More and more questions, all of them pertinent, are being raised about what Hezbollah is planning in response to the government’s implementation of its plan to establish a state monopoly on arms. Other questions that are also necessary, however, are not being asked- questions regarding the political formulas and agreements that will lay the path ahead for Lebanon once the process ends.
Meanwhile, many of Hezbollah’s opponents seem to be in unparalleled ecstasy: joyous gatherings and jubilant soirees that have been interrupted, on several occasions, by lavish celebrations of prominent foreign dignitaries and of how Lebanon is "returning to reconstruction," as a well-known song goes.
In fact, much of the discourse we have heard from our prominent foreign guests amounts to a translation of this same song into English, more specifically, into American. We and our guests trade in the same commodity; simplistically and triumphantly, we celebrate the "civilizational" that makes us one, as we all are "all alike."
Not only does our overwhelming euphoria prevent us from asking fundamental questions, it also disrupts necessary reflection on the multifaceted tragedy that the Lebanese are drowning in. After decades of bitter experiences, there are probably a few lessons to be learned, and some positions, ideas, and practices to be revised, whether to prevent a repeat of the experience that began with the Palestine Liberation Organization and culminated in Hezbollah, or, at the very least, to prepare ourselves for the shocks that potentially await the rash optimists. Mind you, the major hurdles, foremost among them the restriction of arms to the state, have yet to be overcome.
In the best of circumstances and this is something even primitive peoples were aware of, we cannot avoid taking a moment to mourn the political, economic, and social national collapse that continues to weigh on us and that we have not definitively put behind us. Thus, communities mourn to express their grief, crying to release their sadness, telling others what happened to them, or sharing their tragic stories. Mourning becomes a path to healing and to quelling the pain, just as making it to the end of a tunnel leads to the light.
However, only a few seem to be experiencing this noble, contemplative, and reflective sadness. The vast majority, eager to "move on with their lives," have "learned nothing and forgotten nothing," per the famous quote, attributed to Talleyrand, about the French Bourbon immigrants returning to their country in 1815 after 25 years of exile and absence.
Joy is not deserved if it is not preceded - or at least accompanied - by a profound sadness combined with contemplation. Otherwise, the joy seems light, floating on the surface of the self and, from that surface, evaporating.
Lebanese society has a lot of work to do, and we would do well to lower or temper expectations. If Hezbollah's weapons are the greatest evil, they are not the only evil. There is a dangerous monster inside us: a "dark side" that drives us to seek dominance and to refuse coexistence, as well as to fall into civil strife and, time and again, take up arms. After Iran had been the source of Hezbollah’s arms and empowerment, and our excuse for the situation we had been in, the latest war has left us with responsibilities that are up to us and no one else.
There is a cultural tradition that goes beyond Lebanon and its culture, present across the region, that might help explain our complacency in seeking solutions. In this part of the world, we find a broad and powerful inclination to seek rewards and benefits without paying or even considering the costs required. Khedive Ismail, who ruled Egypt in the 1860s and 1870s, had opted to use debt as his means for modernizing Egypt. Around the same time, Nasser al-Din Shah Qajar modernized his country Persia using the same means, taking out loans in return for national assets and property. Later, in the late 20th century, Lebanese Prime Minister Rafik al-Hariri took a similar approach to building Beirut.
Some attribute this complacency to profound lack of confidence in ourselves and our societies, stemming from the fact that decisions have been made abroad, by the other, since the French campaign on Egypt. Others have gone further, explaining this insecurity as a result of the fact that both the governors and judges of our cities, during the Ottoman era, had been sent from Istanbul.
More importantly, local residents, who did not elect their representatives, were not the ones who defended their cities and villages from external threats. Feudal knights, or Sipahis, took on this task in return for land, "Timaras." That was before the emergence of the "Iltizam" system, which tasked foreign "Multezims" with protecting different parts of the empire.
Today, proceeding in this celebratory fashion is not workable anymore. The road ahead could well entail nothing less than an effort to self-rebuild ourselves from scratch and reassess relations between Lebanon’s sectarian communities, not to mention the need to navigate reliance on foreign actors, whose benefits are intertwined with costs. If we are to achieve this end, celebration should not precede victory, nor should it be disproportionate. As for leaving anxiety, caution, and reflection behind, avoiding reflection about the difficulties that lie ahead, that is a recipe for total destruction.
