- 31
- July
- 2025
In Lebanon, there’s a joke as old as our illusions and as biting as our clarity. It’s about “Tansa,” the poor soldier sent alone to face tanks, then artillery, then fighter jets, until, at his breaking point, he snaps: “What kind of country is this, where Tansa alone stands to defend it?” (The original punchline is a little less polite, but you get the idea.)
What if this joke, now a popular proverb, captured our entire national reality?
And what if behind the humor lay our tragedy?
Because “Tansa” isn’t comic relief.
“Tansa” is the Lebanese soldier.
He’s expected to be everywhere, all the time, for everyone.
He’s tasked with fighting terrorism in the cities, the mountains and the valleys.
And at home, he plays the role of police and tackles crime, disorder and reckless drivers.
The Lebanese army celebrates its anniversary this August 1. An army that is under-equipped but overstretched. An army we praise when it keeps order, applaud when it puts out fires, and beg for when the streets run red with violence, yet one that, in reality, lacks the means to carry out its missions.
An army whose soldiers sometimes earn less than the cost of a full tank of gas and whose salaries are partly paid by what remains of support from friendly countries, perhaps not for much longer. Despite everything, these men and women stand tall with unmatched dignity.
Tomorrow, hopefully before it’s too late, “Tansa” will have to possibly disarm Hezbollah, caught between an order that some of our leaders hesitate to issue and the risk of civil war that only the army can realistically prevent. And certainly not those who, acting on Iranian orders, have led the country into hell.
Our soldier must protect borders that have become abstract, porous and exploited, open highways for traffickers of all kinds.
It’s entirely possible that the world, tired and fed up with empty words and promises never kept, will ask “Tansa” to replace UNIFIL if it ever pulls out due to lack of funding and exhaustion from collective denial, helplessness and attacks.
“Tansa” is the corporal from Akkar stationed in Ersal beneath the snow.
He is the recruit from the South, making his rounds in a small troop transport that offers no protection against modern weapons, the infamous “mellélé.”
He is the soldier in Beirut, securing the streets at the slightest sign of trouble.
He is the serviceman posted in Rashaya, Al-Qaa, Ras Baalbeck, Naqoura, Tripoli and Jounieh, never knowing if his family will have enough to eat tonight.
“Tansa” is the Lebanese man called upon when everything falls apart, but forgotten as soon as things calm down.
He is the only one who is not asked, “Which party do you belong to?” because his loyalty is only to the nation.
Yes, this joke is cruel. But it speaks the raw truth: “What kind of country is this, where Tansa alone stands to defend it?”
What if he is, in fact, our final line of defense? Because there is little left standing in this ruined republic, but the army remains. And that is our chance. Our last hope.
But this phrase, often dismissed too quickly, is actually an unintended tribute. Yes, only the army remains. But thank God, the army still stands strong.
So on this August 1, let us raise our glasses to “Tansa” and all those who serve alongside him.
He is not a legendary hero. He is our soldier of flesh, blood and fatigue. And does not ask for worship, only not to be abandoned.
This Friday, every Lebanese should write it, say it, shout it and make it known: Unwavering support for the Lebanese army. Not out of sentimentality. Not as a ritual. Because if “Tansa” falls, all of Lebanon falls.
So to you, unknown soldier, unrecognized soldier, sacrificed soldier: Respect. And thank you.
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