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3. I Could Have Told You… But You Already Know

When putting together an editorial, you spend a lot of time mulling things over before settling on what we in the business call an “angle.” But sometimes, there are so many angles, overlapping in every direction, that you end up going in… circles (I know, not the most mathematically precise image).

I could have told you about Ahmad al-Sharaa’s Syria – the endless carousel of massacres: from the Alawite and Christian coast, to the Druze regions, and maybe soon to Kurdistan, which already knows it’s next on the list. Each time, the same tired script: “We’ll investigate, and the guilty will be punished.” And then we move on to the next nightmare.

But in the unbearable videos circulating online, the killers and their official uniforms are in plain sight. Any rookie investigator could unmask these monsters in under an hour. Yet nothing happens. It’s a grim echo of Lebanon’s past 50 years: a never-ending roll call of assassinations and massacres. Every time, an investigation; every time, the tragedy remains an eternal mystery – no culprit, no truth, no justice. Just another chapter in the archives of impunity.

I could have told you about Hezbollah, which has been proclaiming for the past 30 years that its weapons are “sacred” weapons. More sacred than the lives of those who fall needlessly defending them. Untouchable, eternal, proudly enshrined in the global museum of hypocrisy.

I could have told you about those six heroes – six soldiers killed in the explosion of a Hezbollah arms depot near Tyre. One of many such depots that were supposedly gone for good.

I could have told you about the Palestinian camps – bristling with weapons, where the Lebanese army isn’t even allowed to set foot. Enclaves of foreign sovereignty planted deep in the heart of the country, lawless zones ruled by armed factions that didn’t flinch at the Lebanese state’s historic decision to disarm all militias.

I could have told you about Iran, which positions itself as a permanent guest in our national kitchen, sprinkling ideological spices – or a dash of poison – into every political dish. Just this week, Ali Larijani, secretary of the Supreme National Security Council, showed up to offer unsolicited advice and make sure the puppet nods at precisely the right moment. He also insisted that his country is looking out for Lebanon’s interests. How kind – but no! We’ve had enough. Iran is watching, but Lebanon is no longer swayed by Tehran’s siren call.

I could have told you about our electricity: the most expensive in the world, and also the rarest. We pay for it at caviar-level prices, yet use it like Martian air – small sips between blackouts.

I could have told you about roads pockmarked like lunar craters, and water that vanishes from the taps at the very first rays of sunlight.

Here, problems aren’t solved, they’re safeguarded. We polish them and pass them down, like ancient relics. And just when we think we’ve dealt with one, we rush to create new ones.

Lebanon isn’t a country. It’s a living museum of disasters – with free entry but a costly exit. This weekend, we celebrate the Virgin Mary. She knows Lebanon – having come to Maghdouche to wait in the holiest cave in the world while her son preached in what was then Sidon.

If only I dared ask her to watch over this poor country… just a little longer.