After months of negotiations, Lebanon has a new unity government comprising several factions but, as Natalya Antelava reports, many people there now view any government as largely irrelevant.

The noise was becoming unbearable. From all sides, dozens of drivers blared their horns, waved their fists and shouted at the person in front of them.

"It’s all his fault," my taxi driver spat out, pointing straight ahead. I ducked out to look.

There, in the middle of the sea of honking cars, stood a thin young man in an oversized policeman’s uniform.

Helplessly he waved his skinny arms trying to steer angry drivers. The problem was that he was steering them in all directions at the same time.

"He is the one who created the jam, he should just mind his own business," my taxi driver said. The fact that traffic was the policeman’s business did not seem to cross his mind.

Ask anyone in Beirut and they will tell you that, if there is a really bad traffic jam, chances are there is a policeman behind it. It is not always true, of course, but it is certainly indicative of how Lebanese people approach authority.

"The best thing that the government can do is stay out of my life," a friend recently told me.

Political paralysis

The attitude is not surprising. For decades, Lebanon’s politicians have done nothing but drive the country into deadlock.

The new government’s first meeting was on 10 November 2009

The country’s current crisis is just the latest episode of its chronic political paralysis.

In June, the Lebanese voted for their new parliament. It was a surprisingly peaceful, well-organised election, won narrowly by a coalition of pro-Western politicians. The alliance led by Hezbollah – the militant group backed by Iran and Syria – came second.

Since then, leaders of groups that make up these coalitions have been trying and failing to form the new government.

The stated reason for their failure is the relative of a major Christian leader, Michel Aoun. General Aoun wants his son-in-law to be the telecommunications minister. Others disagree. As a result, the whole political process has been stalled for months.

The other day, while waiting for an appointment in a lobby, I picked up a daily paper. "Slow progress on government formation," read the headline. I read half of the article before I happened to look at the date: it was 12 August. When I told this story to a friend who has lived in Beirut for over three decades, he laughed.

"It could have been 12 August of 1978," he said. "Things were not all that different then."

Lebanon’s private sector works so well that many Lebanese like to say that they do not need the government at all

Frighteningly little, it seems, has changed in Lebanon since the civil war which started in the 1970s and lasted for almost 20 years.

Many of the former warlords are now the country’s top politicians. They still recruit supporters into privately run militias.

Buildings destroyed in the fighting still scar the Beirut skyline. Power cuts are still part of everyday life. There is no functioning public transport here, and in many neighbourhoods there is no water.

‘Tribal society’

Beirut may boast state-of-the-art shopping malls but its streets cannot even handle the changing weather. The drainage system is so weak that every time it rains, roads turn into rivers.

"Fixing this mess would mean doing something for the public good and here we don’t do that," a friend commented sarcastically the other day, as we made our way through the flooded streets.

The unity government will be led by Prime Minister Saad Hariri

Behind the glitz and urban sophistication of Beirut, he said, hides a truly tribal society, whose leaders are preoccupied with fighting for the interests of their communities, not the nation as a whole.

In Lebanon, he added, you first identify yourself by the sect you belong to: Sunni, Shia, Christian, Armenian or Druze. Only then are you Lebanese.

But with so many things dividing people here, what unites all Lebanese is their extraordinary talent for survival.

Over the years – and out of necessity rather than belief – the Lebanese seem to have created the ultimate laissez-faire society.

They do not rely on the government. When water runs out, they ring their neighbourhood water man who fills their rooftop tanks.

They buy electricity from neighbourhood generator men. Even rubbish collection in Beirut is privatised.

Lebanon’s private sector works so well that many Lebanese like to say that they do not need the government at all.

But they probably do. Life here has been put on hold.

Disgust at politicians

Friends who work for international organisations say their projects have been stalled as paperwork waits for signatures of non-existent ministers.

And while the Lebanese always seem like a joyful, robust bunch, dig deeper and it is obvious that this ongoing political uncertainty is taking a serious toll.

A Lebanese friend nearly cried when she described how she felt about her country’s politicians.

"They are disgusting," she said. "Look what they are doing to the country. We are stuck because of them, nothing moves forward."

The problem, another Lebanese friend recently told me, is that we feel like we have no future.

Directing the Lebanese – whether traffic or the nation – is no easy task.

This place is full of opinionated, intelligent, lively people who do not like to be ordered around and who cannot agree on one direction.

And it does not help that the country’s politicians – just like that incompetent policeman – are steering the country in different directions.

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