Tala Maher Itani, a 38-year-old development practitioner residing in Beirut, was the most explicit in linking Hezbollah’s armed role to the functioning of Lebanese democracy. “Any decision of war or defense outside governmental consent, I am against,” she said. In her view, Lebanon’s parliament should have the authority to make decisions as consequential as entering a war: “The reason we are a democracy and have a functioning parliament is to vote on decisions as big as whether we should partake in a war.”
For Tala, Hezbollah’s trajectory has made disarmament increasingly inevitable. She pointed to its training in Iran, its involvement in the Syrian conflict, allegations of illicit financial activity and what she sees as its failure to offer sustainable policies for the country. She had once hoped Hezbollah could be incorporated into the Lebanese Army, allowing its military experience to serve the national institution, but concluded that its ideology “feeds on chaos, sectarianism and brainwashing.”
These four positions reveal important distinctions in Lebanon between the principle of state sovereignty and how and when it should be restored. Qaddour emphasized history and the danger of internal conflict. Ziad centralized the state’s authority and the cost of maintaining an independent armed force. Maalouf accepted disarmament as necessary but questioned its feasibility under present conditions. Tala connected disarmament to democratic decision-making and the state’s monopoly over decisions of war and defense.
Peace with Israel proved an equally divisive subject for the Lebanese interviewed for this story, exposing an important distinction between peace, normalization and the absence of war. None described the current moment as presenting a straightforward path toward reconciliation. Instead, they approached the question through history, justice, diplomacy and the limits of what Lebanon can realistically achieve.
For Qaddour, the answer was clear and unequivocal: “Personally, I cannot imagine or accept any kind of peace or normalization with Israel.” Her rejection is rooted in her refusal to recognize what she describes as Israel’s “right to exist.” For Farah, normalization would require accepting a political reality that she fundamentally rejects.
Yet she also offered a distinction between principle and political reality. “I know we will reach some kind of agreement, [but] not in the form people imagine,” she said, suggesting that it could involve “a new demarcation of borders” or changes to laws governing contact with Israel. Still, “The war certainly hasn’t changed my opinion on the issue of peace.”
Maalouf similarly rejected normalization, but placed justice at the center of his argument: “There can be no peace without justice.” For him, true justice is accountability for those Israel killed, recognition of those displaced, compensation for destroyed homes and livelihoods, restoration of environmental damage and documentation of the war. He called for “compensation and recognition from the occupying state, an apology and prosecution for the war crimes committed by that entity.”
Maalouf acknowledged that this may sound unrealistic: “Yes, this is utopian talk,” but he quickly underlined the distance between the idea of normalization and the conditions he believes make peace legitimate. “How can there be peace? How can there be normalization, and with whom? With those who have not taken responsibility for their crimes?”
Ziad took a different route, looking at the experience of other Arab states. “None of the Arab countries that have signed normalization agreements with Israel actually want that normalization,” he argued. He pointed to Egypt as an example, describing it as the first Arab country to sign a peace treaty with Israel while arguing that its people “never agreed to normalize relations with that entity.” For him, a formal agreement does not necessarily produce social acceptance, as the Egyptian public’s pro-Palestinian stances highlight.
Ziad also warned that Israel may have objectives that extend beyond the terms of diplomatic agreements. In his view, “Israel still has hidden goals that are not on the table: the establishment of a religious and extremist state with expansionist aims.” This position separates a treaty that ends or reduces conflict from the deeper process of normalization and reconciliation.
Tala was the most willing to distinguish diplomacy from broader normalization. “Let’s be realistic,” she said, “Lebanon cannot militarily defend itself and its land and sovereignty.” She rejected any “multi-level peace and the exchange of economic and social relations,” but supported diplomacy if it brings an “absence of war.” At the same time, she described Israel as “a colonial, apartheid and genocidal state,” arguing that any peace process must recognize and accept that Lebanese society is divided on such issues if it hopes to succeed.
“The peace boat won’t sail if half of the population is onboard and the other half is left on the shore refusing to board,” Tala said. Her formulation captures a recurring concern across the interviews: Even if an agreement becomes politically possible, its legitimacy depends on whether Lebanese society can accept it. She summarized the broader diplomatic landscape with a sharp observation: “Lebanon is now good at dramatic diplomacy and Israel has always been good in theatrical diplomacy.”
Taken together, these interviews reveal different Lebanese viewpoints on sovereignty and the future of the state. Their differences become equally visible when the conversation turns to Israel. Yet that diversity makes Lebanon what it is today.
Rather than consensus, these positions highlight a shared interest: An insistence that Lebanon’s future cannot be reduced to a binary choice between Hezbollah and Israel. The path ahead is where disagreement lies, with the same underlying questions persisting: Who has the authority to decide when Lebanon goes to war? What does sovereignty mean when the state itself remains weak? Can peace exist without justice? Can any agreement endure if it lacks domestic legitimacy?
Lebanese are still debating the answers to these questions. That uncertainty is not necessarily a failure of the conversation. In a country shaped by repeated conflict, political paralysis and competing claims to sovereignty, disagreement and debate may be one of the clearest signs that Lebanese still believe that they can build a state that they desire. That debate should be welcomed because the mere act of engagement reflects hope for something better.
The views and positions expressed in this article are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the views of DAWN.