It seems that, over the past few years, I have traveled a long political distance without actually moving from where I stand. Sometimes, when I read what is being written, I feel that in the eyes of some I have moved from one camp to its exact opposite, even though the questions I ask have not changed very much.
In the past, opposing Hezbollah’s weapons was enough to place you in a particular political camp. Today, that opposition remains, but criticizing the authorities who claim to be confronting Hezbollah can suddenly move you into the opposite camp.
The state has always been a central part of this debate. But it cannot simply be a slogan invoked against Hezbollah while the authorities invoking that slogan are placed beyond criticism.
From the outset, I was among those calling for a boycott of the elections. My objection was not to elections themselves, but to the way they were being used to reproduce political power. The question, for me, was simple: can we use the same tools and the same logic and still expect a different outcome?
The disagreement at the time was over the path to change and whether elections could actually effect change or would simply redistribute seats within the same system. My opposition to this government, therefore, was not born out of disappointment with its performance once it came to power. The objection was there from the very moment we were told it would be a vehicle for change.
The State Is Not a Party to the Battle
From this perspective, I cannot treat the state and those in power as the same. The state is not any particular government, and the government is not the state. If the state is the standard, then those in power must be held accountable to that standard, regardless of whom they confront.
That is why criticizing the state’s performance in negotiations, while pointing to Hezbollah, does not answer the question. And when you ask why the state does not take a position on bombardment, displacement, or destruction, it is not enough to be told: “Hezbollah is the one that dragged us into the war.”
Yes, Hezbollah dragged Lebanon into the war, and that is a political responsibility that cannot be overlooked. But it does not answer the other question: what is the state doing now that it is in the midst of a war? How is it protecting the Lebanese? How is it managing the confrontation and negotiating an end to it? And if Hezbollah weakens the state, that does not absolve the state of responsibility for its own weakness.
This is where a recurring problem in Lebanese politics emerges: when the adversary is at fault, the other side’s mistakes become less important, and when the other side is at fault, the adversary’s wrongdoing becomes the ready-made answer. You ask about one responsibility and are given another. In the end, the discussion shifts away from the act itself and towards deciding who should be put on trial.
This becomes particularly clear when it comes to Hezbollah. Opposition to its weapons has always been a fundamental part of the political position, but Hezbollah cannot be understood through the question of weapons alone. There is a constituency that protects it, and that constituency carries a long Lebanese historical memory.
Lebanese history offers examples of what happens when a sect’s power declines and it loses political weight. This does not mean that its share within the system remains protected until it rebuilds its strength. More often, the space it loses becomes an opportunity for other sects to expand, while influence and interests are redistributed in line with the new balance of power.
This is why, when Hezbollah’s constituency is asked to give up the weapons, what it hears is not simply a question about arms. There is also a question about the day after: what will happen to it once the weapons are gone? Others may see this fear as exaggerated, or argue that using it to justify the weapons is unacceptable. That is a legitimate debate. But ignoring the fear does not make it disappear.
What Is Needed Is a New Alternative, Not Another Vacuum
The issue goes beyond simply disarming Hezbollah, but I do not believe the answer is as simple as saying: “What we need is the state.”
What is needed is a new alternative, not another party. But saying that the state is the alternative does not, on its own, solve the problem. Which state? And who can guarantee that those being asked to give up their weapons will feel that this state will treat them as citizens, rather than as a constituency to be brought under control once the party’s role is over?
If the goal is genuinely to end Hezbollah’s influence, it is not enough to say that the state is the alternative. The state must be present in a way that allows people to see it as an alternative to the party, rather than simply as a force that will fill the vacuum it leaves behind. This is not merely theoretical. It is reflected in how the state makes itself present and deals with people, in its ability to be present in the south just as it is in Beirut, and in its guarantee of people’s rights without treating them differently according to which political force dominates their area.
If the state approaches a particular area first and foremost as “Hezbollah territory,” how can it convince its residents that it has come to replace the party, rather than simply replace it as a new source of power and influence? And if it wants people to abandon a political and security relationship that has lasted for years, it must offer them a different relationship with the state itself, rather than merely asking them to give up the one they had before.
This is not unique to Hezbollah. Most Lebanese parties emerged from specific sectarian or regional constituencies. When a party becomes the sole representative of its constituency, its loss is perceived not only as an electoral defeat, but also as a loss for the constituency itself. That is why it is difficult for another sectarian party to serve as an alternative to Hezbollah simply by taking its place. If the goal is to end Hezbollah’s influence, there must be something that makes people need it less, rather than making them more afraid of its absence.
If you challenge Hezbollah’s narrative, you are accused of defending it. If you try to understand the constituency that protects it, you are accused of making excuses for it. And if you criticize the state’s approach to confronting it, you are told that you are serving its interests. I experienced this myself during an earlier debate about the government. At the time, I said that the way it was behaving could drive some of those who had turned against Hezbollah back towards it. The response came quickly: “Only hypocrites went back to it.”
From that point on, the question was no longer whether the government’s approach might actually be pushing some people back towards the party. Instead, the focus shifted to what kind of person would do so. Judging the person asking the question thus becomes easier than engaging with the question itself.
The same thing happens in the media. An analyst is invited because they represent a political position, not necessarily because they have an analysis worth discussing. One person represents one side, another represents the opposing side, and then the match begins: Who responded? Who silenced whom? Who came out stronger? Over time, political positions become identities, analysis becomes part of the polarisation, and labeling the person speaking becomes easier than engaging with what they are actually saying.
Perhaps this is how you can move from “Shiaat al-Sifara” to the “Neo-Resistance” without changing the fundamental questions you ask. The rejection of Hezbollah’s weapons remains, as does the demand for a state. But the state we are calling for is not an authority above accountability, nor is it a word we invoke whenever we want to shut down the debate.
And if the state is the standard, then opposition itself cannot be tied to a sectarian identity. Why can we not simply be in opposition? Opposed to those in power when they are wrong, whether that power is represented by Hezbollah or by other political forces.
Hezbollah is part of the Lebanese political establishment. It cannot be separated from it whenever we want to place all responsibility on the party, only to treat it then as though it stands outside the political system when discussing the responsibility of those in power.
Changing the prime minister or a few ministers does not mean that the power structure itself has changed. In our country, the system of power is older than the individuals who occupy its positions.
Why Must We Choose Between War and an Agreement?
The issue is not only about how the war began, but also about what follows once it ends. The war must be brought to an end, but ending it does not mean accepting everything that is demanded of Lebanon. Hezbollah dragged Lebanon into the war, and Lebanon has paid a heavy military and political price. That is a fact that cannot be denied. But once we reach the post-war stage, each side begins using what happened to validate its own narrative.
Supporters of the “support front” argue that what followed proves there was no other option, turning the agreement itself into evidence that the decision to go to war was justified. Supporters of the agreement, meanwhile, argue that the cost of the war proves there was no alternative but to accept it. The war thus becomes a justification for the agreement, and the agreement a justification for the war.
But why should we accept this binary in the first place? Why should rejecting the “support front” mean accepting the Framework Agreement? And why should rejecting the agreement amount to justifying the war? It is entirely possible to oppose the “support front” while also opposing the Framework Agreement. We can believe that the decision to go to war was wrong while also believing that the agreement we ultimately reached does not necessarily deliver what we want for Lebanon.
The problem is that the debate is sometimes framed as though there are only two possible narratives: either you accept the war and its consequences, or you accept the agreement and its consequences. But there are Lebanese who see themselves in neither camp. One can reject the “support front” because decisions of war and peace should rest with the state, without that meaning acceptance of any agreement proposed to end the war. Likewise, one can reject the Framework Agreement without resorting to justifications for the war or treating it as the only option available. We do not have to choose between two wrongs simply to prove that we oppose one of them.
The irony is that each side, in one way or another, needs the other side’s narrative to validate its own: the war is used to justify the agreement, and the agreement is used to justify the war. Between these two narratives are Lebanese who want the war to end but do not believe that ending it obliges them to accept everything that comes afterward, just as they do not believe that rejecting the agreement somehow vindicates the war.
And when the military battle ends, the political question remains: who negotiates, over what, and on what terms?
It is therefore not enough for the state to say that it wants to end the war. It must know what it wants to achieve by ending it, and it must enter negotiations knowing what it wants, what it rejects, and what it is prepared to accept. These are not mere negotiating details; they define the very scope of the negotiations. Without them, negotiations become less an attempt to reach an outcome that protects Lebanon’s interests and more an exercise in managing realities imposed by others.
The agreement may end the war, and that is necessary. But if it comes without a clear Lebanese position, it may stop the fighting without resolving the questions that brought us to this point. It is therefore possible to oppose Hezbollah and the continuation of the war while also rejecting an approach in which the state treats negotiations as little more than accepting whatever is on offer. It is also possible to want Hezbollah disarmed without wanting to humiliate the constituency that supports it.
I do not see any contradiction in that. The contradiction begins when every question about the state becomes a question about Hezbollah, every criticism of those in power is treated as appeasement of the party, and every attempt to understand it is seen as a defense of it. At that point, we are no longer debating the idea. We first identify the person expressing it, then decide how to interpret what they say.
And here I return to where I began.
Why “Shiaat al-Sifara”? And why the “Neo-Resistance”?
If the fundamental questions have not changed, then what has?
Perhaps it is because we have grown accustomed to defining our positions in relation to our opponents. Whenever someone tries to step outside this binary, we quickly find another box to put them in. In Lebanon, we have come to know a person’s position before we even hear their argument. Criticize Hezbollah, and you are placed in one camp; criticize the authorities confronting it, and you are moved into the opposing one.
But what if we do not want to belong to either? What if it is possible to reject Hezbollah’s weapons, reject the “support front,” and at the same time reject the idea that ending the war means accepting everything imposed on Lebanon? What if we can demand a state while holding those in power accountable, and refuse to treat an attempt to understand Hezbollah’s constituency as a justification of the party?
Perhaps the problem is that this space makes no one comfortable, because it deprives both sides of the easiest way to define themselves: through the existence of a ready-made opponent on whom everything can be blamed.
And so I return to the question with which I began: Why “Shiaat al-Sifara”? And why the “Neo-Resistance”?
Perhaps because we have grown accustomed to defining our positions through our opponents, and whenever someone tries to step outside this binary, we quickly find another box to put them in.
I do not want a third camp. I simply want us to have the right to disagree with both sides when we do.
