Lebanon's Traffic: A Reflection of National Resilience and Despair

Driving in Beirut: A Satirical Reflection

A recent viral video clip circulating in Lebanon captures the absurdity of driving in Beirut: a man acts as both a driving instructor and student, humorously illustrating the nation's traffic chaos. When the instructor asks, "How do you drive on the highway?" the reply is simple yet profound: "Slowly." This exchange mirrors a deeper societal truth—Lebanese citizens are now accustomed to a life propelled by collapse and improvisation.

“Bravo,” the instructor replies, as the student continues to share reckless driving maneuvers: “If someone is driving behind you? I slam on the brakes.”

The Swarm Logic of Lebanese Roadways

Beirut's streets resemble a disturbed nest of bees, with cars swarming chaotically in all directions. When I return to Lebanon from my home in Cambridge, Massachusetts, I often find myself swept into this frenzy. Traffic guidelines become mere suggestions, rewritten every minute as taxis halt in the middle of the road to haggle and drivers navigate roundabouts like gladiators. This chaotic dance on the roads embodies a stark realization: we no longer owe anything to each other or to our ailing country.

Collapse and Survival: A Political Parallel

The reckless state of driving reflects a more complex narrative—a breakdown of trust in the political system that governs us. Elected officials behaved like drivers on a freeway, swerving blindly without accountability. The traffic chaos allows no space for faith in institutions, each driver demonstrating the fragility of our social contract. Heartbreak has, tragically, become muscle memory.

Examining the Causes of Crisis

What led us to this state of chaos? Several underlying factors contribute to this grim picture. The civil war (1975-1990) devastated Lebanon's institutions, which have struggled to regain stability ever since. More recently, the 2019 economic crash saw banks freeze deposits, wiping out savings and plunging many into poverty.

The compounding crises didn't stop there—on August 4, 2020, the horrendous explosion at the Beirut port razed much of the capital, claiming over 200 lives and decimating neighborhoods, reinforcing feelings of helplessness and loss. Public services are now nearly non-existent: ATMs are unreliable, and basic government functions have evaporated.

A Reflection of Everyday Life

During a recent visit, my American relative inquired about the large water trucks parked outside buildings. I shrugged, explaining, "They deliver water." To many outside, this backdrop of crisis appears foreign, but in Lebanon, it has become a routine. Water often does not flow from taps, forcing reliance on private suppliers. Similarly, electricity must be purchased from private generators.

Hope Amidst Desolation: A Dual Reality

Amidst the ongoing turmoil, hope flickered briefly after the Hamas attacks on Israel in October 2023. With Hezbollah's involvement, many viewed it as a moment for potential change. Yet, months later, little has transformed on the ground—Lebanon still harbors armed groups, civilians remain vulnerable to violence, and international support is conditional on governance reforms.

“We are not in free fall, but we are stuck,” a fellow citizen remarked. This sentiment resonates deeply.

The Lure of Absurdity

Lebanon now operates in two worlds: a glimmering downtown flaunting gourmet eateries like Em Sherif, where patrons revel in luxury, and the harsh realities faced by those scraping by. At this restaurant, Lebanese splendor stands in stark contrast to the destitution just beyond its polished doors—children begging for change weave through traffic, exemplifying the nation's growing social divide.

Conclusion: When Resilience Becomes Resignation

As I drove my son through Beirut, passing remnants of the port blast and sites of historical tragedy, I felt a wave of absurdity wash over me when he asked if the assailants from the 2005 assassination of former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri were in jail. It was not just his question that struck me; it was my reaction—a laugh born from despair.

When one ceases to seek answers, resignation slips in, and we are left merely adjusting to mounting challenges rather than ushering in substantive change. How far have we lowered our expectations? At what point does resilience become simply adapting to the unacceptable?