It is not fair to compare two absences, just as two presences cannot be compared. Our inclination to draw comparisons seems intuitive, and indeed it is, as Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah’s postponed funeral coincides with the twentieth anniversary of Lebanon’s former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri’s assassination. However, it overlooks the fact that no matter how measured it appears, this comparison assumes symmetry where none exists. It also erases the nuances that distinguish each of the two experiences that may seem similar on the surface, but which have almost nothing in common.
This flaw is exacerbated when comparison quickly turns into a framework for reductive analysis rather than a means for shedding light on phenomena, turning this analysis into nothing more than projection. However, fate can be cruel, and coincidences have their own way of shaping meaning. They often escape direct analysis, as in the case of these two funerals being held in the same month.
This coincidence raises an inevitable question. How did Hariri’s absence become an extension of his political and symbolic presence over the past two decades, while Nasrallah, who had spent his life inflating his presence in the daily lives of the Lebanese, has all but disappeared from the public discourse about Lebanon and his party’s future?
The assassination of Rafik Hariri was not merely a point that changed the trajectory of Lebanese politics; it was a moment that opened his project to possibilities that granted him a presence in his absence. He was not only present as a memory recalled each year but through an approach that imposes itself at every juncture, shaping the choices the country grapples with. The state-building project he represented- despite all attempts to thwart or distort it- remained a reference point in every national discussion of the economy, power, and the future, making his name the most enduring fixture of Lebanon’s political lexicon.
In contrast, the assassination of Nasrallah seemed to announce the historical moment defined by his function, his project, his wars, and his choices had come to an end: whether in terms of his party’s momentary setbacks and desperate attempts at repositioning, or in the more profound sense, Hezbollah’s transformation from an ascending force into a relic of an increasingly small past.
When Nasrallah’s experience is revisited in discussions of major conflicts, it will not be seen as a compelling model but as an example of an era- one that ought not to be repeated- reaching its conclusion.
It is no coincidence that the Syrian regime, which survived a struggle to overthrow for over a decade, could not survive the void left by Nasrallah’s assassination. Just seventy days later, Hezbollah’s loss translated into Assad’s collapse, seemingly marking the logical end of a chapter in the region’s history.
The assassination of Nasrallah, the linchpin of Iran’s strategic vision and the man through whom Tehran redrew the balance of power in Lebanon, Syria, Palestine, and Iraq, was not a mundane event. It was the driving force behind a chain reaction. The Axis lost its compass, and Iran found itself in an unfamiliar defensive position after having long dictated the terms. Meanwhile, Hezbollah, which had been renowned for its adaptability, lacks the tools needed to deal with this new equation: an absent leader, faltering command, an exhausted popular base, and regional alliances that turned out to be more fragile than they had appeared.
For years, it had been widely believed that Lebanon’s fate was shaped solely by major shifts in Tehran. That assumption had been that only seeds planted beyond its borders could sprout on its soil. However, recent events are the clearest indication we have had to date that this assumption must be reconsidered. The upheaval that shook the region was neither the result of a global decision nor an extension of a regional deal. Rather, the ripples came from within, beginning in Beirut’s southern suburbs before broadening outward. The axis did not fall because of global power dynamics, but because the figure who had glued it together was killed. His death exposed that what had once seemed like a solid bloc was, at its core, built on an illusion of sustainability.
Following the speeches of Syrian President Ahmad Sharaa or the political discourse in Lebanon (whether in President Joseph Aoun’s inaugural address or Prime Minister Nawaf Salam’s statements), it is impossible not to notice the salience of terms like sovereignty, independence, economy, and development- the unmistakable echo of Rafik Hariri’s voice. It is as though his funeral in February 2005 was, in fact, a public announcement that his absence would be destined to mark the beginning of a new presence- a deeper and more enduring presence.
In contrast, Nasrallah’s funeral seems like the last stop on the course of a decline that had begun years ago. His departure will serve as an acknowledgment that the era he represented has come to an end. The question does not revolve around the future of this era, but the very survival of Hezbollah as an idea and an entity.
History is not merely a chronology of its protagonists’ actions; it is the conclusions we draw from events once the noise fades. It is not difficult to predict which of the two men’s names will be etched into Lebanon’s memory and which will be reduced to nothing more than a footnote in the archives of forgotten conflicts.
