On Tehran’s Weeping and Tripoli’s Joy

06/07/2026

By Hicham Bou Nassif | Weinberg Associate Professor of International Relations and the Middle East and George R. Roberts Fellow at Claremont McKenna College-California

On the surface, there seems to be no connection between the tears of members of “Hezbollah delegation” in Tehran, bidding farewell to Khamenei a few days ago, and the joy in Tripoli during Syrian Foreign Minister Asaad al-Shaibani’s visit there last week. In substance, however, the tears in Tehran and the joy in Tripoli are different expressions of the same underlying reality: namely, that Lebanon’s Muslim communities — Sunni and Shia alike — possess identities that transcend Lebanon’s borders, tying them emotionally, and consequently politically, to neighboring countries.

Bsharri is not very far from Tripoli, yet al-Shaibani visited the latter and not the former. It is true that the feelings of the people of Bsharri toward the fallen Assad regime generally mirror those of Tripoli, perhaps “with an extra touch.” Yet no one in Bsharri would have danced in the streets waving Syrian flags if Syria’s foreign minister had visited.

This does not mean that Bsharri is good and Lebanese while Tripoli is bad and anti-Lebanese. Bsharri and Tripoli are both Lebanese cities — but in different ways. The caution toward the intentions of Lebanon’s surroundings, rooted in the mountains of the Cedars, is met by the trust of proximity and kinship on the coast. Bsharri’s caution is neither arrogance nor “isolationism,” just as Tripoli’s trust and warm reception are not acts of betrayal. These are simply different communal identities that shape people’s ideas and choices. Things have always been this way, and they likely always will be, regardless of how much intellectuals philosophize.

As a Maronite from Mount Lebanon, I reject the politics of Iran’s Mullahs regime — its claims, its ideological premises, and any influence it may seek over my life and over the future I want for my children in their homeland, Mount Lebanon, and nowhere else in the world. When I see my son playing in our home in the Chouf, I think of him playing in the house of his great-great-grandfather. For him to remain there when he grows up, he will need employment opportunities sustained by a prosperous economy.

Such prosperity is impossible so long as the Mullahs of Tehran continue to have any role or influence over the course of affairs in Mount Lebanon. Therefore, I oppose the Mullahs. My father opposed them before me, and my son will oppose them alongside me and after me. The Maronites of Mount Lebanon will not submit to political Islam, nor will they recognize any right of the Ayatollahs to interfere in their affairs. Period. End of story. And as long as the Ayatollahs interfere, there can be no compromise in the struggle against them. Matters are that clear.

Yet I understand that my feelings and my environment belong only to me and my community; they are not everyone’s feelings. Who am I to tell Shias from Jabal Amel not to grieve Khamenei’s death? Or not to support him politically? Or to insist that their feelings toward Iran should resemble mine, otherwise they are not truly Lebanese? The truth is, those mourning Khamenei are Lebanese. But what it means to be Lebanese, for them, differs from what it means to me and to my community.

I have been thinking a great deal lately that the challenge facing federalist proposals in our region stems from a larger problem: the rejection of liberalism, whose essence is respect for the right of individuals and communities to freely maintain their differences. It also seems to me that the root of our intellectual troubles lies in the curse of searching for a simple and perfect solution to a deeply complex social reality. Instead of insulting my intelligence and that of others by writing about decentralization, implementing the Taif Agreement, and all the other empty rhetoric beloved by the intellectually lazy and talentless, I prefer to think as follows.

At the worst extreme, there are problems that have no solution. The Kurds, for example, are a people without a state. Hundreds of thousands of Native Americans still live in impoverished reservations to this day. Perhaps we in Lebanon are likewise trapped in an unsolvable cycle, and our sectarian conflict will continue without any horizon for resolution. Is that tragic? Certainly. Human history itself is nothing but a succession of tragedies, interrupted only by periods of fragile peace.

At the less grim extreme, the solution begins with mutual recognition — recognition of our right to differ fundamentally — and then building a political system whose highest aim is not to suppress or transcend differences, but to prevent them from turning into civil war for as long as possible. Peace among communities that do not love one another, even if cold and fragile, is better than violence.

This article was originally published in Arabic by Nida al-Watan on 6 July 2026. The original can be found here.

The views expressed in this op-ed are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of SyriacPress.