A Mission, a Mourning, and a Message: Why Ireland’s Leader Has Traveled to Beirut
Beirut greets visitors with a particular kind of weathered grace — balconies hung with laundry, cafes pulsing with Arabic pop and the sea yawning toward a horizon that has seen too many of the world’s lines and redrafts. It is into this layered city that Ireland’s Taoiseach, Michéal Martin, has come with a heavy purpose: to press for answers about the killing of Private Seán Rooney and to thank the Irish troops who will spend this Christmas far from home.
“He gave his life in the cause of peace,” Mr Martin said ahead of meetings with Lebanon’s Prime Minister Nawaf Salam. “There must be accountability for Private Rooney’s killing.”
More than diplomacy: grief that won’t be allowed to fade
The Rooney case has been a raw, persistent ache in Ireland’s public life. Private Seán Rooney, a young man in an armoured vehicle on patrol, was killed when his unit came under fire on 14 December 2022. Earlier this year a Lebanese military court found six people guilty of involvement; one, a man named Mohammad Ayyad, was sentenced to death but was not in custody, leaving families and officials alike frustrated and unsettled.
“It feels like they sentenced the shadow and let the hand walk free,” says Aoife Brennan, a schoolteacher from County Cork who has organized vigils for the peacekeepers. “You can’t have a verdict and not a consequence. Accountability matters.”
Mr Martin has said he will raise the case directly with Prime Minister Salam, and he will not only voice Ireland’s concern but also seek clarity on the status of investigations. The issue has become more than a legal matter; it is about trust between states, protections for soldiers on international missions, and the grief of a country that sent young men and women thousands of miles from home with the promise they would be safe under a UN flag.
On the ground: Irish soldiers, Lebanese neighborhoods
More than 300 members of the Irish Defence Forces are currently deployed with UNIFIL — the United Nations Interim Force in Lebanon — where their tasks include monitoring activity across the Blue Line, assisting the Lebanese armed forces, and supporting local communities. UNIFIL was first established in 1978 and the UN-drawn Blue Line, the de facto border between Israel and Lebanon, has defined this strip of the world since 2000.
“We try to be a steadying presence,” said Sergeant Conor O’Sullivan as he passed a cup of sweet black coffee in a makeshift base. “You sit on a ridge and you see life carrying on below you: kids playing football, fishermen hauling nets. That normality is what we’re here to protect.”
But normality can be fragile. Earlier this month, Irish peacekeepers came under fire while on patrol in South Lebanon; six people were arrested in connection with that attack. Armed tension, checkpoints, and spikes of violence are never far away in a region where geopolitical rivalries are often fought through local skirmishes. Since last year’s Israeli incursion into parts of Lebanon, the Israeli Defence Forces have maintained positions inside Lebanese territory, occasionally close to Irish outposts on high ground.
“There’s a difference between the mission on paper and the reality here,” said Rami Khalil, a shopkeeper in a village near the Blue Line. “When you hear shooting at night, it changes everything. You stop planning, you stop trusting the word ‘peace.’”
Legal battles and lingering questions
The Rooney case has produced both a conviction and a sense of incompletion. Six people were convicted in July by a Lebanese military court. Ayyad’s absence from the dock and the perceived leniency toward some defendants has left many feeling that justice has been only partially done.
“From a legal standpoint, the sentence is a sentence,” said Dr. Leila Haddad, an international law scholar in Beirut. “But when a key defendant is at large, you face a gap between verdict and enforcement. It is not unusual in conflict zones, yet it undermines the rule of law and the legitimacy of outcomes.”
Back in Ireland, Mrs. Rooney — Seán’s mother — has been pursuing avenues for accountability, including permission to sue the United Nations. Documents have been sent to Dublin’s coroner and the case has become emblematic of larger questions about how multinational peacekeeping forces are protected and how states respond when peacekeepers are harmed.
UNIFIL’s looming deadline and a fragile future
UNIFIL’s mission in South Lebanon is scheduled to wind down in December next year. What that will mean for the region remains unclear. Will local authorities be able to fill the gap? Will hostilities between Israel and Iran-backed groups such as Hezbollah resume in full? The answers are as uncertain as the boundary lines drawn on maps and the trenches etched into hillsides.
“Who will hold the line if UNIFIL leaves?” asked Major Hannah O’Connell, who has served multiple tours in Lebanon. “The mission isn’t just about military monitoring. It’s about mitigating risk, supporting civilians, and having a neutral third party when tensions flare. The vacuum after withdrawal is a real concern.”
- UNIFIL: Established 1978 to confirm Israeli withdrawal and restore peacekeeping presence.
- Blue Line: De-facto boundary between Israel and Lebanon since 2000.
- Irish deployment: More than 300 troops currently serving with UNIFIL.
- Key dates: Private Seán Rooney killed on 14 December 2022; six convicted in July; UNIFIL mission scheduled to end in December next year.
Beyond the headlines: people, ritual, and memory
In a small Beirut café, an elderly man named Karim paused while folding a cigarette and reflected on the paradox of peacekeeping: “You travel here to keep peace, but sometimes you become a part of the story. People in uniforms are not statues. They are sons, daughters, memories. When something happens to them, it ripples.”
Across the Mediterranean, families in Ireland light candles on windowsills at night, sending a quiet signal to those abroad: we remember you. The Rooney family’s campaign — its vigils, its legal steps — has kept the story in the national conversation, reframing a foreign deployment as something intimate and local.
What does accountability look like?
That question is at the heart of Mr Martin’s visit. Is it a captured suspect in a Lebanese cell? Is it a full, transparent investigation shared with the families and foreign authorities? Is it international pressure, legal recourse, or a diplomatic bargain struck behind closed doors?
“Justice is not a one-size-fits-all,” Dr. Haddad said. “It’s procedural rigor, yes, but it’s also public confidence. When either is absent, you don’t have justice — you have a verdict.”
As the Taoiseach meets Lebanon’s leaders and as he walks among Irish troops camping on the edge of the Blue Line, one thing seems clear: this trip is not a ceremonial checkbox. It is an insistence that questions be answered before grief cools into a footnote.
Invitation to reflect
What do we owe those who risk their lives so that others can live in peace? When a multinational peacekeeping force withdraws, who measures the cost? And when a single death provokes a small nation into international debate, what does that tell us about memory, responsibility, and the fragile architectures of peace?
Across Beirut, from the smells of roasted chestnuts in the souks to the rumble of generators near forward positions, these questions travel with the wind. They flip open like pages in the public ledger and demand answers, not just from politicians in meeting rooms but from each of us who imagine a world where those in uniform return home intact.
