Adnan Nasser is an independent foreign policy specialist and journalist based in Beirut and Washington, DC. He holds a Bachelor’s degree in international relations from Florida International University. Follow him on X @Adnansoutlook29.
How does one truly measure competent, equitable governance? State recognition of its most marginalized citizens as a valuable, integral part of society is the bare minimum. For Lebanon's disabled and neurodivergent citizens, however, the social contract has been ignored and effectively torn apart, rendered utterly meaningless.
The current Hezbollah-Israel war has made this chronic struggle existential for this community. As the national government focuses dwindling political capital on diplomacy and the immediate needs of over 1.2 million displaced citizens, resources for the disabled and neurodivergent community have vanished. For most, those resources never existed in the first place.
In the absence of a functional Ministry of Social Affairs or strong health care options for most of this community, organizations like Al Majal — a day center founded by Josiane Boulos — have become Lebanon's "shadow ministries." Dr. Antoine Al Chartouni, who works with Al Majal, views this as a clinical necessity amid political and institutional collapse.
In an interview with Democracy in Exile, he noted that recognition is not a political slogan but rather the provision of consistent, specialized care. Dr. Al Chartouni spoke candidly about the government's failings: "The state has often failed to adequately help organizations like ours because of limited public funding, political instability and the absence of long-term social policies."
"In many cases, civil society organizations are left to fill gaps in essentials without sufficient institutional support, training or partnerships from public authorities," he said.
When society is squeezed by the unaddressed structural and systemic failures of the state, the burden falls entirely on families.
- Adnan Nasser
Dr. Al Chartouni's criticism does not describe a new issue, as the state has long failed to implement its laws and regulations. Law 220/2000 on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, passed by the Lebanese Parliament in 2000, is Lebanon's foundational legislation on the rights of persons with disabilities. It addresses health and rehabilitation services, accessibility, transportation, housing, education, employment, social benefits and tax exemptions.
Law 220/2000's 102 articles obligate the state to fund medical care and rehabilitation services, mandate inclusive education for children with disabilities and require firms with more than 60 employees to reserve 3% of positions for people with disabilities. The National Council for Disability Affairs (NCDA) oversees implementation.
Yet none of these obligations have been meaningfully fulfilled: The NCDA's mandate expired in 2017 without renewal; employment-quota fines remain uncollected for lack of any collection mechanism; only five of Lebanon's 997 public schools meet physical accessibility standards; and children with disabilities that account for a significant portion of the 10-15% of the population with a disability constitute less than 0.5% of the country's 1.25 million students. The neurodivergent and disabled community acutely feels this implementation gap.
Zeina Boustany, Director of the Lebanese Autism Society, says her organization "continues to advocate for stronger national policies that protect and guarantee the rights of neurodivergent individuals, particularly in the areas of education, health care, inclusion and social protection." The goal is to increase the government's recognition of autism and other neurodevelopmental conditions within national disability frameworks.
She warns that Lebanon's economic crisis has hit affected families hard, pointing to accessibility — especially cost — as disproportionately impacting Lebanon's neurodivergent and disabled community. Boustany cites the "absence of sufficient governmental subsidies or insurance coverage for autism-related services" as particularly harmful, with relocations from unstable areas further disrupting children's education and participation in her programs. What the country needs is international and local support, namely funding for specialized centers, capacity-building partnerships, subsidies for vulnerable families and "long-term investment in community-based inclusion and protection programs."
Still, these solutions are not immediate fixes to the broader problem. When society is squeezed by the unaddressed structural and systemic failures of the state, the burden falls entirely on families.
For example, Jean-Marc Asmar, who lives in Beirut, depends on his family to afford crucial services like education. In an interview, Fady — Jean-Marc's father — described the financial pressure of providing foundational care and educational services for his son, who has dyspraxia and dysphasia: "The tuition fees were much higher than the ordinary price; double the amount."
The struggle for recognition in Lebanon's neurodivergent and disabled community is a microcosm of the broader campaign for Lebanese sovereignty, stability and the mere presence of the state in Lebanese life.
- Adnan Nasser
He noted that while other schools offer similar services, they are "unfortunately quite expensive and not within affordability to a large number of families."
These systemic and structural features create a two-tiered system of citizenship while effectively excusing state absence. Jean-Marc's experience exposes this cynical reality: In Lebanon, inclusion is a commodity sold at a premium to the highest bidder.
Jean-Marc's progress with his speech skills is a testament to his dedication and his father's support, but the barriers he faces are an indictment of the government's failures. If the state allows the right to education to be reserved for those with financial means, it has abdicated its fundamental duty to provide for all its citizens.
Amid state failure, some Lebanese have turned to personal initiatives to manage daily hardships, including through the arts. Boulos, the founder of Al Majal, also serves as the director of Le Monnot Theatre. Through projects like "Five Days to Shine," she uses theater as a form of "cultural activism:" a tool to bypass the stigma of a rigid social hierarchy that goes beyond economic class.
"By cultural activism, I mean using arts and culture as a way to create social change," she said in an interview with Democracy in Exile. "When I say inclusive cultural activism, I mean using cultural work — like accessible theater, audio description, inclusion of neurodivergent voices — not just to present art, but to push society to become more open, fair and inclusive."
"The 'mask' of theater is actually very liberating," Boulos explained. "It gives neurodivergent individuals a safe distance from themselves so they can express emotions, take risks and explore different identities without fear of judgment." Thus, in terms of alternative pathways for Lebanon's neurodivergent community, Boulos' work is more than art. It is the practice of good citizenship and love.
A recurring theme for Boulos is the role of the Lebanese diaspora. She described it as a "lifeline," noting that much of Al Majal and Le Monnot Theatre's work would be difficult without Lebanese living abroad who help with funding and visibility. However, she warns of the "survival trap" that brings even this work back to the economic and financial dimension: Diaspora support is often project-based and unstable.
"The diaspora helps us keep going, but for this kind of inclusive work to last, it also needs to be rooted here, supported locally and truly embraced by society," Boulos asserted. Transnational charity serves as a double-edged sword, allowing the Lebanese state to permanently abdicate its responsibilities. For rights and services to be sustainable, they must be codified in a domestic social contract and scaffolded by the state.
The struggle for recognition in Lebanon's neurodivergent and disabled community is a microcosm of the broader campaign for Lebanese sovereignty, stability and the mere presence of the state in Lebanese life. The voices of Jean-Marc, the clinicians at Al Majal and the youth at Le Monnot are among the most important in a country navigating a landscape of war and mass displacement.
They are not asking for pity. They are asserting their presence in a nation that has left them invisible; a failure of the state's most basic litmus test for any social contract. If good governance in Lebanon is to emerge from the current ruins, it will not be measured by the strength of borders alone, nor by combat against foreign occupiers. Rather, it must be able and willing to look at its most vulnerable citizens and say: "We see you, and you belong."
The views and positions expressed in this article are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the views of DAWN.
