, 2005.
26 Interview with a Lebanese official involved in the negotiations.
27 Interview with the author.
28 Interview with the author.
29 Interview with the author – January 14, 2006.
30 Ibid.
31 Ibid.
32 Interview with the author.
33 Interview with the author.
34 Interviews with aides to Hariri.
35 Author interview with Sheikh Naim Qassem, Hizbullah’s deputy secretary-
general.
36 Interview with the author – July 20, 2005.
37 Hariri’s third son, Hussam, died aged 18 in 1991 in a car crash in the United
States. Nasrallah’s eldest son, Hadi, an 18-year-old resistance fighter, was
killed in 1997 in a clash with Israeli commandos in the Israeli occupation zone
in south Lebanon.
38 Interviews with the author.
39 Author interview with an American diplomat.
40 Interview with the author – January 14, 2006.
 Notes 225

Chapter 5
1 Interview with the author – November 23, 2005.
2 Interviews with the author.
3 Interview with the author.
4 Interview with the author.
5 Interview with the author – November 23, 2005.
6 Interview with the author – October 10, 2005.
7 Author interview with Walid Jumblatt – December 18, 2005.
8 Interview with the author.
9 Author interview with a Hariri aide.
10 Interview with the author – January 10, 2006.
11 Interview with the author.
12 Interview with the author – December 17, 2005.
13 Interview with the author – October 10, 2005.
14 Interview with the author – February 9, 2006.
15 Interview with the author.
16 Interview with the author – August 9, 2005.
17 Author interviews with current and former Lebanese MPs.
18 Interview with the author.
19 Interview with the author.
20 Interview with the author.
21 Interview with the author – January 27, 2006.
22 Author interview with a source close to Hariri and Murr.
23 Elias Murr claimed that the bomb consisted of 300 kilograms of explosive,
although the Italian government put the figure at 100 kilograms.
24 Murr, one of Syria’s most dependable allies, swiftly lost Syria’s good will fol-
lowing the discovery of the alleged Al-Qaeda plot. Marwan Hamade told the
author that, a month after the arrests, Murr had predicted he would be the
victim of a similar assassination attempt to the one that gravely wounded
Hamade on October 1, 2004. On July 12, 2005, Murr was severely wounded
when a car bomb exploded beside his convoy in a Beirut suburb. While
recovering from his injuries in Zurich two months later, he revealed in a televi-
sion programme that he had been repeatedly threatened by Ghazaleh before
the Syrian troop withdrawal in April.
25 Interview with the author – March 9, 2005.
26 Interview with the author.
27 Interview with the author – September 24, 2005.
28 Interview with the author – December 18, 2005.
29 Author interview with one of the participants.
30 Interview with the author.
31 Interview with the author.
32 Interview with the author – August 9, 2005.
33 Interview with the author.
34 Interview with the author – July 22, 2005.
35 In an interview with Al-Manar television station on February 15, 2006, Nasral-
226 Notes

lah recounted in some detail the discussions he held with Hariri in the months
before the former premier’s death. ‘We agreed that the resistance had a duty to
protect Lebanon,’ Nasrallah said. ‘He made it clear that the resistance weapon
is related to the [regional] political settlement rather than the [Shebaa] Farms
or [freeing of Lebanese] prisoners [in Israeli prisons] . . . I even remember that
he told me then that, even if there was a political settlement, he would sit with
me to agree on addressing the issue of resistance weapons should I have any
objections. He added that, if I had any objections, he would resign and quit his
post because he was not willing to start a new Algeria-like experience. Of
course, for me his words were great and I took them as a source of guarantee
and reassurance by the Lebanese government, which he was expected to form
after the elections, whether the Syrians stayed in the country or left. The course
of political events was clear. The government will not be in conflict with the
resistance and will not act against it. At the personal level, my colleagues and I
took his words and guarantees as sufficient. He even told me that he was
willing to write and sign a document to this effect. But I refused and told him
that his verbal commitment was enough for us.’
36 Interview with the author – January 14, 2006.
37 Interview with the author – September 24, 2005.
38 Interview with the author – November 23, 2005.
39 Author interview with a Hariri advisor.
40 Author interview with a Hariri advisor.
41 Interview with the author – December 18, 2005.
42 The conversation in Koreitem was secretly taped by Hariri and the above
statements were reproduced in the first interim report of the UN International
Independent Investigation Commission into Hariri’s assassination on October
19, 2005. The commission assessed that the recorded interview ‘clearly contra-
dicts’ a statement given by Muallem to the commission ‘in which he falsely
described the 1 February meeting as “friendly and constructive” ’. However,
Muallem’s recorded comment could just as easily be interpreted as being
sympathetic to Hariri’s plight, rather than a threat, more in keeping with his
perceived less partisan status in the tensions between Hariri and the Syrian
leadership. Furthermore, Fouad Siniora told the author that Muallem agreed at
the meeting to attempt a reconciliation between Bashar and Hariri.
43 Interview with the author – January 27, 2006.
44 Interview with the author – January 14, 2006.
45 Interview with the author – January 26, 2006.
46 Author interview with sources familiar with the conversation between Larsen
and Bashar. Larsen declined to confirm or deny to the author his suggestion to
Bashar.
47 Interview with the author – January 26, 2006.
48 Author interview with Mustafa Nasr, the go-between for Hariri and Nasrallah
– July 20, 2005.
49 Interview with the author – February 9, 2006.
50 Author interviews with Saad Hariri (January 13, 2006) and a bodyguard to
Rafik Hariri.
 Notes 227

51 Interview with the author – January 13, 2006.

Chapter 6
1 The following account of the aftermath of the explosion is based on author
interviews with Abed Arab, Adnan Baba, Carole Farhat, Rami Farous, Nejib
Friji, Rashid Hammoud, Ahmad Husari, Walid Jumblatt, Fady Khoury,
Ghattas Khoury, Samer Rida and Amer Shehadi.
2 Interview with the author – January 13, 2006.
3 Author interviews with participants at the meeting.
4 Interview with the author – September 24, 2005.
5 See the ‘Report of the International Independent Investigation Commission’,
October 19, 2005.
6 See the ‘Fourth Report of the International Independent Investigation Com-
mission’, June 10, 2006.
7 Paula Dobriansky also coined the phrase ‘Purple Revolution’ to describe the
first post-Saddam Hussein national election in Iraq in January 2005, the purple
referring to the ink used to mark each voter’s finger.
8 Negotiations for Aoun’s return to Lebanon had been under way for some
months in which pro-Syrian Lebanese travelled to France to mediate on behalf
of Lahoud and the Syrian authorities. The unlikely negotiations between
Damascus and the traditionally anti-Syrian Aoun go some way in explaining
the general’s subsequent choice of political alliances.
9 Allegations of vote-buying were widely aired during the election campaign,
mainly directed at the Hariri camp. Vote-buying is a traditional feature of
Lebanese elections and is widely practised. The European Union Election
Observation Mission reported on June 20, 2005 that its observers had received
‘a substantial number of allegations of vote-buying from rival candidates and
political groups. Observers also witnessed a few attempts at vote-buying.’

Chapter 7
1 Interview with the author – December 18, 2006.
2 The names came to light because of an embarrassing blunder in which initial
copies of the report sent to members of the UN Security Council left the docu-
ment track changes intact. The track changes to the document includes the
date and time of each alteration to the text. Most of the changes were from
grammatical errors, but some parts of the report appeared to have been excised
because of their sensitivity. Intriguingly, despite assurances from the UN that
the UNIIIC report would not be changed, some of the most sensitive alter-
ations occurred after the report was submitted to UN Secretary-General Kofi
Annan on the morning of October 20, 2005. The UN subsequently, and some-
what unfairly, wheeled out Detlev Mehlis, who was not to blame for the
release of the unedited report, to explain to the UN press corps what had gone
wrong. He insisted that Kofi Annan had not pressured him into making any
228 Notes

changes to the report, but was unable to satisfactorily explain why the changes
were made after the report was submitted to Annan.
3 Interview with the author – January 13, 2006.
4 Ibid.
5 Hussam Hussam, a Syrian Kurd who claimed to have worked for Syrian mili-
tary intelligence in Lebanon and had made some of the most potent claims in
the initial report, suddenly appeared on Syrian state television in late November
declaring that Saad Hariri had attempted to bribe him with $1.3 million in cash
to make false statements. He added that he had seen a veritable who’s who of
leading anti-Syrian Lebanese filing into the Monteverde headquarters of the
UN commission to force him into implicating his Syrian masters. Hussam
claimed that, to prevent him escaping, his captors would inject him with medi-
cation to keep him immobile for 12 days. The television interview and a press
conference he gave the next day were a little too slick to be believable, but they
succeeded in sowing doubt over the integrity of the Mehlis report. If Hussam
was lying in Damascus, might he not have been lying to the UN commission as
well? Zuhair Ibn Mohammed Said Saddik, who worked in the office of Hassan
Khalil, the former head of Syrian military intelligence, told Mehlis he had seen
the Mitsubishi van used in the Hariri assassination being fitted with explosives
in a Syrian military base near the Lebanese border. He also claimed to have
arranged planning meetings for the assassination. Germany’s Der Spiegel news
magazine reported that Saddik was a convicted swindler primed by Rifaat al-
Assad. DNA tests carried out by the UN commission indicated Saddik had
fabricated part of his testimony.
6 Bahiya Hariri, Rafik’s sister and an MP, received a similar warning in February
2006 when several rocket-propelled grenades were found in a plastic bag on
the side of a road near her home in Sidon.
7 Interview with the author – December 18, 2005.
8 In the summer of 2005, Israel said that Hizbullah had acquired in excess of
13,000 rockets, most of them standard 122mm Katyushas. Among the alleged
long-range variants are the 240mm Fajr 3 with a 43-kilometre range, its
big brother the 333mm Fajr 5, with a 70-kilometre range, and Syrian 220mm
Katyusha-style rockets.
9 In a speech on May 25, 2005, marking the fifth anniversary of Israel’s with-
drawal from south Lebanon, Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah, Hizbullah’s secretary-
general, referred to the rocket allegations, saying ‘Some people think we have
12,000 rockets. I tell you we have more than 12,000 . . . All of the north of
occupied Palestine, its settlements, airports, seaports, fields, factories and
farms is under the feet and hands of the Islamic Resistance.’ While the com-
ment was a typical example of Nasrallah’s rhetorical flippancy rather than a
sober affirmation of its rocket numbers, in the author’s opinion Hizbullah has
amassed a substantial arsenal of rockets both short- and long-range. Three
months later, three long-range rockets – either 240mm Fajr 3s or 220mm Katy-
ushas – were launched from south Lebanon to the border with Israel. One
exploded just inside Israel; the other two fell short of the border and exploded
harmlessly. Hizbullah denied responsibility for the rocket firing. It was the
 Notes 229

first known time that long-range rockets had been fired at Israel from
Lebanon.
10 For example, in January 2006, Israeli soldiers stationed in the Shebaa Farms
shot and killed a Lebanese hunter who was on the Lebanese side of the Blue
Line. Hizbullah responded to this breach of the Blue Line two days later by
shelling Israeli army positions in the Shebaa Farms. An example of Hizbullah’s
quid pro quo policy elsewhere along the Blue Line came in July 2004. A day
after a Hizbullah commander was killed in a car bomb explosion in Beirut, two
Israeli soldiers fixing an antenna on the roof of a military position on the
border were shot dead by a Hizbullah sniper. The sniper fired three rounds
from a distance of about 500 metres, hitting one soldier in the head and the
other in the chest and head. Security sources told the author at the time that
they believed Hizbullah marksmen were deployed along the Blue Line with
instructions to seek out targets of opportunity to revenge the assassination of
the Hizbullah commander.
11 Several senior Israeli officials, including then Israeli foreign minister Silvan
Shalom, urged Ariel Sharon to take up Bashar’s offers, believing that Israel
should take advantage of Syria’s diplomatic isolation to cut the best possible
deal. In January 2004, the head of Israeli military intelligence, Aharon Zeev
Farkash, assessed that the Syrian president had ‘serious intentions’. More con-
troversially, Israeli chief of staff, Lieutenant General Moshe Yaalon, broke a
taboo in August 2004 when he announced that Israel’s military superiority was
such that it could defend Israel without requiring the strategic depth offered
by the Golan Heights. Sharon, however, saw no reason to enter negotiations
with Bashar while Syria was under international pressure, especially when he
was planning the controversial disengagement from Gaza.
12 The UN Security Council resolutions include 1559, 1595, which authorised the
creation of the UN commission to investigate Hariri’s murder, 1614, which
called on the Lebanese government to deploy troops along the border with
Israel, 1636, demanding Syrian cooperation with the UN commission and a
cessation of meddling in Lebanese affairs, and 1664, authorising the creation of
an international tribunal to try those found responsible for Hariri’s murder.
The three senior UN envoys were Detlev Mehlis (followed by Serge Bram-
mertz when Mehlis resigned from the commission in December), Terje Roed
Larsen, tasked with overseeing the implementation of Resolution 1559, and
Geir Pederson, the UN Secretary-General’s personal representative for south-
ern Lebanon, who is based in Beirut.
13 Interview with the author – January 5, 2006.
14 The claim was initially greeted with some scepticism in Lebanon with anti-
Syrian politicians believing that Syria had arranged for the rocket strike. But
the Al-Qaeda connection hardened on January 8, 2006, with the posting on a
website used by Al-Qaeda in Iraq of a recorded message attributed to Zarqawi,
saying ‘The rocket firing at the ancestors of monkeys and pigs from the south
of Lebanon was only the start of a blessed in-depth strike against the Zionist
enemy . . . [The attack] was on the instructions of the sheikh of the mujahidin,
Osama bin Laden, may God preserve him.’
230 Notes

15 Interview with the author – January 5, 2006.

16 Interview with the author.
17 The author co-wrote the report with The Times’ diplomatic editor, Richard
Beeston.
18 The suspicions that Kanaan was murdered, or ‘suicided’, were only reinforced
by some embarrassing slips of the tongue by Syrian officials. In a televised
press conference, Mohammed al-Louji, Syria’s chief public attorney, said to the
delight of reporters that ‘the act of killing, pardon, assassination, occurred at
his office in the interior ministry at 9.15 a.m.’. During a eulogy at Kanaan’s
funeral two days later, Farouq al-Sharaa twice used the word ‘assassination’ to
describe the interior minister’s death, the second time, adding ‘excuse me,
suicide’.
19 Interview with the author.
20 The case against Ariel Sharon was filed in Brussels in 2001 under a 1993 law on
universal jurisdiction, allowing suspected war criminals to be tried in Belgium
regardless of the nationality of the accused and the victims and regardless of
where the crime was committed. Under this law, the plaintiffs argued that
Sharon could stand trial for his role in the 1982 Sabra/Shatila massacre. After
making impressive headway, the case was killed off in 2003 when Donald
Rumsfeld, the US defence secretary, threatened to move the NATO head-
quarters from Brussels if the Belgian government did not change the law with
retroactive effect. Although Rumsfeld’s objections were to prevent American
soldiers from being tried for war crimes, the intervention sealed the fate of the
case against Sharon.
 Index

Abbas, Mahmoud 148 Arab, Talal 111

Abdel-Aal, Sheikh Ahmad 176 Arab, Yehya see Abu Tarek
Abdel-Aal, Mahmoud 177 Arab–Israeli war
Abdo, Johnny 23, 29–30, 32, 33, 104 (1948) 15
Abdullah, Abu 166 (1967) 79, 71
Abdullah, Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia 76, (1973) 34
158–9 Aridi, Ghazi 70, 85, 101, 105, 127, 130, 137
Abdullah, King of Jordan 76, 92, 194, 210 Arnaout, Mahmoud 110
Abu Tarek 2, 5–6, 7, 9, 10, 97, 126–7, 129, 130, Arslan, General Ali 75
135, 137, 152 Arslan, Talal 54, 69, 123
Adas, Ahmad Abu 141–2 al-Assad, Anissa 54
Adas, Nehad Abu 141 al-Assad, Bashar viii, 7, 9, 52–3, 54, 78,
Adas, Taysir 141 83–94, 95, 114, 119, 124–5, 143, 144,
Addoum, Adnan 111, 150, 165 158–9, 160, 164, 179, 183, 191–3
Al-Ahbash 82, 83, 177 appointed president 74–6, 78
Ahdab, Mosbah 106 assessment 197–209
Ahmadinejad, Mahmoud 188, 193 Hariri and 6, 72, 76, 85–6, 93–4, 100–3, 122
Ajouz, Hassan 10, 12, 129 Lahoud and 69–70, 84–5, 88, 92, 96,
Akkar Ulemma 81 98–105, 120
Ali, Mahmoud Haj 158 on President Bush 91
Amal Movement 26, 28, 82, 96, 97, 118, 158, al-Assad, Basil 52, 54, 55, 56, 164, 198
168, 169, 191 al-Assad, Bushra 200
Annan, Kofi 227 [Chap. 6] n. 2 al-Assad, Hafez 19, 26–7, 38–9, 42, 53, 55–7,
Antar, Ibrahim 13, 14 70, 71–4, 75, 76, 80, 85, 89, 113, 114, 143,
Aoun, General Michel 35–9, 117, 167–72, 159, 164, 197–8, 206
193, 210 al-Assad, Maher 54, 179, 200, 223 n. 8
April Understanding 122 al-Assad, Rifaat 27, 55, 75, 184
Al-Aqsa intifada 80, 207 Atallah, Samir 46
Arab Deterrent Force (ADF) 20 Audi, Nazek 17
Arab League 20, 36, 37, 148 Awayni, Mohammed 10, 133, 134
Arab Nationalist Movement (ANM) 16 Azakir, Mohammed viii, 136
Arab, Abed 130, 135, 137, 152 Azar, Raymond 155, 165, 177
Arab, Rudeina 130
232 Index

Baasiri, Sahar 178, 204 Diab, Salim 138–9

Baba, Adnan 1, 4, 5, 126, 138, 139 al-Din, Rashid 186
Bahaa, Abu 139, 144 Dinnieh rebellion 195
Bandar bin Sultan, Prince 25–6 Dobriansky, Paula 156
Barak, Ehud 71, 73, 82, 83, 222 n. 2 Druze Progressive Socialist Party 25, 26, 28,
Bayanuni, Ali Sadreddine 207 80–1, 102, 145
Beirut International Airport viii, 214 Duba, Ali 58, 75
Beirut Society for Social Development 126
Berri, Nabih 26, 28, 29, 49, 58, 65, 67, 68, 88, Edde, Raymond 56
96, 106, 114, 118, 155, 168, 172, 193 Electricite du Liban 63, 90
bin Laden, Osama 195
bin Talal, Prince Walid 85 Faddoul, Joe 62, 63, 64
Blue Line 79, 119, 188, 192, 196, 213 Fadlallah, Ayatollah Mohammed Hussein
Boueiz, Fares 42, 49, 56, 85, 86, 100, 101, 102, 65
120, 199 Fahd, Jean 111
Bouhabib, Abdullah 29, 32, 33 Fahd, King of Saudi Arabia 25, 26, 28, 31, 32,
Boustani, Nida 17 33, 65
Brahimi, Lakhdar 36 al-Faisal, Prince Saud 36
Brammertz, Serge 229 n. 12 Farah, Abdo 138
Bristol Gathering 6, 7, 117, 120, 122 Farhat, Bechir 138
Bsat, Samir 16 Farhat, Carole 3–4, 11–12, 128, 131–2, 138,
Bush, George W. 81, 91, 99, 160, 178 149, 151, 152
administration viii, 86, 91, 95, 98, 147, Farkash, Aharon Zeev 229 n. 11
156–7, 191, 197, 198, 200, 201, 203 Farous, Rami 129
Bush, President George H.W. 38 Fawaz, Fadi 4, 47
administration 38 Ferzli, Elie 110, 126
Casino du Liban 63 Fitzgerald, Peter 149
Cedar Revolution 156 Fleihan, Basil 4, 5, 9, 10, 117, 120, 136, 137,
Cellis 63 139, 144
Chehab, Fouad 68, 77 Fleihan, Yasma 4, 137
Chidiac, May 176, 181 Fneish, Mohammed 180
Chirac, Jacques 31, 83, 94, 99, 103, 124, 160, Frangieh, Suleiman 20, 54, 69, 120, 121, 123,
183 133, 150, 171, 172
al-Assad and 75–6, 95–6, 100 Free Patriotic Movement 170
Hariri and 67, 87–8, 104, 105, 109, 115, Friji, Nejib 5, 7, 8–9, 10, 131, 133
125, 140, 144 Future Tide political movement 7, 140, 169,
Choucair, Walid 7, 8 170, 171, 182
CICONEST 17
Clinton, President Bill 71, 72, 80, 207 Geagea, Samir 59, 117
administration 198 Gemayel, Amine 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 31, 33, 34
Council for Development and Gemayel, Bashir 21, 22, 23, 24, 168
Reconstruction 43, 90 Gemayel, Pierre 19
Crocker, Ryan 58 Gemayel, Solange 168
Ghalayini, Abdel-Hamid 149
Daher, Mikhael 49, 102 Ghalayini, Lama 150
Darwish, Mohammed 130 Ghazaleh, Major General Rustom 9, 88–9,
Deeb, Maria 11 92, 95, 109, 111, 116, 124, 127, 171, 175,
Dia, Mohammed 10, 128, 129, 130 207
 Index 233

end of military control over Lebanon 163 Lahoud and 78, 80, 84–6, 91–3, 96, 99,
Hariri and 102, 120, 126 100–2, 106–8
on UN Resolution 1559 106–7 on Lebanese army 50–2
Ghazi Kanaan Law 78 Nazrallah and 96–7, 118
Group of Martyr Rafik Bahieddine Hariri as prime minister (1992–98) 48–50
143 as prime minister (2000–2005) 78–115
Gulf War (1980–88) 35 relations with Hizbullah 65–7
religious attitudes 45–6
Habash, George 16 Syrian relations 56–62, 84–6, 91–3, 99, 106,
Habib, General Ali 164 122–4
Haddad, Antoine 48 on UN Resolution 1559 104, 118
Haddad, Ibrahim 96 Hariri, Saad 18, 22, 42, 50, 76, 87, 89, 126, 127
Hajj, Ali 94–5, 116, 149, 155, 165, 177 election of 167–8, 169, 170, 172–3
Hamade, Ali 7, 10, 131, 133 in exile 209–10
Hamade, Marwan 6, 7, 29, 104, 120, 125, 142, Hariri’s assassination and 140, 143–4, 145
144, 225 n. 24 as prime minister 178, 181, 182, 184
assassination attempt 110–15, 173, 175, Hariri, Shafik 14
186 Hawi, George 173, 174
on Hariri 30, 78, 88 Hizbullah 7, 9, 65, 73–4, 79–80, 91, 93, 96–7,
Hamdan, Brigadier General Mustafa 77, 116–19, 148, 158, 160–1, 165, 172, 174,
111, 155, 159, 165, 177, 178, 223 n. 8 212–219
Hamdan, Majid 111, 177 Amal alliance 168–9
Hammoud, Rashid 10, 133, 134, 136 Hariri and 67, 83–4, 118–19
Harb, Butros 106 after Hariri’s death 186–93, 195–6, 203, 210
Hardan, Assad 87 on UN Resolution 1559 189
Hariri Foundation 17, 21 Hobeika, Elie 28, 29, 32
Hariri Working Paper 34, 36 Horizon 2000 47, 66
Hariri, Bahaa 18, 137, 167, 183, 184 Hoss, Salim 35, 38, 70, 72, 78, 79
Hariri, Bahieddine 14 Hrawi, President Elias 38, 39, 49, 50, 56, 58,
Hariri, Bahiya 14, 111, 121, 155, 228 n. 6 68, 69, 77, 92, 104
Hariri, Hind 4, 127 Husari, Ahmad 131, 132, 136, 137, 139
Hariri, Hussam 18, 127, 184, 224 n. 37 Husari, Lina 131
Hariri, Lara 127 Hussam, Hussam 184, 228 n. 5
Hariri, Nazek 1, 97, 127, 138, 144 Hussein, Saddam 35, 38, 86, 156, 200, 202,
Hariri, Rafik 209
al-Assad, Bashar and 6, 72, 76, 85–6, 93–4,
100–3, 122 Iranian Revolutionary Guards 91
assassination vii, viii, 1–12, 128–39 Islamic Institute for Culture and Higher
birth and early years 13–14 Education 21
business enterprises/wealth 17–19, al-Issa, Farhan 149
30–2
charitable endeavours 17, 21, 22–3, 45 Jamaa Jamaa 37
education/early politics 14, 16–17 Al-Jazeera 141
funeral 145–7 Jibril, Ahmad 193
Geneva summit (2000) 72–3 Jihad Club 16
Hizbullah and 67, 83–4, 118–19 Jisr, Samir 9
immediate reaction to assassination Jumblatt, Kamal 19, 20, 21, 25, 103, 113, 114,
139–45, 147–55 185
234 Index

Jumblatt, Walid vii, 2, 6, 25, 26, 28, 29, 51, Lahoud, Emile, Jr 223 n. 8
53–5, 61–2, 68–70, 77, 80–2, 88, 106, 127, Lahoud, General Emile viii, 7, 48, 50–2, 54,
128, 154, 157, 167–9, 171 83, 88–93, 111, 113, 116, 123, 144, 199
assassination attempt on 117 al-Assad and 69–70, 84–5, 88, 92, 96,
Hamade assassination attempt and 110, 98–105, 120
112–13, 115 on Aoun 35
Hariri’s assassination and 130, 131, 137, appointment of Karami as prime minister
139, 140, 142, 144, 145, 167 161
incarceration in Chouf 174, 183, 185–7 demands for resignation 142, 150, 169,
on Lahoud 53, 70, 80, 101–3, 169, 209 172
threats to 121–3 Hariri and 78, 80, 84–6, 91–3, 96, 99,
Kanaan, Brigader General Ghazi 34, 53, 55, 100–2, 106–8
59–60, 63, 69, 77, 78, 84, 88, 89, 92, 99, isolation of 176, 178, 182, 208
169, 203–4, 207–8, 230 n. 18 Jumblatt on 53, 70, 80, 101–3, 169, 209
Karam, Simon 58–9 Khaddam on 99
Karami, Omar 41, 53, 55, 69, 115, 116, 117, objections to presidential extension 98–9,
123, 155, 161, 166, 172 103–5, 107–9, 165, 189, 204
Karami, Rashid 26, 41–2, 59 as president 67–70, 76–7, 84
Karoum, Sergeant Ghazi Bou 110, 112 Lahoud, Ralph 177
Kassir, Samir 147, 165, 171–2, 173, 174 Landis, Joshua 201
Kfar Falous development 21, 22 Larsen, Terje Roed 5, 7, 119, 123, 124, 125,
Khaddam, Abdel-Halim 29, 63, 69, 77, 198, 162, 229 n. 12
200, 204–8, 223 n. 10 Lebanese Company for Development and
as acting-president 74 Reconstruction 41
assassination attempt on Hamade 110 Lewis, Bernard 186
Hariri and 31, 50, 84, 93, 120, 123, Libancell 63
204 Lockhart, Joe 72
on Hariri’s assassination 144 al-Louji, Mohammed 230 n. 18
on Hrawi 53, 54, 55 Lteif, Habib 63
on Lahoud 99 Al-Madina bank, collapse of 89
as Syrian vice-president 27, 37, 42
Khaddam, Jamal 205, 206 Mahathir, Prime Minister Mohammed 94
Khaddam, Jihad 206 Makari, Farid 17, 18
Khaled, King of Saudi Arabia 18 Makdissi, Karim 167
Khalil, Hajj Hussein 97 Makhlouf, Adnan 54, 56
Khalil, Hassan 75, 179 Makhlouf, Ihab 200
Khallouf, Mohammed 92, 171 Makhlouf, Rami 54, 200
Khazen, Farid 143 Malik, Al-Walid Ibn Abdel 59, 159
al-Khazen, Jihad 105 Mallat, Chibli 103, 208
Khoury, Fady 6, 7, 11, 12, 129, 133, 138–9, Mansour, Edward 165
151 Mansour, Jamal 135, 137
Khoury, Ghattas 5, 7–8, 106, 107, 117, 120, Mashnouq, Nohad 31, 41, 54, 56, 69, 89, 104,
128, 130, 138, 139, 154 222 n. 35
Khoury, President Bishara 69–70 Mehlis, Detlev 175, 177, 178, 179, 184, 227
Koleilat, Ibrahim 177 [Chap.7] n. 2, 229 n. 12
Koleilat, Rana 89 Meshaal, Khaled 193
Kulluna Massoul 60 Mezher, Yussef 6, 129, 133
Kuwait, invasion by Iraq 38 Mikati, Najib 166, 222 n. 35
 Index 235

Mikati, Taha 222 n. 35 Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine

Miro, Mustafa 200 – General Command (PFLP-GC) 166,
Mouawad, Michel 143 180
Mouawad, Nayla 121, 143 Powell, Colin 86, 87, 115
Mouawad, Rene 37, 121
Moubayed, Sami 200 Qabalan, Sheikh Abdel-Amir 99
Mountain War 25 Qabbani, Sheikh Mohammed 2, 99, 126, 172
Mrad, Abdel-Rahim 165 Al-Qaeda 82, 108, 109, 141, 183, 195–6
Mrowe, Malek 171 Qandil, Nasser 118
Muallem, Walid 119, 122, 125, 153, 226 n. 42 Qanso, Qassem 78, 87, 123, 223 n. 10
Mubarak, Gamal 183 Qassem, Sheikh Naim 118, 194
Mubarak, President Hosni 76, 183 Olmert, Ehud
Murr, Elias 89, 108, 109, 165, 175, 223 n. 8, Qordahi, Jean-Louis 62
225 n. 23, 225 n. 24 Qornet Shehwan 116, 117, 120, 121, 125, 140
Musharraf, Pervez 116, 203
Muslim Brotherhood 26, 34, 177, 183, 200, Raad, Mohammed 47, 61, 65, 190
201, 207 Rahbani, Michel 52
Rashid, Nasser 18
Naccache, Albert 45 Reagan, Ronald 26
Naoum, Sarkis 28, 68 administration 24
Nasr, Mustafa 66, 97, 98, 118, 119 Rice, Condoleezza 183, 201
al-Nasr wa al-Jihad fi Bilad al-Sham 141 Rida, Samer 8, 11, 129, 132–3
Nasrallah, Hadi 224 n. 37 Romanos, Fadi 155
Nasrallah, Sayyed Hassan viii, 68, 73, 82, Ross, Dennis 71, 72, 73
126, 189, 192, 193, 217, 228 n. 9 Rujaili, Zahi Abu 138, 149
Hariri and 65–6, 97, 98, 118–19, 125 Rumsfeld, Donald 230 n. 20
Hariri’s assassination and 158, 160, 161
on Syrian alliance 96 Sabaa, Bassam 142
Nasser, Hisham 90 Saddik, Zuhair Ibn Mohammed Said 184,
al-Nasser, Jamal Abed 16 228 n. 5
Nasser, Talal 9 Salam, Saeb 23, 36
Nassif, Mohammed 54, 75 Salameh, Ghassan 104
National Movement 19 Salem, Elie 24, 25, 27, 28, 31–2, 34, 43
National Pact (1943) 15, 36 Salloum, Fahed 82
Netanyahu, Benjamin 67, 222 n. 2 Samad, Oussama Abdel 110
Noureddine, Sateh 193 Samaha, Michel 22
Saqr, Etienne 156
Obeid, Jean 102 Sarkis, President Elias 23
Oger 18, 75, 168 Saudi Establishment for Roads and
Oger International 18 Buildings (SERB) 17
Olmert, Ehud 214 Saudi Oger 18
Onassis, Aristotle 205 Sawaya, Dr Jaber 138, 139
Sayyed, Colonel Jamil 52, 68, 77, 78, 89, 93,
Pax Syriana 34, 39, 40–70, 117, 185, 189, 106, 155, 165, 171, 177, 179, 223 n. 9
211 Scobey, Margaret 147
Pederson, Geir 229 n. 12 Seale, Patrick 76, 198
Popular Front for the Liberation of Sfeir, Cardinal Nasrallah 80, 81, 82, 91, 92,
Palestine 16, 19, 20, 22, 23 99, 106, 107, 118, 125, 142, 199
236 Index

Shaleesh, Zualhema 54 Takfir wal-Hijra 195

Shalom, Silvan 229 n. 11 Tlass, Mustafa 200
Shamaa, Abdul-Latif 139 Toufeili, Ghassan 165
al-Sharaa, Farouq 104–5, 122, 124, 179, 223 Treaty of Brotherhood and Cooperation 57
n. 10, 230 n. 18 Tripartite Accord 29
al-Sharif, Haram 207 Tueni, Ghassan 23, 182–3
Sharon, Ariel 22, 23, 83–4, 148, 191, 209, 229 Tueni, Gibran 74, 133, 142, 153, 157, 161, 175,
n. 11, 230 n. 20 179, 181–2
Shawkat, Assef 54, 75, 179, 184, 200, 204
Shehabi, Hikmat 31, 42, 54, 55, 63, 69, 75, United Nations International Independent
112, 204 Investigation Commission (UNIIIC)
Shehadi, Amer 2, 3, 5, 10, 12, 128, 129, 130, 175
134, 135 United Nations Security Council
al-Sherian, Dawood 196 Resolution 1559 7, 8, 9, 103, 105, 107–9,
Siniora, Fouad 16, 18, 28, 32, 52, 78, 93, 108, 114, 116–19, 123–4, 157–9, 163, 164, 189,
122, 139, 175, 178–80, 182, 183, 191, 218, 191, 192
226 n. 42 Resolution 1595 162
Solh, Rashid 42 Resolution 1636 179, 184
Solidere viii, 41, 43–4, 45, 56, 61 Wahhab, Wiam 61–2, 69, 88, 105, 117
Suleiman, Bahjat 75, 179 Wakim, Najah 222 n. 35
Suleiman, General Michel 77 Waldheim, Kurt 23
Surete Generale 77 ‘war on terrorism’ viii
Syria Accountability Act 91, 94 Weinberger, Caspar 26
Syrian Information Technology Association Wolfowitz, Paul 157
52
Syrian Petroleum Company 96 Yaalon, Lieutenant General Moshe 229 n. 11
Syrian Social Nationalist Party (SSNP) Young, Michael 197, 198
176
Zahabi, Mazen 10, 133–4, 138
Tabbara, Bahij 50 al-Zarqawi, Abu Musab 195
Taif Accord 36, 42, 46, 80, 118, 119, 124, 153, Zein, Youssef 146
157, 158, 159 Zibawi, Adnan 16, 17, 21