Lebanon Crisis Robs Pensioners of Cash Cushions

Samir Merhi returned to Lebanon in 2009, hoping the fortune he made abroad would let him retire comfortably at home, but the country's economic crisis has upended his dreams and forced him to leave again.
For
four decades, Merhi said he made "millions" working in the fashion
and construction industries in Britain and the Gulf, but draconian controls
imposed by Lebanese banks have trapped his life savings.
Speaking
in a hotel in Beirut's commercial district of Hamra, Merhi said he was planning
to fly to the United States, where he will join family, even though he isn't
keen on doing so.
"I have no choice," said the
72-year-old former businessman wearing a neatly pressed suit.
"I have to start over to secure my
retirement. If my money was given back to me, I wouldn't need to go to the
US," he told AFP.
"What will I do there? I don't want to
die in America," he said as he waited for a taxi to take him to the
airport.
Lebanon
is in the grips of its worst economic crisis since the 1975-1990 civil war,
with more than half of its population mired in poverty.
The
Lebanese pound has lost more than 85 percent of its value against the US dollar
on the black market in a devaluation that has eaten away at pensions and
salaries.
Lebanese
banks have limited access to pound deposits and halted all dollar transactions
since 2019 to stem a liquidity crunch and shore up dwindling foreign exchange
reserves.
Like
many in the country, Merhi blames the dire situation on politicians who he
accused of being "corrupt from head to toe".
"I'm the victim of the biggest
financial scam in history," he said. "May God curse them all."
'Count on God'
Unlike
Merhi, who can live elsewhere, many Lebanese pensioners are caught in a bind.
They
include more than 108,000 ex-public sector workers who rely on monthly pensions
averaging 2.2 million pounds -- about $1,466 at the official exchange rate, but
only around $180 on the volatile black market.
Earlier
this month, the pound hit an all-time low of 15,000 against the greenback.
Jean
Assaf, who was a policeman for 32 years, gets a pension of about $180, down
from $1,400 before the crisis.
"I had hoped to live honorably at the
end of my life," said the ex-officer, the walls in his dark living room
adorned with old photos, medals, and embroidered art.
"For the remaining years in store for
me, I can only count on God," he added, with his children also struggling
to cope.
In
Mar Mikhael, a district hit hard by a devastating explosion at Beirut's port
last year that killed more than 200 people, charities aiding the most
vulnerable have expanded relief efforts to include pensioners.
Among
them is Grassroots, which runs a soup kitchen.
"It's mostly retirees" who have
been coming recently, said director Mayssa Mansour, standing beside a queue of
people waiting for food under pouring rain.
"They are ashamed... these are people
who have never needed to ask for handouts."
'Below the poverty line'
Lining
up for soup in Mar Mikhael, former policeman Adib said times are tough.
The
69-year-old, who retired in 2004, waits for food for his family every day
because his pension is now only worth around $100.
"I used to belong to the middle
class," he said. "Now I fall below the poverty line."
Private
sector workers are also feeling the pinch, including Sara and Fouad Ammar who
used to get a combined pension of around $6,000.
Now,
the retired teachers only make about $600 between them.
"Our situation is relatively better
than many others" said Sara, 68.
"But we didn't expect things to be
like this at the end of our life," said the former teacher at a
prestigious French school.
Her
husband Fouad, 76, said the family has lost more than just savings, with two of
their three children having left for Canada because of the crisis.
"We
are at an age where we want to be around our grandchildren -- to play with them
and to see them," he said with a forlorn look.