Lhe scenarios of the occupation of Gaza are repeated in Lebanon, with almost identical themes, and inevitably dramatic: South Lebanon is emptied of its inhabitants, occupied militarily, its territory fragmented, tanks and other armored vehicles are stationed watching for the slightest gestures or movements, ready to fire without warning. Last Sunday, the Lebanese Ministry of Health announced that strikes by the Zionist army on the south of the country had left 14 dead, despite the recent extension of the ceasefire. During this time, “diplomacy” takes place with the usual polite speeches. Evoking diplomacy in this context of occupation is a contradiction, better said discussions between dominants and dominated.
There is a great temptation to speak of repetition, as if history unfolded its fragments mechanically. However, what is happening in southern Lebanon is not a simple copy of a text already written elsewhere, it is a reconfiguration of the same logic, adapted to another terrain and recognizable in its effects: depopulation of border zones, dense militarization, constant surveillance.
Under these conditions, words falter. Saying and expressing the word diplomacy is almost an abuse of language. Diplomacy supposes, in principle, a certain symmetry between the parties, or at least the mutual recognition of a legitimacy to negotiate. However, when a territory like South Lebanon is under direct military pressure, when its inhabitants are forced to flee, when force dictates the pace, what opens up is not a space for balanced negotiation; we can say that it is rather a framework where one imposes and the other tries to limit losses.
The parallel often mentioned with Gaza is less due to a strict identity of situations than to a common perception: that of a fragmented, monitored territory, where the continuity of civilian life is broken. In both cases, the central question remains that of the status of the populations. What happens to a society when its inhabitants are displaced, dispersed, kept at a distance from their own places of life? This is not just a humanitarian crisis; it is a profound transformation of the relationship to the territory, to memory, to the future.
In southern Lebanon, as in Gaza, as in the West Bank, this reality produces a double effect. On the one hand, it creates a form of astonishment, on the other, it fuels dynamics of resistance, political or symbolic, which are long-term.
This nagging question remains: how to get out of this circle? As long as force remains the main language, “discussions” risk being nothing more than suspensions, moments of management rather than resolution. Giving meaning to the word diplomacy would require reintroducing real guarantees, recognized frameworks, and the ability to enforce commitments. In other words, to move the center of gravity, the balance of force towards the right.
In the meantime, the inhabitants of Lebanon (and obviously Gaza) live in this uncertain in-between, where occupation is not always declared, but never really absent. And where each day that passes prolongs a situation whose outcome remains, for many, out of reach
