- 08:30
Yes, we are the four and a half million Lebanese – prisoners of a country that has been hijacked. We live trapped in the open, under the rule of a militia that has seized a nation, its people and the state itself.
Hezbollah is no force of resistance. It is an occupying power from within. It decides when Lebanon goes to war, whom it must obey and how much air it’s allowed to breathe. It speaks on everyone’s behalf, yet represents only itself and its Iranian master.
Since its countless “divine victories,” all of which were in fact defeats, it has sunk deeper into schizophrenia. It has lost to Israel, yet boasts about it. It has destroyed the economy, yet proclaims itself the protector of the people. It launches a war in support of Hamas, but when Hamas decides to lay down its arms, it holds its ground and refuses to do the same.
To what end exactly?
It has become increasingly clear that this arsenal is aimed at Lebanon’s fragile civil peace rather than at Israel. The equation is simple: either I keep control and enforce my rule, or I reduce the country to rubble. Today, because of Hezbollah’s stubbornness, we are hurtling toward a new war already lost before it begins. A war no one wants, except those who long for useful chaos.
Mr. Trump, we are aware of your exasperation with local dithering and compromises. So are we.
Lebanon does not deserve to be Iran’s battlefield or a sacrificial showcase for the “Palestinian cause.”
It deserves real peace, the kind that comes when weapons are finally laid down and people are allowed to live.
Mr. Trump, the next time you speak of the hostages who need to be freed, think of us: the prisoners of a magnificent country that could have been so alive. A country where parents are weary of crying as they say goodbye to children leaving to build a future elsewhere. Here, the horizon is darkened by the black flags of a martyrdom imposed as the chosen way of “life.”
The Lebanese no longer dream. They fear. They count the days until the next bombing, the next illusion of victory.
Meanwhile, the state moves forward cautiously, too cautiously for many. Lebanon is like a ship whose passengers, armed to the teeth, have taken control and are racing full speed ahead toward the iceberg.
Mr. Trump, we know you cannot act on our behalf.
True resistance today no longer rests in weapons. It comes instead from the people, silent, exhausted and still standing.
Albert Camus once said, “There always comes a time when we must choose between watching and acting.”
That moment will come when Lebanon dares to tell its jailers: enough.
Until then, Mr. Trump, please keep us in mind.
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