“Returning the Golan in exchange for dropping Hezbollah.” The equation seems simple. Too simple in this complicated Middle East. Bilateral initial talks between Israel and Syria – mediated by Turkey and Norway – involve other powers, both regional and global. And Lebanon, always at the heart of issues that surpass it. In any other context, these indirect discussions would please the population, seeing them as a step towards peace. From Beirut’s view, however, they cause worry as they seem to prepare for war.
Just ask the representatives of Hezbollah, suspicious of Syria’s real intentions since the assassination, under still unexplained circumstances, of their operational leader Imad Moughniyeh. “No comment,” cautiously explains Deputy Hossein Hadj Hassan, political advisor to Secretary General Hassan Nasrallah. An unusual response for a man otherwise comfortable with rhetoric. Waiting for instructions and clarifications from Damascus or truly embarrassed, doubt and questions multiply within the Shiite militia, paired with a paranoia that leads their security service to vet visitors, like a French political science student from Bordeaux, detained two hours in the south of the country. Tight discussions at the highest level of the Party of God are noted in Lebanese security circles, on how to react to the situation.
Should we indeed take seriously the initiative – not really new – of the Israeli authorities, who seem inclined to keep in place a beleaguered Alawite minority regime, less dangerous than an army of Sunni generals in power? In local UN circles, there is real doubt about Syrian interest in this offer, less desirable despite its strong symbolism than the inherent advantages of the Lebanese card.
The fear of a new blaze in South Lebanon to sabotage this dialogue joins that of a violent reaction from Damascus to the radicalization of its main political enemies in Lebanon. Especially since there prevails a feeling of an inexorable disintegration of the pro-Syrian March 8 forces which ultimately reveals the hard core of Hezbollah: the failure of a national consultation, initiative launched by Parliament President Berry, always tempted to play on the old rivalry within the Shiites between Amal and the competing militia formation depending on the regional situation, has rather marginalized him. The withdrawal of support for General Aoun by Deputy Michel Murr confirms this trend.
Simultaneously, the anti-Syrian majority of March 14 radicalizes with probable support from Washington: the announcement, even if illusory, to finalize at all costs the presidential deadline on May 13 next, the fiery declarations of Druze leader Walid Jumblat on the independent and sophisticated Iranian means of communication of Hezbollah and its security control of the airport – facts widely known but never clarified – feed the psychosis of a return of attacks, a hypothesis accredited in UN circles.
In this quite tense atmosphere, in Achrafiyé, the Christian heart of Beirut, the Lebanese Forces and Kataëb commemorated the withdrawal of the Syrian troops of April 2005. A local manifestation that betrays the difficulty of these Christian militias to evolve from resistance to a broader national movement.
A likely sign of Lebanese weariness with political affairs, an increasing part of the population admits to “doing very well without a president.” If it weren’t for the question of salaries and appointments, the country of the Cedar would indeed give the impression of continuing to operate at full capacity: the construction of roads and bridges continues, while luxurious buildings spring up everywhere, even though it’s not exactly known who will be the fortunate owners. An excess of money, especially from Gulf countries, is not unrelated to the political rivalries between majority and opposition over the control of social and human environments.
Nonetheless, risk of attacks or not, nothing seems to come to disturb the willingness of the Lebanese to stay out at night. The festive streets of Gemmayzé or Monnot remain crowded. Sitting next to me on the plane was a young American diplomat, straight out of “knife-and-fork school” – a mandatory passage for military personnel joining the State Department – who had just left his first posting: the Green Zone in Baghdad. “Accelerated training,” he jokes cautiously, having come to let loose in the Lebanese capital. No doubt his stay at the heart of the Levant will usefully complete his education. Who knows, without incident, driving a car in Beirut can then calmly take one anywhere in the world.
