Next to an arterial road in a southern suburb of Beirut, a beautiful old villa stands in the middle of a park full of Roman-era column remains. Inside, oil paintings hang on wood-panelled walls, large carpets cover the floor, the rooms are filled with delicate antiques. This used to be a rich banker's home. Now it is the seat of the Lebanese Constitutional Council. Tannous Mechleb, the president of the court, is sitting in his vast office and can hardly be understood. The president, a

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... clooking elderly gentleman, does not talk much, and what he says, he says quietly. All the windows are wide open. Beirut is a noisy city. It is a hot day and there is no air conditioning. There is hardly any electricity either, the fans stand still. The computers too. There are hardly any staff left, they don't come to work anymore, they can't afford the petrol for the drive. The villa seems almost deserted, apart from the President and Judge Mireille Najm Chukrallah, who receive us, and an assistant. The soldier guarding the door barely looks up as we pass by.