Nanette Ziadé-Ritter

At a time when public debate can seem to be running out of steam, the thinking of German philosopher Jürgen Habermas stands out as a singular compass and remains strikingly relevant today, as it offers a way of thinking about secular modernity, the place of religion, the nation-state and nationalism in a European context, and critical thought more broadly, all through the lens of “discourse ethics” and “dialogue free of domination.” Within this framework, Habermas rejects the notion that good and evil can be defined by an absolute authority, a fixed tradition or an unquestionable metaphysical truth. Instead, he argues that they must be worked out rationally among free and equal individuals in an open space for dialogue.

One one hand there is war, and on another the terror it imposes. And then there is what’s in-between. This state of neither war nor peace—less dramatic but more insidious—creates constant tension and prevents any projection of future. This is where attrition sets in: motivation erodes, resources are depleted, meaning wavers. And learning is no exception. Imposed hybrid formats, unstable educational continuity, fluctuating commitment: in a Lebanon torn by turmoil, the university seems to hold on—but at the cost of a silent weakening. What was once the exception—switching from one format to another—has gradually become the norm. This is the first shift: when the unpredictable becomes structural, it no longer merely disrupts studies; it redefines their rules. Educational continuity, therefore, fragments. Classes shift between in-person and remote formats, sometimes canceled, more often dictated by circumstances than by academic choice. Yet learning requires a minimum of stability, a progression grounded in time. When this breaks down, knowledge does not simply pause—it dissolves. The university no longer merely transmits knowledge: it administers instability.

It was while walking the streets of my neighborhood that I stumbled upon one of the most unusual sights: an accordionist playing for no one and for everyone. To offer a moment of happiness in a country seemingly enamored with violence. He seeks neither money nor attention. He plays to share the magic of music with those who can still feel it. Thomas Kassis. That's his name. The one his adoptive parents gave him after he was moved from one foster home to another, those who finally chose to keep him. His biological parents? He doesn't know them. Thomas also works in construction, a sector hard hit by the current situation. But it is with his accordion that he lives a true love story. A passionate love story that began to blossom in 2017.

Every war leaves behind its share of the forgotten. Yet one group is rarely mentioned – or poorly understood: animals. In a Lebanon, where abandonment is already widespread, war has only deepened a crisis long exacerbated by years of economic crisis. To human suffering is thus added a silent, invisible anguish – one that rarely finds a place in the collective narrative. This phenomenon also reveals a deeper fracture. Abandoning an animal in wartime is not always an act of deliberate cruelty, but sometimes the result of collapse. When everything is scarce – food, medicine, shelter – the hierarchy of needs asserts itself with brutal force. In such circumstances, the animal can come to be seen as an additional burden.

Almost three weeks of war and nearly a million displaced people. The axe has fallen. Displaced people who have essentially chosen the capital, already stifled in a Lebanon bleeding economically and, above all, devoid of political will to change a status quo that has become totally obsolete. A state of affairs that not only hinders progress but is, let's say it without ambiguity, responsible for all our ills. No country in the world, without a strong or at least respected state, can exist. Today, it is essentially the Shiites who are displaced. The very people that Hezbollah claims to protect. And the most frightening thing is that, destitute in tents and in the rain, many continue to swear allegiance to this party which has no god but itself. One can question the effectiveness of the indoctrination exercised by this militia, but it primarily reveals a political fact: the military entity and the political entity mutually nourish each other and regain strength in a context where the State, incapable of enforcing its sovereignty, finds itself powerless to regulate or integrate an entire community.

I belong to a generation that grew up with war, that fears dying with it, and that, in the meantime, will have wasted the best years of its life waiting or hoping for things to get better. I belong to that in-between generation that witnessed the pre-1975 era without being able to salvage any real memories of youth from it. The one that can feel regret without ever truly turning the page. The one that believed that today’s youth–regardless of the camp they belong to–would, much as we did, look back and choose life over dying as so-called martyrs. I am left, like so many others, stunned that my country has been pulled back into an absurd war rather than signing a peace deal. It was that very peace that let the rest of the Arab world make giant strides, while we thought we held the region’s Holy Grail. Instead, we have been demoted to the very last rank, forced to witness the permanent reshaping of our geography and our demographics.