Lebanon tackles its problems - one traffic ticket at a time

You would think Lebanon is consumed by the threat of jihadis knocking at the border gates. Or the more than 1m Syrian refugees flooding its villages and towns. Or perhaps the fact that there is no president because the political class can't agree on holding an election.

But no. The talk of the town in Beirut is the new traffic law, modern and progressive, and so draconian that it rivals regulations in western states.

The council of ministers, unable to tackle Lebanon's big problems, has been on a mission to demonstrate its efficiency with small improvements in citizens' daily lives. It is selling the law as a sign of progress amid the broader disorder. And it has sparked a hot debate, with as many supporters of the measure as detractors.

Let me put things in perspective. Some 25 years after a devastating civil war, Lebanon is a driving jungle. Some of the provisions in the law tell the story. There are fines not only for drunk driving and passing red lights, but also for drivers who "stick their head or any other body part out of the window" or take on passengers who "sit on the window when someone else is driving".

In the early years after the civil war, I used to find charm in the chaos: driving in Beirut was like a bumper car ride. Now I'm terrified and I don't dare sit behind a wheel.

Road signs and traffic lights are a novelty that is easily ignored, and drivers make up their own laws as they navigate the potholed streets, which are often unlit at night. Even if less prevalent than in the past, driving licences can still be bought and policemen corrupted.

The result? According to Yasa, a non-governmental organisation that campaigns for road safety, there are tens of thousands of car accidents a year, and an estimated 900 annual deaths for a population of about 4m. According to a study by Yasa officials, that places Lebanon as the fifth most dangerous country in the Middle East when it comes to road safety, after Oman, Saudi Arabia, Iraq and Yemen.

Of course, everyone agrees that a traffic law is desperately needed. And, in theory, fines that reach as much as $2,000 should bring some order to Lebanon's streets. Indeed, I noticed a difference at the weekend: scooter and motorcycle drivers had their helmets on and passengers wore their seat belts. Lebanon's internal security forces declared themselves satisfied, claiming that accident rates were declining. So eager were they to enforce the law, however, that their checkpoints on highways clogged up traffic for miles.

I also listened to a litany of complaints, most of which seem reasonable: that the law cannot be enforced without improved infrastructure, such as pedestrian crossings or hard shoulders on motorways, or sufficient police, and that the fines are larger than the average salaries of many citizens.

I suspect there are quite a few Lebanese who will be exempt, such as politicians and their entourages. Also likely is that some people will become richer as bribes to avoid fines become larger.

Lahoud Lahoud, a lawyer working with Yasa, tells me he's delighted that there's a new modern law. But he goes on to say that it's being implemented only in parts "because we're in a banana republic that doesn't care about people's lives". Before fines are imposed, he suggests, Lebanese motorists should go to driving school and earn the right to licences.

Blogger Elie Fares also captured the absurdity of the new measure, writing that the problem is "we are importing a 21st century law from European countries to a country whose infrastructure is still firmly stuck in the year 1954".

Meanwhile, an ordinary citizen with an Instagram account - ma32ouul - has been calling on people to send pictures of egregious road offences.

Among the most amusing: a policeman on his motorbike without a helmet; another speaking on his phone while driving; a road sign that in Arabic points drivers to proceed in one direction and in English in the opposite direction; a child hanging from his father's shoulder on a scooter; and a traffic light with the red, amber and green all lit up at once.

Lebanon's government may yet find that the small things it is hoping to change are as difficult to manage as the bigger problems.

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