Who Is Joseph Aoun, a Low-Profile Army Chief Who Is Now Lebanon’s President?

 Newly-elected Lebanese President Joseph Aoun reviews the honor guard upon his arrival at the Lebanese Parliament to be sworn in as a new president, in Beirut, Lebanon, Thursday, Jan. 9, 2025. (AP)
Newly-elected Lebanese President Joseph Aoun reviews the honor guard upon his arrival at the Lebanese Parliament to be sworn in as a new president, in Beirut, Lebanon, Thursday, Jan. 9, 2025. (AP)
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Who Is Joseph Aoun, a Low-Profile Army Chief Who Is Now Lebanon’s President?

 Newly-elected Lebanese President Joseph Aoun reviews the honor guard upon his arrival at the Lebanese Parliament to be sworn in as a new president, in Beirut, Lebanon, Thursday, Jan. 9, 2025. (AP)
Newly-elected Lebanese President Joseph Aoun reviews the honor guard upon his arrival at the Lebanese Parliament to be sworn in as a new president, in Beirut, Lebanon, Thursday, Jan. 9, 2025. (AP)

Lebanon’s new president and former army commander Joseph Aoun has maintained a low profile. Those who know him say he is no-nonsense, kind and averse to affiliating himself with any party or even expressing a political opinion — a rarity for someone in Lebanon’s fractured, transactional political system.

Bilal Saab, a former Pentagon official who is now senior managing director of the TRENDS US consulting firm, often met Aoun while overseeing Washington's security cooperation in the Middle East. He called Aoun a "very sweet man, very compassionate, very warm" who avoided political discussions "like the plague."

"He really was viciously nonpartisan, did not have any interest in even delivering speeches or doing media," Saab said. "He wanted to take care of business, and his only order of business was commanding the Lebanese army."

That might make Aoun an odd fit as Lebanon’s president after being elected Thursday — ending a more than two-year vacuum in the post — but Saab said it could be a boon for the country where incoming leaders typically demand that certain plum positions go to supporters.

"He’s not going to ask for equities in politics that typically any other president would do," Saab said.

Aoun, 61, is from Aichiye, a Christian village in Jezzine province, southern Lebanon. He joined the army as a cadet in 1983, during Lebanon's 15-year civil war.

George Nader, a retired brigadier general who served alongside Aoun, recalled him as keeping cool under fire.

They fought together in the battle of Adma in 1990, a fierce confrontation between the Lebanese army and the Lebanese Forces militia during the war's final stages. Nader described it as one of the toughest battles of his career.

"The level of bloodshed was significant and I remember Joseph was steady and focused," he said.

Aoun commanded the Lebanese army's 9th infantry brigade before being appointed army chief in March 2017.

During his tenure as commander, he oversaw the army’s response to a series of crises, beginning with a battle to push out militants from the ISIS group and Hayat Tahrir al-Sham, or HTS, who were then operating in eastern Lebanon near the Syrian border. The army fought in coordination with the Hezbollah group.

HTS in its current iteration led a lightning offensive that toppled Syrian president Bashar al-Assad last month and has become the de facto ruling party in Syria.

The Lebanese army navigated other challenges, including responding to mass anti-government protests in 2019, the 2020 Beirut port explosion and the 14-month conflict between Israel and Hezbollah that came to a halt with a ceasefire agreement in November.

The Lebanese military largely stayed on the sidelines in the Israel-Hezbollah war, only returning fire a handful of times when Israeli strikes hit its positions. Dozens of soldiers were killed in airstrikes and shelling

The military also took a major hit when Lebanon's currency collapsed beginning in 2019, reducing the monthly salary of a soldier to the equivalent of less than $100.

In a rare political statement, Aoun openly criticized the country's leadership for its lack of action on the issue in a speech in June 2021.

"What are you waiting for? What do you plan to do? We have warned more than once of the dangers of the situation," he said. The United States and Qatar both at one point subsidized soldiers' salaries.

Ed Gabriel, president of the American Task Force on Lebanon, a nonprofit that aims to build stronger US-Lebanon ties, said he met Aoun about seven years ago when he was taking over command of the armed forces and "immediately found him to be the best of those that we had worked with."

He described Aoun as a "very direct guy, very honest" and a leader "who inspires loyalty by his hard work." Those attributes helped Aoun to prevent a flood of defections during the economic crisis, when many soldiers had to resort to working second jobs, Gabriel said.

On a personal level, Gabriel described Aoun as a humble and deeply religious man. Like all Lebanese presidents and army commanders under Lebanon’s sectarian power-sharing system, Aoun is a Maronite Christian.

"His religion really sets the groundwork for ... his value system and his morals," Gabriel said.

In Aoun's hometown, residents burst into celebrations after his election, setting off fireworks, dancing in the streets and handing out sweets.

"We are currently living in very difficult times, and he is the right person for this challenging period," said Claire Aoun, among those celebrating. "May God guide and support him, and may he rebuild this entire nation for us."

But Aoun's election was not without controversy or universally supported, even among fellow Christians.

One of the most influential Christian parties in the country, the Free Patriotic Movement of former President Michel Aoun — no relation to the current president — opposed his candidacy. And the Lebanese Forces party gave him their endorsement only the night before the election.

Some have argued that Joseph Aoun’s election violated the law. The Lebanese constitution bars a sitting army commander from being elected president, though the ban has been waived multiple times. Some legislators were not happy doing it again.

Some in Lebanon also perceived Aoun's election as the result of outside pressure — notably from the United States — and less the result of internal consensus. Hezbollah's war with Israel weakened the group, politically and militarily, and left Lebanon in need of international assistance for reconstruction, which analysts said paved the way for Aoun's election.

Saab, the analyst, said painting Aoun as a puppet of Washington is unfair, although he acknowledged there’s no such thing as a Lebanese president or prime minister completely independent of foreign influence.

"The entire country is heavily penetrated and vulnerable and at the mercy of international powers," Saab said. "But ... if you were going to compare him to the leadership of Hezbollah being fully subservient to Iranian interests, then no, he’s not that guy when it comes to the Americans."



‘Cubs of the Caliphate’... ISIS Threatens New Syria

 A man hugs another after being allowed to leave the al-Hol camp. (AFP)
A man hugs another after being allowed to leave the al-Hol camp. (AFP)
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‘Cubs of the Caliphate’... ISIS Threatens New Syria

 A man hugs another after being allowed to leave the al-Hol camp. (AFP)
A man hugs another after being allowed to leave the al-Hol camp. (AFP)

Ahmed el-Jouri

Khaled (a pseudonym) never expected this interview to reopen a door to the past.

At first, he hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. But as he spoke, his tone felt strangely familiar. Then, as the conversation unfolded, a moment came that made my heart race.

"I was 13 when I became a prison guard. We had no choice. They gave orders, and if we refused, we were punished. I opened cell doors, brought food, and watched the prisoners. Some cried, some screamed, and some stayed silent. We treated them as enemies, though we didn’t know why they were there," Khaled recounted.

His words sent a chill down my spine. Al-Mayadeen Prison. 2015. A 13-year-old was guarding me and the other detainees. My mind flashed back to that dark time when I was arrested in Syria for refusing to work as a pharmacist for ISIS.

The group demanded total loyalty, especially from medical professionals. Those who resisted faced threats, arrests, or worse.

One night, they came for me. I later learned my neighbor, an ISIS member, had turned me in for listening to music. That was enough to send me to prison - where I met my young jailer.

As I conducted this interview - one of 17 testimonies I gathered on ISIS youth or the so-called "Cubs of the Caliphate" - questions filled my mind, but I held back. I didn’t want to be too direct, yet curiosity gnawed at me.

I asked careful questions, trying to confirm my suspicions without alarming Khaled, now in his mid-20s. But when he described the prison - the corridors, the meager meals, the way he was ordered to open and close cell doors - I knew the truth. He had been my jailer.

A wave of emotions hit me. Part of me wanted to tell him I had been there, that he had stood before me, holding the keys. But another part hesitated.

How could I say it? What difference would it make? I now see that Khaled was just a child, a pawn in a larger system. Any anger or resentment I felt couldn’t be directed at him. Still, I struggled to separate the man before me from his past.

"Were you cruel to the prisoners?" I finally asked.

He sighed, lowering his head. "Sometimes, I tried to be kind - giving extra food or leaving a door open a little longer. But other times... I was harsh. I was afraid. If I showed weakness, they would have locked me up too."

His words struck me.

I don’t know if Khaled remembers me or if I was just another prisoner. But I see now - he is still fighting his own battle.

Khaled’s story is just one of 17 firsthand accounts gathered over the past six months, revealing how past trauma collides with present and future struggles. This report follows two key figures: Khaled, a former prison guard trying to move on, and Sami (a pseudonym), who once faced his captor at his weakest moment.

Their experiences, along with others, highlight the lasting impact of violence and forced recruitment on a generation robbed of its childhood. But they also raise a crucial question: Has ISIS truly been defeated, or could it return?

With Syria’s shifting power dynamics - Bashar al-Assad’s downfall and Hayat Tahrir al-Sham taking control - young men like Khaled and Sami now face new challenges in an increasingly unstable country. The ongoing security chaos and power struggles among armed factions have fueled fears of ISIS regaining strength.

At the center of this uncertainty is the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF), which still controls thousands of ISIS detainees, including men, women, and children. This detainee issue has become a bargaining tool, with SDF using it to secure military and political support from global and regional powers.

Without clear solutions, these prisoners risk being used for political or military gain. The possible closure of Syria’s al-Hol camp, where many are held, only adds to concerns about what happens next - and where they will go.

A generation of children was born in the camp that mostly holds ISIS families in Syria. (Asharq Al-Awsat)

ISIS threatens Syria’s new government

ISIS has warned Syria’s new government against "straying from the right path," fueling fears that its threats are more than just propaganda - they could be part of a plan to regain influence.

Though the group’s remnants remain active in Syria’s and Iraq’s deserts, launching occasional attacks, the real danger lies in its ability to exploit security gaps and rebuild.

Adding to concerns, some local forces - including remnants of the old regime and the SDF - might use the ISIS threat to their advantage. By keeping the danger alive, they could seek more support from international players, raising fears that ISIS operations might be tolerated or even leveraged in ongoing power struggles.

ISIS is determined to avenge its defeats, understanding that losing land doesn’t mean the end of its ideology. The group is rebuilding by taking advantage of local grievances, tribal divisions, economic decline, and the hopelessness of many former fighters, especially those recruited as children.

These young people, raised in a war-torn environment, now face rejection from their communities, lack of job opportunities, and a stigma they can’t escape. Without proper rehabilitation programs, the risk of them returning to ISIS remains high, as the group continues to exploit their isolation and lack of future prospects.

So, are these former child soldiers a threat to Syria’s stability? Or are they victims of tough circumstances, hoping for reintegration into society as part of the solution?

Despite the fall of its so-called "caliphate," ISIS is still trying to regain its power, using more complex and decentralized methods. These tactics make it harder to track or eliminate the group.

With tasks now handled outside the central leadership, recruits sometimes receive multiple offers from different ISIS factions, unaware of their true connections to the original group.

Khaled recalled: "After I was freed, a man I didn’t know approached me. He didn’t directly say he was from ISIS, but he hinted that the past wasn’t over and there was a chance to return to the group. He knew personal details about me, even things I’d never told anyone. How did he know?"

Like Khaled, Sami also received indirect offers, but through social media. ISIS uses fake accounts on Telegram and WhatsApp to reach young people. Sami said: "I got a message from an unknown person on Telegram. He said he knew my struggles and that there was a way for me to rebuild my life. He spoke about injustice, how we were used and abandoned. His words felt like a therapist exploiting my weaknesses."

In addition to traditional methods, ISIS is now using modern technology, video games that spread extremist ideas, and private forums. They sometimes send links disguised as educational offers or scholarships, but they are traps to recruit individuals.

At one point, the group also relied on civilians working in accepted jobs, like aid workers or logistics staff, to spread their influence. Khaled revealed: "A friend told me he was working with a man distributing food and supplies to poor villages. Later, I found out it was just a cover, and some of the workers were former ISIS members."

Police affiliated with the new Syrian authorities are seen near a mosque in Palmyra on February 7, 2025. (AFP)

ISIS’ continued influence

The tough economic situation and social stigma faced by former ISIS members play a major role in the group's ongoing recruitment. Many young people from these backgrounds live in areas with few job opportunities and are marginalized by society, making them vulnerable to ISIS’s financial offers.

Sami said: "When I was released, I couldn’t find work. I tried to start over, but everyone saw me as a threat. I had nothing, no future. In my desperation, I thought, ‘What if I go back? At least I’d get something for the risk. No one will hire me here.’"

Khaled, like many others, feels isolated. "Society rejects us, and the government doesn’t trust us. We’re stuck, not knowing where to go. When someone says, ‘We haven’t forgotten you, you’re still one of us,’ you start thinking about it."

One witness added: "When there’s no food and no one will hire you because of your past, you start to consider your options. Some are strong enough to resist, but others may not be."

Psychological struggles persist

The survivors also feel as if ISIS is still watching them. It’s not just messages or attempts to meet; sometimes they are approached by people who know private details about their lives.

Khaled recalled: "After my release, I lived far from anything related to the group. But suddenly, a man appeared at the mosque where I prayed in. He spoke about how some of us had lost our way but could still return. When I asked him what he meant, he said, ‘You were there. You know what I mean.’"

Though ISIS’ physical caliphate has fallen, its ideology remains. The group’s tactics continue to change to adapt to new situations. For Khaled, Sami, and others, the fight is not just about weapons. It’s a psychological struggle to hold onto their new identities, while dealing with the past and the persistent attempts to bring them back into the fold, all in a Syria filled with uncertainty.