March 14, 2005, is not merely another day in Lebanon’s political history; it is a day that has been seared into the national consciousness. Hundreds of thousands of people flooded into Beirut’s Martyrs Square at the time, marking the largest demonstration the country had ever known. It was an organic eruption and a direct response—both in size and intensity—to another massive rally just days earlier. On March 8, Hezbollah and its allies had gathered in Beirut to “thank” Syria for its presence in Lebanon—a country whose regime was suspected of orchestrating the assassination of former prime minister Rafiq al-Hariri on February 14 of that year.
But the energy on March 14 was different. Protesters, from the Sunni, Christian, Druze, and Shia communities (the latter often unfairly overlooked) came together to demand an end to decades of Syrian domination. While their demands varied—uncovering the truth behind Hariri’s assassination, securing the release of Lebanese Forces leader Samir Geagea from prison, and welcoming Michel Aoun back from exile—they were united around one unmistakable demand: Syria must go.
What made March 14 remarkable was not just its size or scope, but the defiance that coursed through that day, an expression of revolt that required no permission. Unlike the rehearsed Cedar Revolution protests in Martyrs Square that followed on the annual commemorations of that day, March 14, 2005, was not a demonstration of grand speeches or orchestrated political theater. Saad Hariri, Walid Joumblatt, and Samir Geagea did not address the throngs and were not the subjects of attention. And even Michel Aoun’s supporters—who, within weeks, would break away from the March 14 movement—stood side by side with Lebanese Forces and Hariri loyalists. That day was not yet about clear political alliances, but a veritable uprising in which the Lebanese emerged from their imposed political torpor as citizens of a nation long held hostage. They carried only the Lebanese flag and swore oaths of allegiance to the idea of a sovereign and peaceful Lebanon, which had to be freed at last from the Assad family’s grip.
Yet, this veneer of unity was doomed to be fleeting. The Cedar Revolution quickly morphed from a popular uprising into a sectarian political alliance. The departure of the Syrian army from Lebanon in April 2005 was a significant achievement, but it ultimately fell short of delivering lasting change. Soon thereafter, the Lebanese system, with its sectarian alliances and power-sharing arrangements, reasserted itself in an updated version.
In May and June 2005, parliamentary elections were marked by unholy alliances, including a pact between Hariri, Joumblatt, Hezbollah, Amal, and the Lebanese Forces in some districts. The March 14-dominated government of prime minister Fouad al-Siniora, which followed, even included Syrian allies Hezbollah and Amal—a sign that, for all the fanfare of revolution, Lebanon’s sectarian coalition politics remained firmly in place. And despite the best efforts of many within the Cedar Revolution to break free from the previous era, Hezbollah’s political violence and assassinations quickly weakened the movement, shattering its hopes of creating a sovereign and prosperous Lebanon open to the world.
Two decades later, Lebanon is once again facing the possibility of a new beginning after Hezbollah’s major setbacks in its conflict with Israel and the fall of Bashar al-Assad’s regime. The election of Joseph Aoun as president and the formation of Nawaf Salam’s government have generated optimism. Hezbollah, which effectively dominated Lebanon from 2008 to 2024, has been forced to make political concessions it once refused, while the new president has pledged to restore the state’s monopoly over the use of violence.
Still, at this moment, real change has yet to take shape. Hezbollah continues to hold onto what remains of its arsenal, and many of the sectarian elites that ruled in 2005 are still in power. Political representation has shifted somewhat, but not significantly. Geagea’s Lebanese Forces are no doubt ascendant, Michel Aoun’s Free Patriotic Movement has waxed and waned, and the Sunni landscape is fragmented, with many awaiting Saad al-Hariri’s possible return after his withdrawal from politics in 2022. Meanwhile, Hezbollah and Amal maintain their dominance over the Shia community, and Joumblatt still leads the Druze. The sectarian system remains as entrenched as ever.
Worse still, Lebanon’s economic order—the very system that led to the 2019 financial crisis—also remains largely unchanged. The banking cartel, which benefitted from the Lebanese state’s unsound financial system that ultimately collapsed, still wields considerable influence. Most monopolies, private and public, also remain intact. The country is a fortress that resists meaningful reform, leaving its people to stew in frustration.
Perhaps one of the greatest lessons from Lebanon’s history is that its political system defies change not only because of deep-rooted interests divided along sectarian lines, but because the system itself reinforces and exacerbates such divisions (which in turn sustain the entrenched interests). At the heart of the system lies the state’s milch cows: tax revenues, the central bank, economic monopolies, and so on. Every ambitious group, driven by the need to secure its share of power, seeks to unite its sect and form alliances to increase its influence at the center. Sectarian leaders are propelled to the top by emphasizing their sect’s identity and grievances, which only deepen the rifts separating Lebanon’s communities.
Increasing influence at the center also drives Lebanese sects to each seek its own foreign patron, hoping to use this to tip the balance of power in its favor. As a result, whether during the hopeful days of March 2005 or October 2019, when the Lebanese public rose up against the political class, every attempt to transcend sectarianism in favor of a national agenda ultimately has collided with the immutable realities of Lebanon’s political game. Until Lebanon’s system ceases to exacerbate sectarian divisions—something seemingly impossible after decades of such behavior—and produces a judiciary and parliament capable of holding officials accountable, reform will likely remain relegated to the dictates of foreign powers, whose interests may, if we are fortunate, align with reform.
Similar to March 2005, Lebanon in March 2025 feels as if it stands once again on the cusp of something new, but this moment of reflection reveals an uncomfortable truth. As in 2005, the very structures that have kept the country shackled seem to be immovable. The March 14 moment, hailed as a national awakening and a break from the past, proved ultimately to be a reconfiguration of the same sectarian machinery. The risks today are no different. The temptation, as always, is to overestimate the potential for change and assume that the mere weakening of one dominant player (Hezbollah) will easily unravel a system that has endured through decades of false hopes and unfulfilled promises.
Perhaps the Lebanese should stop pretending that reform is possible within a system that is so clearly broken. A fundamental restructuring, focused on decentralization—redistributing resources away from a centralized political authority—could offer a more realistic path forward. By granting greater autonomy to Lebanon’s sectarian communities within a broader national framework, decentralization could break the cycle of political paralysis. The key lies in creating a system that acknowledges the sects without incentivizing them to dominate one another, where the rule of law and accountability are no longer hindered by sectarian loyalty, and where foreign interference is minimized.
If power were more localized, sectarian leaders might find themselves more directly accountable to their own communities rather than able to manipulate national-level sectarian tensions to evade responsibility. With a reduced focus on competition at the central state level, some of the dynamics that allow Lebanon’s elites to sidestep reform—whether in the judiciary or in terms of economic policies—might be weakened. Perhaps decentralization would not only force leaders to answer to their local constituencies, but also limit their ability to use the rhetoric of broader sectarian conflict to shift blame.
Lebanon could use the Taif Accord’s provisions on decentralization as a starting point, or even expand them to encompass a broader restructuring of financial and political authority. Shifting power downward might offer the country a chance to escape its cycle of transitory hope followed by inevitable disillusionment.
