Opinion

"What is the veneration of a founder worth when his life's work is undone by those who claim to be his heirs?" In a previous article, commenting on the saying "charity begins at home," we showed how Lebanon's history constantly oscillates between internal communal selfishness — retreating into one's sect at the expense of the state — and external ideological "altruism" — prioritizing regional causes at the expense of the homeland. In both cases, the vision of a strong, prosperous, and democratic Lebanese state has been sacrificed. Let us take the analysis further. In a letter published by L'OLJ, lawyer Carole Chelhot wrote some harsh but deeply accurate lines about this fatal fragmentation: "Lebanon's failure is no longer territorial. It is political, moral, and institutional. The administration has been handed over to patronage networks, public services distributed as personal favors, and the law negotiated according to power dynamics (…). The state, which was meant to transcend the communities, has become the spoils they divide among themselves (…). This is where the memory of Elias Hoayek ceases to be reassuring and becomes an indictment. The Maronites love to call him the father of Greater Lebanon. They celebrate his name, invoke his legacy, and honor his beatification. But what is the veneration of a founder worth when his life's work is undone by those who claim to be his heirs? (…) How many Maronite leaders have understood that protecting Christians does not mean weakening the state to preserve privileges, but rather building a state strong enough that no citizen needs a protector?" How can we repair the fragmentation and identity-based retreats that are delaying the emergence of a Lebanon that aspires to the Greater Lebanon founded in 1920? Every community in Lebanon must reflect on its own path. And perhaps it would only be right to begin this historical and political examination of conscience with the Christians — and specifically with the Maronites — who were the driving force behind Greater Lebanon. They were the first custodians of Patriarch Hoayek's vision. We know the sorrow — indeed the dismay — that Patriarch Hoayek felt in the face of the lack of civic responsibility shown by the political class of his era, and the desperate appeal he made for the moralization of public life in his final message to the nation: "The Love of the Homeland." "Administrative and Pastoral Insularity" After the Second Vatican Council, the Maronites and all Eastern Catholic Churches were urged by the popes — most notably by John Paul II — to work in unity and to build Lebanon together with Muslim communities, in a spirit of communion and service. To no avail. On the political front, the same wheeling and dealing, the same scheming, the same miscalculations continued right up to the catastrophe in which we now find ourselves. On the religious front — the only domain over which they have full control — the Eastern Churches continued to resist calls to coordinate their pastoral work, their projects, and their aspirations. The impression has always been one of "every man for himself": "our" saints, "our" ceremonies, "our" broadcasts, "our" armchairs, "our" seats of honor. For years, the most clear-sighted among her sons have had the courage to quietly reproach the grande dame of Lebanon's Churches "for having enjoyed the privileges that came with the creation of Greater Lebanon (1920) without fully assuming its duties; for having planned for herself rather than for the homeland she had founded; and if any good was done through her efforts, for having done so in a spirit of domination rather than a spirit of service." It is high time to step out of the shadows and call things what they are. "If there is no personal encounter with Jesus Christ, there will be ethnicism disguised as Christianity," Pope Francis once said — perhaps with the autocephalous Churches of the Orthodox world in mind. One has to wonder whether this judgment applies equally to the Churches of Lebanon, which coexist on the same territory yet operate in administrative and pastoral self-sufficiency. Role-playing and borrowed identities The accusation ought to be extended to all the communal components of Greater Lebanon. Nearly a century after the death of its founder, the State remains cruelly "unfinished" (to use Chelhot's word), and citizenship is smothered by the most basic form of communitarianism. Much of the blame lies with a State that has surrendered its own identity and has renounced, in particular, the teaching of history. How many Lebanese have grown up without a history textbook, without memory, and therefore without the foundation of knowledge needed to shape and anchor their identity — relying instead on scraps gathered as much from truth as from error, as much from happy memories as from communal traumas? How many Lebanese, including the author of this article, knew nothing of Patriarch Hoayek until just four months ago? Was establishing a "national education" really too much to ask? Or, once again, was laxity mistaken for wisdom? The same judgment can be applied to military service, that incubator of citizenship — keeping in mind that neither national education nor military service should ever be taken for granted, but must be renewed with each generation. "The land of missed opportunities" For as far back as anyone can remember, Lebanese communities have embodied borrowed identities, shaped by external pressures or historical imagination. Today, it is the Battle of Karbala that is being re-enacted in South Lebanon. Politics is, of course, the realm of ambiguity par excellence, but one gets the sense that our history has been nothing but a succession of remakes and catastrophic role-playing exercises. All of this because the particular Churches, lulled to sleep by the most rigid clericalism, and the Lebanese State, hollowed out by its oligarchs, lacked the courage and the political will to show us where the treasure of our human and spiritual identity lay — the ideal of pluralism, freedom, and tolerance that once lifted Lebanon to greater heights. Without lining anyone's pockets. As a Christian philosopher friend of mine puts it, "Lebanon is, par excellence, the homeland of missed opportunities." Among those missed opportunities — and let us never forget it — were the nocturnal apparitions of the Virgin Mary above the dome of the Syriac Orthodox basilica in Mouseitbeh in 1970. A heavenly visit that was ridiculed by the clergy of the Eastern Catholic Churches, who were nonetheless well aware of the twin apparitions of the Virgin in Zeitoun, Egypt, in 1968, and of their worldwide impact. It was yet another warning sign to which these Churches refused to pay the slightest attention. "What the Spirit says to the Churches" Since then, however, the spread of the teachings of the Second Vatican Council has fortunately fostered a greater sensitivity among the clergy toward "what the Spirit says to the Churches." "Too often," said Hans-Peter Kolvenbach (1928–2016), former Superior General of the Society of Jesus, "we forget the opening chapters of the Book of Revelation, where the Lord moves from one Church to another to approve and disapprove of what is happening there, and above all to announce what is to come. He continues to speak to us, especially in times of crisis, through the voice of the Theotokos and of so many other witnesses — who hold no magisterial office, yet speak with an authority from On High." By applying the principle of "charity beginning at home," the Churches of Lebanon must finally understand that they have two levers at their disposal to save Lebanon and, with it, the Christian presence there: their support for the rule of law, in a spirit of service rather than "domination," and their genuine, uncompromising unity "as Christ willed it and by the means He willed." By standing united, by placing themselves at the service of a culture of Lebanese citizenship, and by avoiding any retreat into identity politics—even at the cost of relinquishing some of their levers of power (the partial de-confessionalization of the civil service or of electoral law, as provided for in the Taif Agreement)—the Eastern Churches would fulfill their noblest mission: bringing Lebanon closer to its founding vision and turning Lebanese diversity into a strength rather than an inherent fragility. For even if the branches are corrupt, "the stump is a holy seed" (Isaiah 6:13).

Neo-Ottoman Ankara is making its move in the Bilad ash-Sham! And neither the Israeli bombardment of Abu al-Duhur air base on August 18th, nor the strikes on the outskirts of Damascus ten days later, let alone Tel Aviv's barely veiled threats, are doing anything to halt Turkey's southward advance along the "Syrian Sea" (1). Tom Barrack, the U.S. ambassador to Turkey and special envoy to Damascus, will have his work cut out for him now that a strategic rivalry is taking shape between Turkey and Israel, with Syria—and soon Lebanon—as the primary arena of competition, and potentially confrontation. Washington, having taken note of Iran's retreat, must now think about establishing a "deconfliction" mechanism between its two allies—the Jewish state and Erdogan's republic—given that both are seeking to fill the vast void left behind by the floundering Iranian mullahs! A nostalgia for Europe and a rebuffed Turkey Things might never have come to this had the European Union Council not concluded in June 2019 that accession negotiations with Ankara were "at a standstill." Turkey, driven by a deep-seated nostalgia, had always dreamed of a European destiny. Twice, the sultan's armies laid siege to Vienna (1529 and 1683), and it is worth recalling that before making Constantinople its capital, the sultanate had established its seat in Adrianople (Edirne), in Eastern Thrace. It should also be noted that after the end of the First World War, reduced to the scale of a nation-state, the Turkish republic—an undeniable regional power—had modernized without abandoning Islam. Was this the reason the European Union turned it away? Turkish authorities came to believe that Europe intended to remain an "exclusively Christian club." So, to put it simply, they had no choice but to expand eastward into the Turkic-speaking world and southward into the Arab-speaking world. And here we are. The sword and the censer Yet the Grand Turk, as he was known in the days when he made the Habsburgs tremble, is no newcomer to the Middle Eastern stage. For four centuries, the Bilad ash-Sham was part of his empire, and its predominantly Sunni identity naturally inclined its people to accept the authority of the monarch-caliph, the shadow of Allah on earth (2). It should be recalled that the Ottomans crushed Mamluk power and conquered Syria in 1516. By the end of September of that year, Damascus was taken, and the Friday sermon was at last delivered in the great Mosque in the name of Sultan Selim. On October 2nd, Islamic legitimacy was thus conferred upon the glory-crowned ruler, and the following day, he made a triumphant entry into the Umayyad capital as a victorious conqueror. Two elements had cemented his authority and won the allegiance of the "rayahs" throughout the Bilad ash-Sham, as elsewhere: military victory and a shared faith. In other words, it was "the alliance of the sword and the censer"—much like the Ancien Régime in France, or Spain under Franco and Portugal under Salazar. And let no one tell us that mindsets have changed since then! When will we finally acknowledge that it was these same two levers that brought Ahmad al-Sharaa to supreme power on the banks of the Barada—namely, battlefield victory and his rigorous Islamic orthodoxy? The Sykes-Picot Accords, once again But let us go back about a hundred years and note that Syrians, both before and during the First World War, had little desire to break away from Anatolia; they would have been content with a degree of decentralization in which their cultural aspirations were recognized and the Arabic language was accepted in public administration. They would have readily accepted a dual monarchy along the lines of Austria-Hungary, had it not been for the harsh and often brutal policies pursued by Jamal Pasha during the war years. In any case, it was not a local uprising (3), let alone the meager Arab forces of Emir Faysal, that brought Ottoman rule to an end in 1918 — it was rather the triumphant advance of Allied troops, primarily British. Then, from the Mandate period onward, Arab nationalism, left to its own devices, developed its own idiosyncrasies. But it was above all the abolition of the caliphate in 1924 and the forced secularization — both hallmarks of Atatürk's regime — that would further strain four centuries of ties between the Turkophone and Arabophone worlds. The Baath Party subsequently exploited Arab-Turkish animosity as a way of entrenching its power, with the annexation of the Sanjak of Alexandretta in 1939 doing little to help reconciliation between the two peoples. Beware of sudden infatuations All of this is to say that the Syrian-Turkish dispute, though it persists, can be resolved in a spirit of religious brotherhood. Erdoğan's Turkey, which proudly proclaims its Islamic identity, is welcome in a Syria where for fifty years the Baathist regime insidiously persecuted the Sunni majority and silenced its religious leaders. Now that Iran and the Russian Federation have withdrawn without a backward glance, Turkey is supposedly welcome. There are even reports that young Syrians of fighting age would not hesitate to swell the ranks of Ankara's forces should it come to blows with Israel. A hundred years of heightened Arab nationalism may not have erased four hundred years of Ottomanism, nor obliterated a thousand years of religious solidarity! N.B.: Turkey would do well to be wary of Syrian enthusiasm toward it! It should remember the fate that befell Nasser. In 1958, Damascus gave him a triumphant welcome on the proclamation of the United Arab Republic. And then, in 1961, came the humiliating breakup! 1- Historically, the expression "Sea of Syria" or Mare Syriacum in Latin refers to the eastern part of the Mediterranean lying off the Syrian-Lebanese coast. 2- A title borrowed from the Byzantine basileus at the fall of Constantinople in 1453. 3- In Syria, despite the deteriorating living conditions during 1914–18, there was no significant riot, intifada, or fitna against the Turks. In fact, the officers, intellectuals, and upper-bourgeoisie who had rallied to Emir Faysal were regarded as traitors in major urban centers such as Aleppo, Homs, Hama, Damascus, and elsewhere.

“Blessed are the peacemakers.” Perhaps no phrase better captures what Lebanon needs today than the one Pope Leo XIV carried with him during his visit to Lebanon and made a central message to the Lebanese people. His visit came to a country exhausted by wars, crises, and divisions, placing peace at the heart of Lebanon’s public discourse, not as surrender or concession, but as an act, a responsibility, and a project for the future. Yet Lebanon’s paradox is that we, who have lived through so much war, have sometimes come to fear the very word “peace.” Why? Why must a Lebanese justify calling for peace? And why do some feel that merely using the word can put them in the dock, as though they had relinquished their rights, accepted surrender, sought normalization, or abandoned the cause? Has peace become an accusation in Lebanon? These are not linguistic questions. They reveal a deep problem in Lebanon’s political culture. Lebanon has lived through decades of war. Civil war, occupations, invasions, attacks, assassinations, internal conflicts, and regional struggles turned into Lebanese crises. Each time, the Lebanese paid the price: the dead and wounded, displacement, destruction, economic collapse, emigration, and social fragmentation. And yet we still have not learned that war is not Lebanon’s destiny. Perhaps the time has come to redefine peace. The peace Lebanon needs is not the peace of surrender, nor the peace of submission, nor a peace imposed from abroad. It is a Lebanese peace. And that peace begins with a simple idea: Lebanon must be master of its own decisions. The state must decide on war and peace. State institutions must be the sole authority. The Lebanese Army must be the institution that protects the borders and sovereignty. The law must stand above everyone. And Lebanon must not remain an open arena for other people’s wars. Peace does not mean relinquishing our rights. It means seeking to protect those rights by means that preserve Lebanon and its people, rather than by means that turn Lebanon once again into a land of war. Peace is not weakness. It may in fact be one of the hardest forms of strength. It is easy to open fire, easy to declare war, easy to raise slogans of victory. What is harder is preventing war when you have the power to ignite it, choosing negotiations when they better serve your people, and using diplomacy, law, and international relations to protect your country. That is why peace does not contradict sovereignty. On the contrary, genuine peace is the fruit of sovereignty. A sovereign state decides when to fight and when to negotiate. It speaks on behalf of its people, defends its borders, signs agreements, and assumes responsibility for implementing them. But when decision-making centers multiply, peace itself becomes impossible. There can be no lasting peace as long as forces within the country are capable of deciding on war outside constitutional institutions. And this is not about one sect rather than another, or one religious community rather than another. The problem is not the Shiites, the Sunnis, the Christians, or the Druze. The problem lies in sectarian logic when it becomes a substitute for the state. Lebanon does not need armed communities to protect one another. Lebanon needs a state that protects everyone. A Shiite should not need a party in order to feel safe. A Christian should not need outside protection. A Sunni should not have to look to a regional power for support. A Druze should not have to fear for his existence. The state is the guarantee. This is where internal peace becomes a condition for external peace. We cannot speak of peace with the world while the Lebanese themselves live in a state of mutual fear. Lebanese peace means moving from the logic of groups to the logic of citizenship. It means ensuring that a Lebanese citizen feels that his rights are protected because he is a citizen, not because he belongs to a sect, a party, a region, or an axis. That is why implementing the Constitution is not a technical matter. It is part of the peace project. The Constitution defines institutions, powers, and relations between the branches of government. Lebanon’s problem is not always the absence of texts, but their failure to be implemented and the replacement of the state with a system of political and sectarian quota-sharing. Peace cannot be built on quotas. Peace requires the rule of law. And the state requires an independent judiciary, effective institutions, accountability, and equality among citizens. But peace is not limited to politics and security. There is also social and economic peace. What does a ceasefire mean if a Lebanese citizen remains without work? What does security mean if a young Lebanese is forced to emigrate? What does stability mean if poverty keeps rising, the state remains powerless, and the economy lies in ruins? Peace also means enabling the Lebanese to live with dignity. To find a school, a university, a hospital. To find a job. To be able to build a home and start a family. To feel that the future lies in Lebanon, not at Beirut airport. Peace, therefore, is not merely the absence of war. Peace is the presence of life. And this is where the Pope’s words, “Blessed are the peacemakers,” take on their deeper meaning. He did not say: blessed are those who wait for peace. He said: the peacemakers. Those who make it. And this responsibility belongs to the Lebanese before it belongs to the international community. We cannot ask the world to make peace for us while we ourselves refuse to take part in making it. Peace requires a Lebanese decision. It requires a state. It requires dialogue. It requires political courage. And above all, it requires a change in a political culture that has turned war into heroism, compromise into betrayal, negotiation into weakness, and peace into concession. We must rehabilitate the very idea of negotiation. Negotiation is not betrayal. Diplomacy is not surrender. And seeking a settlement that preserves Lebanon’s interests is not a concession of Lebanon itself. States do not protect their interests with weapons alone. They also protect them through law, diplomatic power, the economy, alliances, institutions, and their ability to build balanced relations with the world. The Lebanon we want must not be beholden to any axis. Not Iran. Not Israel. Not the United States. Not any regional or international power. Lebanon first. That is what sovereignty means. Lebanon’s relations with others must be based on Lebanese interests, not dependency. Lebanon must be a bridge, not an arena. A state, not a card to be played. A homeland, not a platform. Perhaps this is the true meaning of Lebanese peace. A peace that does not erase disagreements, but prevents them from turning into wars. A peace that does not ask the Lebanese to abandon their memory, but refuses to let memory become fuel for another war. A peace that does not forget the martyrs, but does not send their children to another death. A peace that does not ignore occupation or aggression, but places the interests of Lebanon and its people first. We must therefore stop being afraid of the word “peace.” Perhaps we should fear something else instead: that war should become normal in our lives, while speaking of peace becomes suspect. What country wants to remain a prisoner of war? What people wants its children to live waiting for the next war? And what state can build an economy and a future when the decision for war is not exclusively its own? The time has come to move from the question: How do we win the war? To a more important question: How do we prevent war? And from the question: Who is stronger? To the question: How does the state become stronger than everyone else? And from the question: Who protects our community? To the question: How can the state protect all Lebanese? These are not questions of surrender. They are questions of nation-building. The peace Lebanon needs, therefore, is not only peace between the Lebanese and Israel, nor between Lebanon and Syria, nor between Lebanon and any other state. It is, first and foremost, peace between one Lebanese and another, peace between the citizen and the state, peace within the state itself, and peace between Lebanon and its surroundings and the world. Peace means Lebanon ceasing to be an arena. And becoming a state. Peace means restoring decision-making to institutions. Peace means placing weapons exclusively in the hands of the state. Peace means making the Constitution a reference rather than a slogan. Peace means making citizenship stronger than sectarian belonging. Peace means making development stronger than war. Peace means making the future of our children more important than our victories of the past. And in the end, perhaps we should not be ashamed of the word “peace.” We should be proud of it. For those who seek peace do not seek less death. They seek more life. Those who want peace do not abandon their homeland. They seek to protect it from becoming a permanent arena for conflict. And the peacemaker is not weak. He is the one who possesses the courage to break the cycle of violence. The Pope said: “Blessed are the peacemakers.” And Lebanon, which has known war more than it has known peace, now needs to turn those words from a religious formula into a national project. A project that says clearly: We want Lebanon to be a state, not an arena; sovereignty, not dependency; citizenship, not sectarian power-sharing; development, not destruction; peace, not war. Perhaps the greatest resistance we can mount today is resistance to turning Lebanon into a battlefield. And perhaps the greatest victory for the Lebanese would be for their children never to have to fight the next war. Blessed would Lebanon be if it became a peacemaker, rather than a perpetual victim of wars.

The Sunnis had found themselves quite alone when Yasser Arafat's PLO boarded French ships, with all their arms and equipment, bound for Tunisia. It was August 30, 1982; Bachir Gemayel had been elected President of the Republic, and the Israeli army was about to move into West Beirut. With the departure of Abu Ammar and his contingents, who had fueled Lebanon's civil and sectarian war, a chapter had come to a close. Taking stock of the situation, President Takieddine al-Solh, a shrewd statesman and keen observer, expressed himself with bitterness in these words: "The Muslims sacrificed so much that they perished in the process" (1). By this he meant the Lebanese Sunnis—more precisely those in urban centers—who had so wholeheartedly embraced Arab causes that, in the end, they found themselves defeated and, what is more, realized just how far power had slipped from their grasp! In the wake of these fast-moving events, the daily newspaper Al-Safir published a documentary spread over several issues under the title: " Al-Dahiya, rubᶜu al-Watan " (2). It was a warning shot heralding the imminent rise of the Shiite confessional group—long marginalized—onto the Lebanese stage. This was not without stirring legitimate concern among native Beirutis. Indeed, the Twelver community was about to take over from the Sunni community as the leading Muslim actor on the political scene. Moreover, when the February 1984 uprising led by the Amal movement and the PSP broke out, seasoned journalist Sarkis Naoum did not hesitate to make prophetic remarks. He announced to anyone who would listen in the corridors of the daily An-Nahar that Lebanon had entered the "Shiite era," as West Beirut had slipped out of Amine Gemayel's control! And from that point on, the influence of political Sunnism would steadily shrink throughout the 1980s. This current would lose its footing to another branch of Islam—a younger branch—that was asserting its rights both in the courts and on the battlefield. Even the rise of Rafik Hariri to power from 1992 onwards, which offered a brief respite, was not enough to restore the luster of a community whose political ascendancy stretched back to the Mamluks and the Ottomans. The rubble and the "resetting" The rest of the story is well known: Mobilized and radicalized by Iran, organized through Amal and Hezbollah, and backed by the Alawite regime in Damascus, the Shiite community asserted itself—it must be admitted—against every other component of the Lebanese mosaic. Yet, seized by the hubris that spares no one, it came to believe it could play in the big leagues. Among other blunders, it managed to alienate both the United States and the State of Israel, and it intervened militarily in the Syrian civil war—two fatal mistakes that would lead it straight to ruin and mire it in unwinnable conflicts. For Hezbollah, its armed wing, remotely controlled from Tehran, had believed that by supporting Bashar al-Assad it could maintain its grip over Sunni masses that were either exhausted or incapable of finding common ground. Only a charismatic leader like Nasser could have united them and galvanized them out of their stupor. But such a hero, capable of carrying out a political "resetting," was slow to emerge. For a long time, "Sufianism" (3)—or political Sunnism—would keep a low profile, biding its time for better days. "Sufianism" and the rise to power But fate has a way of springing pleasant surprises and toppling even the most entrenched regimes. And so the Syrian people would rid themselves of the usurper Bashar al-Assad, while unfortunately harboring a deep and lasting resentment toward those who had attacked them—whether from Lebanon or from Iran. The latter, belonging to the Shia orbit and led by Hezbollah as their figurehead, had become militarily involved on the various fronts of the civil war. As a consequence, in the Syrian collective imagination, Umayyad Damascus had been desecrated, and the blood that had been shed was crying out for vengeance. This thirst for retribution—this eye-for-an-eye logic—will continue to poison relations between Lebanese Shiism and the Sunni heartland of Syria for a long time to come. But in the meantime, the Sunni establishment, suddenly reinvigorated by Assad's fall, would henceforth refuse to endure in Lebanon the indignities it had suffered on a daily basis as long as the Alawite Assad dynasty sat enthroned in Damascus. No encroachment upon its reserved share in the public administration or the state apparatus would henceforth be tolerated. 'Sufianism' would slowly, and even painfully, reconstitute itself, while Iran and its proxies were busy fighting Americans and Israelis elsewhere. Yet this Sunni resurgence hardly meant that our President of the Council would be free, without hindrance, to take the initiative in governing! A quiet struggle would be waged at every political juncture to make one viewpoint prevail over the other. And what about the Egyptian hypothesis, then? As it happens, on August 7th, a defense agreement was concluded in Mecca between Saudi Arabia, Turkey, and Pakistan. Some have seen in it a Sunni NATO designed to confront both Israel and Iran. This was no doubt reassuring for 'Sufianism,' yet a key player was conspicuously absent from the table: Egypt! If the land of the Nile were to join the Mecca alliance, its contribution would be undeniable: possessing the largest Arab army, it would bring its diplomatic weight, strategic depth, and Arab legitimacy to the table. It would serve as a balancing factor, and some are already saying that its entry into the alliance 'would prevent it from being overtly anti-Iranian.' Who knows! In any case, Egypt would counterbalance Turkey, which has Finlandized Syria. And, last but not least, its new status would certainly raise eyebrows in Tel Aviv, whose relations with Ankara are already deteriorating. As far as Lebanon is concerned, however, an Egypt somewhat more engaged in regional rebalancing can only strengthen the position of our President of the Council and of the executive branch in general. Yet its most important role would be to temper the vindictive impulses of the Syrians toward a Lebanese confessional community whose militias blundered into a civil conflict that was not their own. And as far as we are concerned, that is precisely where Cairo could prove indispensable to our civil peace! 1) «Tafana al-muslimun hata fanu». 2) Which plainly meant: 'The Shia southern suburb represents a quarter of the homeland.' The message could not have been clearer: from now on, it had to be reckoned with! 3) Political 'Sufianism' (al-Sufianiya al-Siassiya) refers to Muᶜawiya ibn Abi-Sufian, founder of the Umayyad dynasty in Damascus.

As social media rediscovers the modesty and integrity of Fouad Chehab, a personal memory brings back the image of a president who sought to replace political fiefdoms with the authority of the state – and whom Lebanon fully recognized only after his death. In recent days, photographs of President Fouad Chehab have proliferated across social media. Many users now celebrate his modesty, his honesty and his sense of the state. One of these images shows him attending a Mass held in honor of the Virgin Mary in the early 1960s, on the esplanade of the Shrine of Our Lady of Lebanon in Harissa, overlooking Jounieh Bay. This photograph stirs a particularly moving personal memory. At the time, I was a teenager and a boarding student at Collège des Apôtres in Jounieh. I sang in the school choir, led by our French-language teacher, Mr. Labaki, who accompanied the religious service. President Fouad Chehab stood just a few meters away from us. I still remember the pride I felt standing so close to the President of the Lebanese Republic. But what stays with me most is the image of a man whose very presence naturally conveyed dignity, simplicity and profound humility. Fouad Chehab was unquestionably one of Lebanon's greatest presidents. Surrounded by capable figures, this upright, conscientious and austere man was deeply commitment to the state and to the principle of public service. Yet during his lifetime, he was neither sufficiently understood nor properly appreciated. Like so many great men in our country, it was only after his death that many finally recognized the importance of his work. Elected president in the aftermath of the 1958 crisis, he set out to transform a Lebanon dominated by private interests, clientelism and political fiefdoms into a genuine state built on modern institutions. During his presidency, the public administration expanded, state authority strengthened, and the population lived in an atmosphere of security and stability whose true value we appreciate far better today. The armed forces and security services, led with firmness, commanded respect and authority. Certain practices from that era, particularly those attributed to the Deuxième Bureau, did draw criticism and controversy. But they should not obscure the scale of the institutional work accomplished. Fouad Chehab sought to assert the authority of the state over that of clans and patronage networks. His ambition was not to wield power for its own sake, but to build an administration capable of serving all citizens. Jounieh, home to my boarding school, was then a large, peaceful town. It was a small coastal city where long-established families lived in houses scattered along the shoreline. The opening of the Phoenicia cinema in 1963, followed by the Présidence cinema in Kaslik, were landmark events for the region. These new gathering places and cultural venues accompanied the growth that had begun a few years earlier with the Casino du Liban. The landscape looked nothing like what we know today. The mountains surrounding Jounieh, up to the heights of Harissa, were green and still largely untouched by urbanization. During his term, Fouad Chehab breathed new life into Jounieh and played a major role in modernizing Kesrouan. The road network expanded, infrastructure was strengthened, and the region joined the country’s broad modernization drive. His work remains, in my view, invaluable. As his term neared its end, many members of Parliament wanted to pave the way for him to remain in office. Fouad Chehab rejected the idea and stepped down when his mandate expired. Yet a large part of the population of Kesrouan showed him a level of ingratitude that is difficult to fathom: in the parliamentary elections, not a single candidate on the list he backed in the region was elected. What a sad paradox. The man who had given so much to Kesrouan never received, in his lifetime, the recognition he deserved. This ingratitude sadly reveals a constant feature of our national life: we fight true statesmen while they are still among us, then celebrate them once they can no longer hear us or serve their country. Yesterday's opponents sometimes become their posthumous admirers. Those who had obstructed their work later claim their legacy. We turn into symbols the very men we had refused to listen to while they could still act. In Lebanon, recognition of great men seems to arrive only after their death, once their adversaries no longer fear them and their work can be celebrated without disturbing established interests. Fouad Chehab, however, needed neither a cult of personality nor excessive praise. His honesty, his humility, his sense of duty and the institutions he helped build speak for him. He remains the symbol of a dignified, orderly Republic, genuinely at the service of its citizens. A nation that forgets its history, disregards its builders and refuses to learn from the past is doomed to repeat the same mistakes. It is time, then, to fulfill a genuine duty of remembrance – not to idealize an era or deny its controversies, but to do justice to those who sincerely tried to build a state and place the national interest above personal ambition. The memory of Fouad Chehab should not simply inspire belated tributes or a handful of fleeting social media posts. It must lead us to ask ourselves what Lebanon we have lost – and, above all, what Lebanon we want to rebuild. Truly honoring Fouad Chehab is not merely a matter of celebrating his memory after his death. It requires us to rediscover his integrity, his humility, his sense of the state and his demanding conception of public service. Only then can memory become a force for rebuilding the Republic and safeguarding the Lebanese nation.

“Charity begins at home” is an apt saying for describing the missteps of Greater Lebanon – missteps that Georges Naccache captured in one cutting, lucid line: “Two negations do not make a nation.” That sentence exposes the tragic shortcomings of the first generation of Lebanese, confronted with a Greater Lebanon still struggling to assert itself. Rooted in St. Augustine’s thought, “charity begins at home” simply means that one must meet one’s needs and obligations before seeking to help others. The concept is sometimes distorted to justify individualist behavior, a lack of generosity, or putting personal interests ahead of a collective cause. In fact, it stems from the theology of St. Augustine (4th century) and from his notion of ordo caritatis – the order of charity. St. Augustine held that charity, or divine love, must follow a logical hierarchy: one must love God first, then love oneself in a healthy, “ordered” way, for the salvation of one’s soul, before being able to love one’s neighbor. Drawing on Augustine, the Latin formula caritas bene ordinata incipit a se ipso later emerged in highly pragmatic fashion, from the writings of medieval jurists. Commentators invoked the maxim particularly to settle disputes between neighbors over water. The classic case was as follows: a landowner with a spring on his property was not required to irrigate his neighbors’ fields if doing so risked leaving his own land without water. The law thus justified giving priority to one’s own vital interests. Over the centuries, the maxim gradually moved beyond courtrooms and theological treatises and into everyday speech. By the 16th century, it had become a popular proverb used to remind people that it is natural to think of their own material and moral security before that of others. The Lebanese Tragedy This principle applies perfectly to Lebanon’s history. At first glance, the proverb might seem to sum up the tragedy of a system in which each community in Lebanon has historically put its own survival and security ahead of that of the central state. But another reading is possible – and it is through this reading that Lebanon’s true tragedy comes into focus. It shows how, by favoring other causes over that of Greater Lebanon as conceived and envisioned by its founders – causes such as Palestine, Arab unity, Greater Syria, or pan-Islamism – Lebanon strayed from the principle of “well-ordered charity,” which should have meant putting “first and foremost” the well-ordered development of its own nation-state. This reading, in fact, captures the turning point in Lebanon’s modern history. It points to the proverb’s second side: that the opposite excess – embracing universal or regional causes before consolidating one’s own foundations – drove the country to ruin. By choosing to turn Lebanon into a “sounding board” for the Middle East conflicts mentioned above, much of the political class and the population missed out on healthy internal growth. This “departure” from the principle of well-ordered charity is best captured by the concept of “sacrificial altruism syndrome.” In theology as in logic, one cannot give what one does not have. Lebanon, a young and fragile state emerging from 1920 and 1943, had not yet consolidated its institutions or forged a unified national identity. So, by investing heavily in transnational causes from the 1950s and 1960s onward – Nasserism, followed by armed support for the Palestinian cause through the 1969 Cairo Agreement – Lebanon acted like a weak organism attempting the impossible: carrying the burden of others. That choice shattered the fragile compromise of the National Pact and triggered the civil war in 1975. The Dilution of the National “Self” For “well-ordered charity” to be possible, there first had to be a clearly defined and accepted “self” – something Lebanon’s elites had failed to build, or even to want. By favoring the ideal of Greater Syria, championed by the SSNP, or that of Arab unity, part of the Lebanese population continued to regard Lebanon as an artificial entity, a mere province meant to be absorbed into a larger whole. Conversely, by favoring theocratic agendas or regional axes – such as the pro-Iranian axis – other factions moved the center of decision-making outside the country’s borders and alienated their own fellow citizens. The result: Lebanon was managed to love itself as a sovereign nation-state. Its detractors have long portrayed Lebanese patriotism as a form of betrayal of the “greater causes,” while branding its champions as “isolationists.” Well-ordered growth would have required giving absolute priority to developing Lebanese infrastructure, unified civic education, securing the country’s border, and strengthening the local economy. By importing other people’s wars onto its own soil, Lebanon squandered its wealth, drove its elites into exile, and tore apart its social fabric. The country became a playground for regional powers, which have waged proxy wars on its territory for decades – confirming that when one fails to tend to one’s own house first, the neighbors come into to loot it or take it over. Herein lies the whole Lebanese paradox: the country’s history swings endlessly between an inward-looking communal selfishness – retreating into one’s sect at the expense of the state – and an outward-looking ideological altruism – favoring regional causes at the expense of the homeland. Either way, the project of a modern, strong, and prosperous Lebanese state was sacrificed.

"Enough is enough!" cried three countries that had come together in Mecca on August 7th. Turkey, Pakistan, and Saudi Arabia — three complementary powers — have just formed a Sunni NATO, one that other states seeking military protection or a diplomatic umbrella would inevitably join. The announcement of this pact naturally came like a thunderclap. And simply following the Saudi press over recent days, one can detect a clear shift in tone toward the mullahs in Tehran. Gone are the days when Riyadh, the Saudi capital, swallowed its pride, stoically absorbed Iranian provocations, and opted for peaceful resolution of conflicts with its aggressors. The ultimate argument! Tehran could not have continued down this malicious and arrogant path toward its neighbors — the Arab states — were it not for the Palestinian cause it championed so fervently, a sacred cause that long granted it a degree of immunity. For it was indeed Iran and its proxy Hezbollah that tirelessly kept up the struggle against Israel and its expansionist agenda. Who can deny this, when the Arab Sunni states did nothing but rack up defeats on the ground — in 1948, 1956, 1967, and so on? Indeed, those same states would have been more than happy to normalize relations with Tel Aviv, had the Israeli capital been willing to make a few concessions — enough, at least, to give them a face-saving way out. Standing in sharp contrast is the Shiite world, in Iran as in the Bilad ash-Sham . Was not Hassan Nasrallah hailed in 2006 as a new Saladin by an "Arab street" stretching from Mesopotamia to the Atlantic Ocean? Had he not supposedly forced the Israeli army to retreat? It was he, and no one else, who had held Islam's head high. And in doing so, by shedding the blood of his fighters, he was writing a counter-narrative that rehabilitated his Shiite community. The Crusades narrative and the discourse of "muqawama" Medieval history is never far from the memory of our peoples. It is worth recalling that the Arab mainstream tradition, drawing on the chroniclers Ibn al-Athir, Ibn al-Qalanisi, and Ibn al-ʿArabi, holds the Shiite Fatimids responsible for the fall of the Holy Land and Jerusalem into the hands of the Crusaders at the end of the 11th century (1). This deeply rooted tradition implicitly accuses the Fatimids of having sought to exploit the Frankish invasion to weaken the Seljuk Turks (2). Along the same lines, these three historians were quick to point out that it was the Sunni response — led by figures such as Zengi, Nur al-Din, Saladin, and ultimately the Mamluks — that would bring down the last Frankish strongholds in the 13th century and return them to Islam. It was this narrative that would come to dominate, carried for four centuries by Ottoman ideology and then by Arab nationalism as a unifying story — until the day Khomeinism burst onto the Middle Eastern stage and proclaimed that Israel must be wiped from the face of the earth. The wilayat al-faqih would wage a relentless struggle against Israel, punctuated by certain successes, and never stop trumpeting them. Two rival narratives, then — the latter seeking to refute the former. Against a less-than-glorious past, "political Fatimism" (al-Fatimiya al-siyassiya) could now hold up a radiant present woven from heroism and sacrifice. And Hezbollah, backed by the Iranian authorities, would make it their leitmotif across the airwaves. A pact in Mecca! Yes — but what can be made of it? The Arab street should always be taken seriously, especially since it is prone to self-delusion. Right now, it must be feeling encouraged by a Sunni resurgence, given that since Abdel Nasser, Yasser Arafat, and Saddam Hussein, it has lacked a leader capable of galvanizing the masses. The image of a hero has been sorely missing, while the Shia branch could point to a long list of martyrs for the cause, from Qassem Soleimani to Hassan Nasrallah. And so, this Sunni street—known for its passion—has experienced a loss of momentum over the decades. Then came August 7th, when a new balance of power began to take shape in Mecca, now that Syria has broken free from the axis of resistance and Egypt has remained on the sidelines, perhaps waiting to see how things unfold. But will a pact signed in Mecca, the holiest city in Islam, prove to be nothing more than a dead letter, like so many short-lived alliances that have dotted our contemporary history? Before answering that question, one observer pointed out that this is not about the reconstitution of a "religious Sunni front, but rather the reassertion of Sunni national powers seeking to reclaim the strategic initiative against Iran"—as well as against Israel. Granted, if everything goes as planned, we will witness an exercise in "re-confessionalization," though one that will remain purely geopolitical in nature. For even if Sunnism provides the historical and sociological depth underpinning this alliance of sovereign states, the well-understood interests of those states will always take precedence over religious ideology and the solidarity it demands. So what should we expect? Most likely, yet another retelling of the same age-old discord between the champions of Sunni orthodoxy and those of Shia dissent! (3) 1- An accusation that, on reflection, should be tempered. 2- On the eve of the Crusaders' arrival, a fierce struggle for dominance over the Arab-Islamic world was already unfolding between the Sunni Seljuks and the Shia Fatimids. 3- Hichem Djaït, La grande discorde, Religion et politique dans l'Islam des origines, Gallimard, 1989.

There is an idea that is becoming almost axiomatic in Lebanese political life today. Whenever the discussion turns to restoring the state, the future of Hezbollah, or rebuilding the national balance, the debate sooner or later comes back to the same question: how do we build an independent Shiite political dynamic? It is difficult to challenge this question. It seems logical, even self-evident. Any national project naturally needs an independent Shiite presence, and the monopoly of any single force over the representation of an entire community must come to an end. But the most dangerous ideas are not those that appear to be wrong. They are those that seem so self-evident that we stop questioning them. What if the question itself is the problem? What if the path to the state does not run through the construction of an independent Shiite political dynamic, but precisely the other way around? What if such a dynamic, with all the diversity and autonomy it represents, is not the starting point but one of the natural outcomes of a genuinely successful national project? When the priority becomes cultivating Shiite political figures, bringing them together, investing in them, or turning them into the emblem of this new phase, the center of gravity shifts, almost without our noticing, from the state to the community. Politics once again becomes an attempt to rearrange balances within a single community rather than to redefine the relationship between all Lebanese citizens and their state. This is where a paradox worth considering emerges. We say that we want to move beyond the sectarian system, yet we begin our political project from within a community. We say that we want to build a state of citizens, yet we begin by searching for representatives of the various communities. We say that we want to free the Lebanese from the logic of communal identities, yet we ask each community to produce its new representative before the national project has even begun. This contradiction may not be intentional, but it deserves reconsideration. Hezbollah did not become what it is simply because it monopolized the political representation of the Shiite community. Over the course of decades, it built an integrated system of military power, social services, institutions, religious narrative, and regional ties. Such a system cannot be confronted by creating another, more moderate sectarian system. It must be confronted by building a state that becomes the natural point of reference for security, services, the economy, justice, and belonging. The question, therefore, is not whether we need independent Shiite figures. We certainly do. The question is: where do we place them? At the heart of a new Shiite project? Or at the heart of a new Lebanese project? The difference between these two options is not merely formal. In the first, these figures are made responsible for transforming an entire community, a burden no one can bear. In the second, they become partners in building a national space capable of attracting all Lebanese, including Shiites. Perhaps this is where the most common mistake in approaching this new phase lies. Instead of investing in the environment that produces leaders, we invest in the leaders themselves. Instead of building institutions, organizations, local networks, universities, trade unions, and municipalities, we search for faces that might somehow embody all this long and arduous work. But politics does not work that way. Leaders are not the starting point of political projects. They are one of their outcomes. Unless there is an environment that gives them legitimacy and the capacity to endure, these figures will remain without a base commensurate with their stature, without the tools to match their ambitions, and without the ability to deliver the results expected of them. The most pressing question, then, is no longer: how do we build an independent Shiite political dynamic? The more important question is: how do we build a national project that the Shiite citizen, just like the Sunni, Christian, or Druze citizen, can see as their natural political home? Once we succeed in doing that, we will no longer need to manufacture Shiite political figures. They will emerge on their own.

After being endorsed in Washington, General Joseph Aoun was then officially welcomed in Ankara at the end of July — a capital that received him with all the honors befitting his rank. The red carpet, the presidential guard presenting arms with fixed bayonets, süngü tak , and cannon salutes were no small thing in the eyes of the career military man that the Lebanese president is. Obviously, he would not be the one to pick a fight with a Turkish trade delegation, as President Elias Hraoui had done at the very start of his term. A complete map of the sanjaks of the vilayets of Beirut and Syria in 1909. The vilayet of Beirut encompassed the sanjaks of Nablus, Acre, "Bilad al Bechara" (present-day South Lebanon or Jabal Amil), the city of Beirut, and the sanjaks of Tarablus ash-Sham and Latakia. The term Tarablus ash-Sham was used to avoid confusion with another Ottoman city: Tarablus el-Gharb, the city of Tripoli in Libya, which retained its name. (Wikimedia Commons) Who still remembers the quarrel between Hraoui and our Turkish guests, who — delighted to develop cultural and economic ties with Tripoli — had made the mistake of invoking the historical links between Turkey and Lebanon's northern capital? No one knows what got into " Abou Elias" at the time, but he retorted stubbornly that Lebanon was a sovereign state — imagine that! — and would not tolerate a resurgence of Ottoman influence in its territory, let alone a privileged relationship between Ankara and a Lebanese region at the expense of the central government. Some circles had a field day with this episode, mocking the head of state's incongruous reaction, when all the chambers of commerce of two Mediterranean countries were trying to do was revive ties of trade and prosperity. Tarablus as-Sham and Greater Lebanon That incident had long been forgotten when certain questions resurfaced in our minds during the visit of Chaibani, Syria's foreign minister, to Tripoli on July 2nd. Given the enthusiasm of the reception, hints were dropped that the city might be yearning for a destiny other than a Lebanese one! Let us recall that it had always borne the name Tarablus as-Sham , and that it had long resisted the French Mandate, never truly accepting its incorporation into Greater Lebanon. But let us not jump to conclusions too quickly. Crowds are known for their knee-jerk reactions, and Tripoli had suffered too much under the Baathist occupation not to openly vent its frustration and relief at the first opportunity. In the wake of the triumphant welcome given to Chaibani, a native Tripolitan went even further, saying: "If Turkish troops were to march through our streets today, they would be greeted with widespread jubilation." If this seasoned observer was to be believed, buildings would have been draped in red flags bearing the crescent and star — the very same banners of the janissaries of the Ottoman Empire. A 1913 map showing the vilayets of Syria and Beirut. In the center, in green, the Mutasarrifate of Mount Lebanon. (Wikimedia Commons) There was some truth in that exclamation, even if it was purely a matter of emotion and exasperation. For, once again, the proud city had endured, under both Assad father and son, the brutal subjugation of its population and Alawite control over its vital economic centers. Does this mean, however, that Turkey is about to become deeply involved in Lebanon in the name of a supposed neo-Ottomanism, a hidden osmanli sultan, or Muslim Brotherhood solidarity? Neo-Ottoman imperialism or mere economic expansion? Whatever Ankara's ambitions may be, they will only materialize through a broad regional policy encompassing the Syrian-Lebanese-Jordanian sphere as a whole. This is bound to stir fears and apprehensions here as elsewhere. Nevertheless, it is worth bearing in mind that when the AKP, President Erdoğan's party, invokes the glorious Ottoman legacy, it does so for electoral and domestic purposes. The idea of restoring a three-continent empire would never cross the minds of Turkey's elites, especially since Putin's adventurism in Ukraine has delivered a sobering lesson to warmongers. Or so we believe! Besides, isn't it said that Turkish interference operates mainly in the realm of soft power , with Turkey's economic "success story" serving as a model for Middle Eastern entrepreneurs? That is certainly plausible, now that the xenophobia championed by Arab nationalism has lost much of its appeal and mobilizing power, and now that Turks are no longer held responsible for four centuries of Arab underdevelopment. But Turkey cannot be satisfied with commercial success alone. It is neither Singapore nor Dubai; it cannot confine itself to the role of a financial hub — not when it already projects considerable power and its defense industry has carved out a significant share of the international arms market. Syria: Turkey's key relay Is it not the case that Ankara is, in practice, the principal patron of Ahmed al-Chareh's rule 1 ? And so what, comes the retort — even if it provides military, political, and economic backing, it will never be able to turn the Syrian regime into a fully obedient proxy. Besides, the "Umayyad" policy is well on its way to diversifying and deepening its ties with the Gulf states. And on reflection, one can always count on Turkish haughtiness to cool the enthusiasm of even the most eager Damascene looking to offer his services and cooperate. That said, in the current configuration, it is through the Erdoğan–Chareh axis that Turkish penetration into Lebanon can be envisioned, with Ankara fearing that the United States might hand Tel Aviv too large a slice of the Middle Eastern cake — a region still struggling to reconstitute itself. A daunting task for the Turkish president in Bilad al-Sham. He must contend with Iran's ideological, military, financial, and sectarian influence — Iran, which will in all likelihood attempt to regain a foothold in Syria and reassert its dominance in Lebanon. But should the mullahs be definitively pushed off the stage, Erdoğan will need to fill the vacuum their retreat leaves behind. And that is not all, for the further Turkey pushes southward, the more it will find itself face to face with Israel — a country with which relations are visibly deteriorating, and which is just as formidable a partner as it is an adversary 2 . To put it plainly, while President Erdoğan has helped steady the steps of General Joseph Aoun 3 , he is simultaneously working without pause to consolidate Ahmad al-Chareh's regime. So when Turkey's hour comes, Syria will be Ankara's strategic complement, its armed wing — and why not its proxy! 1 See the joint press conference of August 6 between Syrian Foreign Minister Chaibani and his Turkish counterpart Hakan Fidan. 2 Recep Tayyip Erdoğan declared last June that his country's security "does not begin in the province of Hatay, but in Aleppo, Damascus, and Beirut," and that Turkey would not tolerate the illusions of the "Promised Land." He further stated that "Israeli attacks against Syria and Lebanon had reached a level that now threatens Turkey as well." 3 During talks held in Ankara, Erdoğan promised Joseph Aoun Turkish troops as part of a broader military alliance, to replace UNIFIL forces whose mandate expires at the end of the year.

The Lebanese crisis, which officially emerged in the autumn of 2019, has been explained almost exclusively through technical factors: the financial engineering of the Banque du Liban, bank profits, the lira-dollar peg, interest rates, capital transfers, and the trade deficit and consumption. These factors do indeed warrant scrutiny, but they are not sufficient on their own to fully explain the collapse. The political, security, and administrative causes — looting of the public sector, chaotic hiring in the state administration, spending without regular budgets, clientelism, the politicization of the judiciary, smuggling, the shadow economy, and involvement in regional conflicts — have been largely overlooked. Hassan Diab's government is not solely responsible for a crisis that had been building for decades. Nevertheless, certain decisions made or endorsed during his tenure accelerated the breaking point. First, no coherent emergency capital control law was enacted. This vacuum allowed for arbitrary restrictions, deepened inequality among depositors, and let a portion of liquidity drain away. An exceptional law — similar in principle to the measures applied after the 1967 war, the Intra Bank crisis, or the destruction of civilian aircraft on the ground during the raid of December 28, 1968 — would have limited the damage. Second, the Diab government chose to default on its Eurobonds in March 2020, refusing to meet a $1.2 billion payment. At the time, the Banque du Liban's reserves were estimated at nearly $29 billion. Lebanon could have honored its immediate obligations while negotiating an orderly restructuring with creditors and the IMF. The unprepared default destroyed the country's sovereign credibility, shut off access to markets, and deepened its financial isolation. Third, the government at the time subsidized more than 300 products rather than providing direct support to households. The system encouraged hoarding, entrenched monopolies, and above all, fueled smuggling into Syria. Its cost is estimated to have reached $12 to $14 billion. This irrational expenditure directly contradicts the argument that reserves had to be preserved by refusing to pay $1.2 billion in March 2020. Fourth, the plan drawn up with Lazard risked placing the bulk of the losses on depositors and the existing banking sector, with the stated goal of replacing current banks with five new banking institutions. The promise to return deposits remained without any concrete answer as to the funding, the assets to be mobilized, or the timeline. These choices accelerated the depletion of reserves, the liquidity crisis, the shift to a cash economy, and Lebanon's international marginalization. Acknowledging them does not mean absolving the Banque du Liban, the banks, or previous governments. All responsibilities must be established according to actual powers held and legal obligations, without turning any single sector into a scapegoat. Recovery requires restoring state authority, securing borders, combating smuggling, ensuring judicial independence, enacting a fair and fully funded deposit recovery law, pursuing transparent banking restructuring, negotiating the debt, and reforming public administration. The allocation of losses must respect the legal nature of each obligation. The state's claims, those of the Banque du Liban, the banks' liabilities, and depositors' rights are interconnected — but they are not the same. Conflating them would automatically shift the burden onto ordinary citizens. Priority must be given to small depositors, with clearly defined amounts, timelines, and funding sources. Public assets can contribute to the recovery through their future revenues, provided they remain protected, properly inventoried, and managed transparently. They must neither be sold off at a loss nor entrusted to structures that fall outside democratic oversight. Likewise, shareholders must bear their share of responsibility within the bounds of the law, while illicit transfers and unjustified enrichment must be subject to serious judicial investigations. Restructuring before determining available resources would be putting the cart before the horse. The crisis is financial in its manifestations, but political at its roots — no lasting solution can afford to ignore this reality. The restoration of confidence will ultimately depend on rebuilding Lebanon's relationships with its Arab and international partners, adhering to global financial standards, and placing economic policy exclusively at the service of the national interest.