Opinion

In seeking to understand what is happening to us, to understand myself and to recover some equilibrium in the face of what we are living through, I turn to books and novels about peoples who have known the ravages of war as we know them. Japan, with what it endured during the Second World War and in the aftermath of the atomic bombings, offers in this regard a model that may help us locate our own pain. Let us note, in passing, that the quantity of weapons poured onto Lebanon over the years now amounts to more than the bombs of Hiroshima and Nagasaki combined. Two works stand out here, Urashimasō and The Silent Cry . The first was written from within the event itself; its author witnessed the ruins with his own eyes, bearing testimony and describing the tragedies, the mutilations and the wandering he observed. The second was written after Japan’s defeat, and bears witness to the inner devastation of the human being. Comparing what they describe with what we live through, I found that the Lebanese situation brings together both sufferings simultaneously, with no separation between them and no temporal interval of any kind. These two books help to dismantle violence, to understand it, and not merely to survive it psychologically. This kind of writing does not diminish the pain, but it gives it shape and offers it a language, drawing it out of chaos toward something that can be grasped. In wartime especially, this capacity constitutes almost an act of resistance. For war reduces the human being to a reaction, to a body that survives, suffers or flees; whereas writing — and the reading of this kind of literature — restores us to our place as conscious subjects, rather than mere victims of circumstance. In short, some peoples have known wars, others have known defeat, and others still have emerged from the rubble to rebuild themselves. But what Lebanon is living through resembles neither a war in the traditional sense, nor a defeat one could date, nor even a catastrophe one could contain within a defined timeframe. It is something else entirely. In the Japanese experience, as reflected in works like Urashimasō and The Silent Cry , there existed a trajectory, however painful. Shock first, then silence, then awareness, then reconstruction. Even in the most terrible moments, such as the bombing of Hiroshima, the catastrophe had in some sense a finality. The strike had ended, and it was from there that a history was born. In Lebanon, nothing ends. ` There exists here no moment one could say marks “the after.” Everything happens at once: a permanent trauma that cannot be absorbed, a forced reckoning that never reaches its conclusion, contradictory narratives that settle nothing, and a daily life that resumes above the rubble as though denying its very existence. Lebanon does not live the aftermath of war. It lives inside the war, inside its interpretation and inside its own denial, all at once. Elsewhere in the world, catastrophe produces memory, memory produces consciousness, and consciousness produces, even after a long delay, change. Here, the chain is broken: a catastrophe, then cries, then divisions, then partial forgetting, then a new catastrophe. No memory is completed, no consciousness accumulates, no change comes. In Urashimasō , the human being is broken, but honestly so. In The Silent Cry , he tries to understand, or to conceal himself behind narratives. In Lebanon, the situation is harsher still: a broken being, deprived of the right to express his brokenness, compelled to choose a narrative under the pressure of fear, of belonging or of accusation. It is here that the particularity of the Lebanese condition resides, and perhaps its unprecedented character: not merely a plurality of opinions, but a plurality of reality itself. Each community lives a different war, tells a different story and builds a different memory. There exists, consequently, no unifying “national event,” only parallel events that converge solely in pain. What makes the Lebanese situation without precedent, particularly within the framework of the modern nation-state, is that the state itself no longer fulfills its role as the ultimate reference of meaning or of decision. In most countries, the state declares war or ends it, holds the monopoly on violence and forges the official narrative. In Lebanon, the war unfolds both within the state and outside it, violence is dispersed throughout, and the narrative is contested to the point of existential rupture. Thus, the Lebanese do not live merely a political crisis, but a deep referential void. It is this void that causes the catastrophe to repeat itself without ever becoming a turning point. Every strike, every explosion, every tragedy is added to a long chain, without ever closing its circle or laying the ground for what might come after. Graver still is what one might call the normalization of the absurd: death becomes a number and an image on a wall, blood a news item, catastrophe a part of daily routine. Not because people no longer feel anything, but because they have been so thoroughly exhausted that they can no longer convert feeling into action. Lebanon today resembles neither postwar Japan nor any country that has emerged from any conflict, because it has not even been granted the chance to emerge from one. It is a country where the war has not ended, where peace has not begun, where nothing has been resolved, yet where everything replays itself, again and again. Perhaps this is why the pain in Lebanon seems different: not only because it runs deep, but because it unfolds without horizon. Not because it comes unexpectedly, but because it returns. And not because it remains incomprehensible, but because it is fully understood, without anyone possessing the power to change it. This is not simply the tragedy of a nation. It is a complex human condition, rare and perhaps without precedent: a state living within its recognized borders, yet deprived of the natural time of states, that time made of beginnings, endings and transformations. Lebanon is not merely a country in crisis. It is a country removed from all sequential logic. And this, perhaps, is the most cruel form of catastrophe: that it does not end… and that it does not begin again.

During the last Council of Ministers, last Thursday, it was enough for Nawaf Salam to mention the demilitarization of the capital for the Ministers of Health and Labor (representing Hezbollah) to step up and oppose it. Irony and aberration. The irony is that the ministerial portfolios granted to Hezbollah are those directly concerned by the dramatic consequences of a war: strikes indeed cause market stagnation and an increase in the number of injured and dead. The aberration is that ministers of a government refuse to allow the State to have full sovereignty, at a minimum , in its capital, and prefer the rule of chaos and paramilitary groups to that of public institutions. There is nothing surprising in this attitude, from the moment these ministers belong to a politico-militia movement that denies the very idea of a Lebanese nation. The most striking example is that of this 'teacher' who explains the symbols of the Hezbollah flag to young children who have fled the South, right on the sidewalk of Beirut, while their houses are still burning. The absence of civic-mindedness, cultural division, adherence to a religious doctrine... all these elements today push a part of the Lebanese to align themselves with the precepts of a foreign country, in this case the Islamic Republic of Iran. The worst is that this attitude, which consists of wanting to deconstruct legal institutions and eradicate the notion of a sovereign State, is not exclusive to one religious community: while it is true that a majority of Shiites are still affiliated with Hezbollah, there are also Sunnis, Christians, and Druze who think similarly, out of cowardice or self-interest, or even conviction. And that is precisely where the shoe pinches. And due to the inability of the highest hierarchy of the State to truly implement the promised and promulgated decisions, whether out of complacency (or even fear) for the president, complicity for the speaker of parliament, or lack of means concerning the prime minister, the schism among Lebanese is widening. Thus, the sad truth emerges: our country is not a message of living together but at best a mosaic, where all the pieces insult and monitor each other, supported by a cracked veneer. Therefore, today, discussing a possible peace with Israel is utopian, because beyond the internal fractures, we must clearly name the forces that perpetuate them. Hezbollah and its political allies, by clinging to a militia logic and regional alignment, impose on Lebanon an agenda that transcends national interest and prevents any consolidation of a sovereign State. By maintaining a duality of power, between official institutions and a parallel force, as well as by sustaining schizophrenia in the exercise of power, due to the competition among its summits, they render any lasting stability, and by extension any credible peace, illusory. No agreement with the outside can hold when internally certain actors continue to prioritize confrontation, not as a right to opposition, but an armed confrontation that is the very foundation of their political existence....

Lebanon can no longer afford the luxury of ambiguities. In a context of generalized collapse — economic, institutional, and social on the one hand, and of merciless war on our country — one truth imposes itself with absolute urgency: there can be no recovery, nor any affirmation of the state's role, without the full and complete restoration of its authority. On this essential point, a major step forward has already been taken: the clear decision to affirm the illegality of Hezbollah's military formation and to concentrate arms in the hands of the legitimate armed forces. This decision is just. It is necessary. It is vital. But today, it remains insufficiently implemented. Between decision and execution: a dangerous gap Lebanon suffers less from a deficit of texts or positions than from a deficit of execution. Too often, sovereign decisions are taken… then left in abeyance, hollowed of their substance by inaction, by compromises, or by fear of confrontation. In this context, Hezbollah's maintenance of an autonomous military capability, in direct contradiction with this decision of the State, constitutes a frontal challenge to national authority. This is not merely an institutional anomaly: it is a calling into question of the very principle of sovereignty. Faced with this, ambiguity is no longer an option. Nor is wait-and-see. The requirement of firmness What is now expected of Lebanon's political authorities is clear: to translate the decision into deeds. With method, with responsibility, but above all with firmness. This is not about escalation, nor about posturing. It is a sovereign imperative. Any prolonged complacency will only deepen internal fractures and expose the country further to regional turbulence. The Lebanese Armed Forces must be placed at the center of this dynamic. They possess national legitimacy and the trust of a broad segment of the population. But they must be given the political and operational means to fully assume their role. Moving beyond fear The true obstacle today is not the absence of solutions. It is the fear of implementing them. Fear of tensions. Fear of reactions. Fear of the short-term political cost. But Lebanon's recent history teaches us one thing: the cost of inaction is always higher than the cost of courage. Every retreat of the State has been paid for by a lasting weakening of its institutions and a deterioration in the living conditions of its citizens. It is time to reverse this logic. A call for civic mobilization In this decisive phase, responsibility does not rest with leaders alone. It also falls upon society as a whole. A popular movement, peaceful but determined, must emerge to support the effective implementation of the State's decisions. Not against any part of the Lebanese people, but in favor of a fundamental principle: a single state, a single authority, a single legitimate armed force. This support is essential to give decision-makers the courage to act, and to politically isolate any form of refusal to comply with national legality. The hour of truth Lebanon stands at a crossroads. Either the sovereign decisions remain declarations without a tomorrow, and the country continues its slow erosion. Or they are at last implemented with the determination that the gravity of the situation demands, and a prospect of recovery becomes possible once more. The choice is there. It is clear. Decreeing is no longer enough. We must act.

For a resounding victory, it was anything but! Donald Trump, wary of getting drawn into the Persian Gulf, found a way out by scaling back his ambitions. No more talk of changing the regime of wilayat al-faqih, nor of putting a definitive end to Iran’s nuclear program (1). With the Islamabad Agreement of April 7, he will have to settle for a consolation prize: the reopening of communication routes and free navigation through the Strait of Hormuz “in coordination with the Iranian armed forces.” Does that make it a victory for the ayatollahs? Certainly not! Javad Zarif and Foreign Affairs While Iran has shown resilience, its forces are nevertheless exhausted and its country drained. Moreover, its negotiators in Islamabad seem ready to abandon their Lebanese proxy to its fate. Tehran will not formally admit this, but Javad Zarif hinted as much in an article in Foreign Affairs (2). The former Iranian foreign minister used the opportunity of an academic contribution (?) to propose a roadmap to end the raging regional conflict: he advocated reciprocal concessions between the belligerents, de-escalation, and diplomatic normalization. In exchange for the lifting of U.S. sanctions and the ban on the sale of its hydrocarbons, Iran would drastically reduce its uranium enrichment program, which would moreover be placed under international supervision, etc. With regional security ensured, the Persian Gulf would become a zone of prosperity and fruitful exchange. In this idyllic vision of the future, exporting the Islamic Revolution would no longer be on the agenda. This explains why there is no mention of our Mediterranean Middle East, let alone the Palestinian cause or the Al-Aqsa Mosque! Still, it is curious that Javad Zarif does not tell us what fate he intends for Hezbollah. Does he plan to sacrifice it as a pawn on the political chessboard? (3) “Eternal Darkness” and the Islamabad Agreement The plan proposed by Zarif suggests that Iran should be allowed to claim a strategic victory, so that it does not lose face and can enter negotiations with the “Great Satan.” And indeed, that is what happened: no sooner had the ceasefire been declared than Hezbollah—not just Iran—claimed to be “on the brink of a great historic victory.” Nevertheless, the Iranian-backed militia called on displaced residents from the South, Dahieh, and the Bekaa “to show patience, to stand firm,” and not to return to their homes until it gave the green light. And rightly so, since the said ceasefire, which supposedly enshrined Iran’s victory, hardly concerned the Lebanese theater of operations. Lebanon was not meant to benefit from the cessation of hostilities. Indeed, on April 8, Eyal Zamir, the Israeli Chief of Staff, declared: “We will continue to strike the terrorist Hezbollah and exploit every opportunity… Strikes will continue as part of Operation ‘Eternal Darkness.’” So to those of our fellow citizens who proclaimed victory too soon, we say: do not be mistaken about Benjamin Netanyahu’s intentions. As far as his northern border is concerned, he has opted for full-scale escalation. And he reminds us of this constantly through repeated strikes, as if to say: “I am not bound by the Islamabad Agreement.” And to add: “Lebanese, you serve as human shields for Hezbollah!” Postscript At a time when official Lebanon is preparing to launch peace negotiations in Washington with the State of Israel, one can expect a dirty trick from the Islamic Republic. Facing the possible loss of its proxy—the Party of God—it will seek to bypass the government and will not hesitate to inflame civil conflict among the Lebanese if doing so serves its interests. With nothing left to lose, Hezbollah would once again be used to sow chaos! 1 – It should be noted that the Farsi version of the ceasefire agreement stipulates the continuation of uranium enrichment within the framework of Iran’s nuclear program. This addition does not appear in the original version circulating in English among diplomats and journalists. And this is not the only discrepancy between the two versions. 2 – Javad Zarif, “How Iran Should End the War: A Deal Tehran Could Take,” Foreign Affairs, April 2026. For failing to take national interests into account, this article immediately earned its author a reprimand from the Iranian authorities. 3 – Likewise, Iranian threats to withdraw from the agreement following the “Black Wednesday” carnage would be purely symbolic—a smokescreen and a subterfuge to mask their real intentions.

Ten minutes were enough for Beirut and the other regions to endure the most ferocious Israeli attacks they had ever witnessed. The toll was hundreds dead and thousands wounded. All of this came to pass after the conclusion of the opaque agreement between America and Iran on a ceasefire. Israel, led by a Netanyahu unwilling to accept any agreement that would return him to the difficult domestic reality of Israeli politics, sought to convey to all parties that Iran's declaration of including Lebanon in that agreement was null and void. Iran repudiates it verbally, while continuing on its side to observe the agreement. As for Hezbollah, dispersed across every corner of the country and intermingled with the civilian population, it declared its adherence to the ceasefire and has, until now, refrained from retaliating against Israel beyond a handful of rockets fired at Kiryat Shmoneh. Lebanon is officially an arena open to violation, with the consent of that very government which then decreed a period of national mourning for the victims. As for the Lebanese people, it is on its government and its officials that they have decreed their own mourning. Those who live inside a war are not asked to understand, but only to bear witness and to remain human as far as possible. That is what I shall do. We are not an arena. We are not a land open to the settling of scores, nor a map on which others trace their lines of fire according to their own interests. We are human beings, with names, homes, children, and a memory already burdened with enough wars that we did not choose. And yet, every time, the same role is reimposed on us, that of serving as the arena and the corridor, the messenger and the front line, the permanent victim. We are bombed so that some power can send its signals, destroyed while others negotiate elsewhere, killed because we had the misfortune of being born in this part of the world. We refuse all of this. We refuse to take part in a war in which we have no say, no stake, and no power to bring it to an end. We refuse to be reduced to a mere card in the hands of any axis, and to be summoned to die in silence beneath grand slogans that neither feed our children nor protect our homes. We refuse to be vassals, whether of Iran or of anyone else. We refuse to have our land, our lives, and our future governed by decisions that come from beyond our borders, under the banner of a theocratic state that sees in us nothing but an extension of its influence and a shield for its protection. We refuse to have an entire society taken hostage and plunged into battles that exceed both its capacities and its will, only to be asked afterward to celebrate the sacrifice. What sacrifice could that be, one that its own authors did not choose, and what resistance could that be, one imposed on people by force? Just as we refuse to be lectured about Israel, its perfidy and its brutality, we equally and simultaneously refuse Israel's own barbaric practices; we refuse that it remain above all accountability, and that a state founded on force and occupation continue to threaten us, bomb us, and destroy our cities, justifying each of these acts in the name of security. What security could that be, built on the ruins of others? Had the Palestinians ever obtained their rights, had justice ever existed in this region, neither Iran nor anyone else would have been able to exploit that gaping breach to blackmail us, and we would never have found ourselves on the front line of others' wars. We are the victims of two lethal equations, one being that of an occupation deaf to the rights of others, and the other that of an instrumentalisation which sees in us nothing but a tool. Caught between the two, we are ground to dust. But despite all of this, we proclaim today that enough is enough. Enough of being used, enough of being taken hostage, enough of being killed in the name of causes whose management serves none of our interests. We want a genuine state, not the shadow of another, powerless to exercise its own authority, but a state that makes sovereign decisions on war and peace rather than having them imposed upon it. We want a single army, a single decision, an indivisible sovereignty. These words may seem futile against the roar of warplanes, the rain of rockets, and the chaos of blood and mutilated bodies. But the word is, in truth, the most powerful weapon we possess. For war begins when human beings are stripped of their voice, and ends, sooner or later, when they recover it. We are not an arena. We are not numbers. We are not cannon foder. We are human beings… We simply want to live.

Ten minutes were enough for Beirut and the other regions to endure the most ferocious Israeli attacks they had ever witnessed. The toll was hundreds dead and thousands wounded. All of this came to pass after the conclusion of the opaque agreement between America and Iran on a ceasefire. Israel, led by a Netanyahu unwilling to accept any agreement that would return him to the difficult domestic reality of Israeli politics, sought to convey to all parties that Iran's declaration of including Lebanon in that agreement was null and void. Iran repudiates it verbally, while continuing on its side to observe the agreement. As for Hezbollah, dispersed across every corner of the country and intermingled with the civilian population, it declared its adherence to the ceasefire and has, until now, refrained from retaliating against Israel beyond a handful of rockets fired at Kiryat Shmoneh! Lebanon is officially an arena open to violation, with the consent of that very government which then decreed a period of national mourning for the victims. As for the Lebanese people, it is on its government and its officials that they have decreed their own mourning. Those who live inside a war are not asked to understand, but only to bear witness and to remain human as far as possible. That is what I shall do. We are not an arena. We are not a land open to the settling of scores, nor a map on which others trace their lines of fire according to their own interests. We are human beings, with names, homes, children, and a memory already burdened with enough wars that we did not choose. And yet, every time, the same role is reimposed on us, that of serving as the arena and the corridor, the messenger and the front line, the permanent victim. We are bombed so that some power can send its signals, destroyed while others negotiate elsewhere, killed because we had the misfortune of being born in this part of the world. We refuse all of this. We refuse to take part in a war in which we have no say, no stake, and no power to bring it to an end. We refuse to be reduced to a mere card in the hands of any axis, and to be summoned to die in silence beneath grand slogans that neither feed our children nor protect our homes. We refuse to be vassals, whether of Iran or of anyone else. We refuse to have our land, our lives, and our future governed by decisions that come from beyond our borders, under the banner of a theocratic state that sees in us nothing but an extension of its influence and a shield for its protection. We refuse to have an entire society taken hostage and plunged into battles that exceed both its capacities and its will, only to be asked afterward to celebrate the sacrifice. What sacrifice could that be, one that its own authors did not choose, and what resistance could that be, one imposed on people by force? Just as we refuse to be lectured about Israel, its perfidy and its brutality, we equally and simultaneously refuse Israel's own barbaric practices; we refuse that it remain above all accountability, and that a state founded on force and occupation continue to threaten us, bomb us, and destroy our cities, justifying each of these acts in the name of security. What security could that be, built on the ruins of others? Had the Palestinians ever obtained their rights, had justice ever existed in this region, neither Iran nor anyone else would have been able to exploit that gaping breach to blackmail us, and we would never have found ourselves on the front line of others' wars. We are the victims of two lethal equations, one being that of an occupation deaf to the rights of others, and the other that of an instrumentalisation which sees in us nothing but a tool. Caught between the two, we are ground to dust. But despite all of this, we proclaim today that enough is enough. Enough of being used, enough of being taken hostage, enough of being killed in the name of causes whose management serves none of our interests. We want a genuine state, not the shadow of another, powerless to exercise its own authority, but a state that makes sovereign decisions on war and peace rather than having them imposed upon it. We want a single army, a single decision, an indivisible sovereignty. These words may seem futile against the roar of warplanes, the rain of rockets, and the chaos of blood and mutilated bodies. But the word is, in truth, the most powerful weapon we possess. For war begins when human beings are stripped of their voice, and ends, sooner or later, when they recover it. We are not an arena. We are not numbers. We are not cannon fodder. We are human beings… We simply want to live.

“When will the war end? I say: when we meet again.” Mahmoud Darwish I am by nature an optimist, without being armoured against sadness. Yet, despite the darkness and brutality of the war, I find myself living through one of the most hopeful periods of my life — contrary to many around me. I believe we are witnessing Lebanon’s last wars, and in the quiet of the night my thoughts drift toward “the day after the war.” I think, with genuine compassion and without seeking to blame anyone, in near-total neutrality, about the shock that will strike households whose members were raised in a deep hatred of Israel, its people, and Jews in general — Arab nationalists, Syrian nationalists, communists, Islamists of every stripe. Those who cannot bear to hear the word “Israel” and replace it with the “Zionist entity” or the “occupied and temporary entity”; those who once preferred — and some still do today — to burn Lebanon rather than abandon the liberation of Palestine, raising the banner of “freedom of armed Palestinian action across all Lebanese territory,” forcing their own state to surrender its sovereignty through the “Cairo Agreement,” as a sacrifice to the Palestinian cause. How will they bear a new reality in which Israel will not withdraw from Lebanon this time except through a comprehensive peace agreement? In which there can be no return to the 1949 armistice, but rather strict and binding security arrangements designed to guarantee the safety of its northern border forever? A heavy price Lebanon will be forced to pay to recover its land To those who ask me these days, I say: when the hour of genuine negotiation arrives, there will be “weeping and gnashing of teeth.” The price we will have to pay, if we wish to restore the land and people of the South to the Lebanese state, will be steep. Once more, read the text of the 1983 Israeli withdrawal agreement, which you scorned by naming it “May 17” or “the accord of humiliation and shame” — the same accord you brought down through the uprising of 6 February 1984. Read it again, wish fervently, and pray that Israel will agree to something resembling it after the war. My intuition, borne out by every visible sign, tells me it will not. This time, Israel will no longer settle for a conditional withdrawal or fragile security arrangements susceptible to being undone by suicide operations; sustained and sporadic attacks against its occupation forces will no longer be possible. The Assad regime no longer exists to support the “resistants” and cover their flanks; the theocratic Iranian regime is tottering; the Soviet Union has long since dissolved; and the land, now emptied of its inhabitants, no longer resembles what it once was — the people of that territory are the water without which the fish of resistance cannot survive. Israel will demand permanent guarantees and genuine international monitoring mechanisms in which it will participate and which it will oversee — or, at best, that role will fall to the armies of the United States and the Arab nations hostile to the Iranian regime. Foreign powers may even impose radical transformations in the very structure of the Lebanese state, so that the South does not once again become a launchpad for rockets fired at northern Israel, or a network of tunnels from which to strike it. Those who built their identity upon “the Islamic resistance in Lebanon” will discover that this chapter has definitively closed, and that the Khomeinism they had embraced as a faith and a way of life now belongs to another era — a crushing burden for themselves, their families, and Lebanon as a whole, one that will be impossible to carry. They will confront a bitter reality: Palestine has not been liberated, Lebanon has paid the full price, and Israel has not been defeated — on the contrary, it now finds itself in a position to impose its own terms. The Lebanese will then understand that those who set Beirut ablaze repeatedly, who devastated the South time and again, are the very same people who today oppose any political solution capable of sparing the country a renewed catastrophe. But the day I speak of will not be one of revenge or mockery. It will be the day of an encounter grounded in the shared conviction that the wager on liberating Palestine at the expense of Lebanon’s existence was a grave mistake. What happened is that we were already living the Palestinian tragedy, and now we find ourselves immersed in the Palestinian and Lebanese tragedy together, having gained nothing but destruction and grief, at the cost of sons and daughters whose young lives were cut short for nothing. A day on which the Lebanese will acknowledge that the peace reached by sister Arab nations was not a betrayal, but the best of what was possible — the only choice that preserves what remains of our country and our state. A peace that means secure borders, a state capable of exercising its sovereignty fully, an economy open to the world rather than closing in on itself under the slogans of “resistance.” That day will mark the beginning of a truly new era. An era in which Lebanon emerges from the cycle of endless, chained wars fed since 1969 by the illusions of “the central cause” and “armed resistance to the last breath.” An era in which the Lebanese recover their right to an ordinary life: building their homes, cultivating their land, raising their children far from the sound of explosions, airstrikes, rockets, and fiery speeches. It will not be easy, for a generation raised in the conviction that “Israel is the enemy forever, and we must struggle without respite, whatever the losses, to erase it from the map from the river to the sea,” to wake suddenly to a world in which this “enemy” will not leave except after signing a weighty agreement designed precisely to protect it. But history shows no mercy to those who remain prisoners of the past, and the day after the war will be, whatever the outcry and whatever the cost, the day of those who chose Lebanon first — whether they arrived at that choice early or late — to rebuild together and heal the wounds of the homeland and of souls.

“When will the war end? I say: when we meet again.” Mahmoud Darwish I am by nature an optimist, without being armoured against sadness. Yet, despite the darkness and brutality of the war, I find myself living through one of the most hopeful periods of my life — contrary to many around me. I believe we are witnessing Lebanon’s last wars, and in the quiet of the night my thoughts drift toward “the day after the war.” I think, with genuine compassion and without seeking to blame anyone, in near-total neutrality, about the shock that will strike households whose members were raised in a deep hatred of Israel, its people, and Jews in general — Arab nationalists, Syrian nationalists, communists, Islamists of every stripe. Those who cannot bear to hear the word “Israel” and replace it with the “Zionist entity” or the “occupied and temporary entity”; those who once preferred — and some still do today — to burn Lebanon rather than abandon the liberation of Palestine, raising the banner of “freedom of armed Palestinian action across all Lebanese territory,” forcing their own state to surrender its sovereignty through the “Cairo Agreement,” as a sacrifice to the Palestinian cause. How will they bear a new reality in which Israel will not withdraw from Lebanon this time except through a comprehensive peace agreement? In which there can be no return to the 1949 armistice, but rather strict and binding security arrangements designed to guarantee the safety of its northern border forever? A heavy price Lebanon will be forced to pay to recover its land To those who ask me these days, I say: when the hour of genuine negotiation arrives, there will be “weeping and gnashing of teeth.” The price we will have to pay, if we wish to restore the land and people of the South to the Lebanese state, will be steep. Once more, read the text of the 1983 Israeli withdrawal agreement, which you scorned by naming it “May 17” or “the accord of humiliation and shame” — the same accord you brought down through the uprising of 6 February 1984. Read it again, wish fervently, and pray that Israel will agree to something resembling it after the war. My intuition, borne out by every visible sign, tells me it will not. This time, Israel will no longer settle for a conditional withdrawal or fragile security arrangements susceptible to being undone by suicide operations; sustained and sporadic attacks against its occupation forces will no longer be possible. The Assad regime no longer exists to support the “resistants” and cover their flanks; the theocratic Iranian regime is tottering; the Soviet Union has long since dissolved; and the land, now emptied of its inhabitants, no longer resembles what it once was — the people of that territory are the water without which the fish of resistance cannot survive. Israel will demand permanent guarantees and genuine international monitoring mechanisms in which it will participate and which it will oversee — or, at best, that role will fall to the armies of the United States and the Arab nations hostile to the Iranian regime. Foreign powers may even impose radical transformations in the very structure of the Lebanese state, so that the South does not once again become a launchpad for rockets fired at northern Israel, or a network of tunnels from which to strike it. Those who built their identity upon “the Islamic resistance in Lebanon” will discover that this chapter has definitively closed, and that the Khomeinism they had embraced as a faith and a way of life now belongs to another era — a crushing burden for themselves, their families, and Lebanon as a whole, one that will be impossible to carry. They will confront a bitter reality: Palestine has not been liberated, Lebanon has paid the full price, and Israel has not been defeated — on the contrary, it now finds itself in a position to impose its own terms. The Lebanese will then understand that those who set Beirut ablaze repeatedly, who devastated the South time and again, are the very same people who today oppose any political solution capable of sparing the country a renewed catastrophe. But the day I speak of will not be one of revenge or mockery. It will be the day of an encounter grounded in the shared conviction that the wager on liberating Palestine at the expense of Lebanon’s existence was a grave mistake. What happened is that we were already living the Palestinian tragedy, and now we find ourselves immersed in the Palestinian and Lebanese tragedy together, having gained nothing but destruction and grief, at the cost of sons and daughters whose young lives were cut short for nothing. A day on which the Lebanese will acknowledge that the peace reached by sister Arab nations was not a betrayal, but the best of what was possible — the only choice that preserves what remains of our country and our state. A peace that means secure borders, a state capable of exercising its sovereignty fully, an economy open to the world rather than closing in on itself under the slogans of “resistance.” That day will mark the beginning of a truly new era. An era in which Lebanon emerges from the cycle of endless, chained wars fed since 1969 by the illusions of “the central cause” and “armed resistance to the last breath.” An era in which the Lebanese recover their right to an ordinary life: building their homes, cultivating their land, raising their children far from the sound of explosions, airstrikes, rockets, and fiery speeches. It will not be easy, for a generation raised in the conviction that “Israel is the enemy forever, and we must struggle without respite, whatever the losses, to erase it from the map from the river to the sea,” to wake suddenly to a world in which this “enemy” will not leave except after signing a weighty agreement designed precisely to protect it. But history shows no mercy to those who remain prisoners of the past, and the day after the war will be, whatever the outcry and whatever the cost, the day of those who chose Lebanon first — whether they arrived at that choice early or late — to rebuild together and heal the wounds of the homeland and of souls.

In recent days, seeing the army withdraw from certain southern villages like Rmeich, Ain Ebel, Debel, or Qlayaa stirs something inside that is hard to name. It's not just sadness. It's older than that, deeper, as if this retreat confirms an intuition we've long suppressed: that of a country slowly slipping out of itself. In cafes, in the messages we send each other in the evening, we feel that something has cracked. But emotion, however accurate it may be, is not enough to understand what is happening. And as long as we remain immersed in it, we see nothing. An army is not meant to commit suicide. It is meant to last long enough to still be useful when it truly matters. Sending men without cover against an overwhelming power is not courage. It is ordering their death while calling it bravery. Because one thing must be understood. There are those who can hold out until the end, until the last man, because they do not respond to the same logic. Their orders come from elsewhere, from a foreign capital that counts losses without ever watching villages burn. For them, the dead are useful. Lebanese territory is merely a maneuvering ground. What comes after the war is not their concern. But a national army does not have the right to reason like them. If it destroys itself in a battle it cannot win, it's not a lost battle; it's the country itself that perishes with it. And afterwards, there is no one left to hold anything. So yes, it retreats. It's hard to watch. But this retreat is not a flight; it's a calculation, the only one that allows it to stand firm tomorrow. George Washington abandoned New York in 1776, and the Loyalists mocked him for months. The Russians left Moscow to Napoleon in 1812. The British evacuated in haste from Dunkirk in 1940. They were all called cowards. They all won. This is no coincidence. A captain is not measured by the waves he faces. Nor is he measured by the violence of the storm. He is measured by the number of men he brings back alive. A captain who sinks with his crew because he refused to change course is not a hero. He is a wrecker. A father does not take up his rifle to die at his doorstep. He gets his family out through the back, he retreats, he flees even if he is called a coward, because his duty is not to die standing: it is to ensure his loved ones live. Today, the army is both this captain and this father. It does not retreat out of weakness. It retreats because it has millions of children to bring back. We must also say what we prefer not to say. Lebanon will not win a war against Israel. This is not a judgment; it's a fact. But an army does not exist merely to win wars. It exists so that after the war, there is still something left to govern, someone to prevent everyone from settling their scores alone in the street. Without an army, there is no state. And a country without a state means civil war knocking at the door again. Those who want it to stay at all costs are not asking for courage. They are asking for blood. They demand that it hold encircled positions, without secure supply lines, without troop rotation, without air superiority, without sufficient ammunition or continuous logistical support. They are asking a unit to operate in a chain-of-command breakdown, cut off from its rear, exposed, frozen, turned into a target. This is not a defensive posture. It is a condemnation to attrition, until collapse. And when there is no army left, they will understand too late that they have destroyed the only thing protecting them. And then there's this soldier. Twenty years old, maybe less. He didn't choose the uniform to leave; he chose it to stay, specifically, to hold a place, to watch over houses at night, to learn the faces of a village that wasn't his own. That morning, he received the order to pack up. He put away his belongings silently, got into the truck, and didn't look back. Not because it cost him nothing. But because he knew that if he looked, he wouldn't leave. In the truck, his hands trembled. Not from fear. From the weight of what he was leaving behind. This country still stands because of people like him. Lebanon has survived things that would have killed any other country. It survived because men like this soldier continued to wake up in the morning, put on their uniform, and hold their post without knowing if anyone, anywhere, even knew they existed. An officer once took this oath: "I swear by Almighty God to be faithful to the homeland, the army, and the flag." As long as he upholds these words, Lebanon does not fall. It bleeds, it retreats, it is exhausted, but it does not fall. Retreat, yes. Betray this oath, never.

Our decaying Republic has regained its luster. It only took one of our ministers to show firmness and 'dismiss', in accordance with established rules, the accredited representative of Iran. And it was all the more to Youssef Rajji's credit that he managed to weather the storm sparked by his impertinence. However, it should not be believed that this diplomatic show of force would go so far as to restore the credibility of this government or administration. It would take a hell of a lot more; and purges of Stalinist scale would barely be enough! The Khalij in fire and blood But let's go to the Persian Gulf, since that's what it should be called. Cornered in its last strongholds, Tehran has decided to set the said Khalij ablaze! This is certainly the mollahs' trump card and probably their last. A simple comparison after a month of military operations: for 4391 Iranian attacks against Arab countries (Saudi Arabia, UAE, Qatar, Kuwait, Bahrain, Oman and Abu Dhabi), there were only 930 against Israel. In global proportion, if 17% of the strikes targeted the Hebrew State, 83% were directed at Arab countries, all nations combined! How to react to these blatant aggressions? The Sultanate of Oman, which on March 29 formally condemned the 'treacherous and cowardly' aggression it was subject to, refrains from naming the perpetrator and calls for recourse to diplomatic customs. In the same vein, the State of Qatar condemned the attack targeting Kuwait's power and desalination plants. Nothing more! These countries are not the only ones to show restraint and extreme caution. So far, no Iranian ambassador in the member countries of the Arab League has been declared persona non grata. And if some members of the Gulf Cooperation Council have 'thanked' Iranian military attachés or subordinate and assistant employees, they have never attacked the chief legate of the Republic of the Ayatollahs. Which would have been of a completely different caliber and would have had a different resonance! American cyclothymia Certainly, the aggressed capitals have sought to strengthen their security coordination in the face of what they perceive as a growing Iranian threat; however, they still hesitate to take the path of escalation and military retaliation that would be legitimate. Except perhaps Riyadh, which is sharpening its weapons... and adopting a threatening tone. These capitals actually apprehend the reactivation on their own territory of dormant cells as well as massive strikes targeting their oil infrastructure and other desalination plants. But what they fear most of all is Donald Trump's unpredictability. An unpredictability that Emmanuel Macron was the first to emphasize on April 1 in Tokyo, and that the televised address, held shortly after, by the occupant of the White House*, did not dissipate. One does not build strong alliances when one does not know how to dance with one's partner. The American President can summon three aircraft carriers, B52s, stealth planes, and airborne troops to the theater of operations, but he can just as easily slip away unnoticed, without asking for anything more. And, if he has sometimes surprised allies and adversaries with lightning operations, how many times has he not kept promises and commitments? His tactical unpredictability (or perhaps his bluff) is not likely to reassure his Arab allies! So, they adopt an impassive neutrality at the time of the 'historic opportunity' to remake the Middle East! *If Donald Trump thanked the Gulf countries in his address on Wednesday, April 1, he, however, showed no interest in the freedom of navigation in the Strait of Hormuz. Moreover, who can believe that relentlessly bombing Iran for 2 to 3 weeks, as he promised, would be able to avert the threat weighing on the riparian Arab countries!