Hussain Abdul-Hussain
Now Lebanon
Despite all their apparent shortcomings, Lebanon's political leaders know how to do one thing really well: Wait calmly as events unfold regionally. As long as no obvious winners or losers emerge in neighboring Syria, or the more distant Iran, Lebanon's leaders will keep their disagreements contained and will try to maintain the status quo, albeit amid the usual and endless bickering and attempts to undermine each other.
The country's political junkies have even coined a term for this state of affairs. When leaders are in their wait-and-see mode, they are usually said to be "lowering the tempo of the game." And lowering tempo they are.
Druze leader Walid Jumblatt is hedging his bets. His cool political demeanor has defined most of Lebanese political life since the May 2008 Doha Conference. Today, Jumblatt fears that going back to the high-pitch politics of the days of the Independence Intifada might provoke what he calls the "Shiite sea" around him and result in a Hezbollah incursion into his turf in the Shouf and in Aley in southern Mount Lebanon.
Yet at the same time, Jumblatt makes sure to keep good relations with the Sunni majority in Saudi Arabia and in Lebanon, where he needs to ally with the Sunni-dominant March 14 bloc in parliament to make sure that an electoral law to his liking is approved. He also needs the Sunni voting bloc in the Shouf to secure his usual sweeping victory in his own district.
Between fearing thuggish Shiite behavior and Sunni demographic superiority, Jumblatt has patiently walked a fine line. (Indeed, if we had not watched Jumblatt in the past, we would have been surprised by his reconciliation with former Prime Minister Saad Hariri.) His cool approach has contributed to significantly lowering tempers across Lebanon, and this balancing act will further influence Lebanon in the coming months.
If we weren't here in 2005 and 2009, we would have also been surprised by the political positioning of Speaker Nabih Berri, who is projecting the image of a moderate Shiite at odds with Damascus and Hezbollah, and whose life is presumably in danger because of his gradual overtures to March 14.
Watch Jumblatt and Berri veer closer to their electoral bases as the 2013 elections approach. Jumblatt will sound more March 14, Berri more March 8. Then on the morning after the elections, watch Jumblatt use his bloc to secure Berri the majority of votes he needs for a sixth term as speaker, much to the objection of most of Jumblatt's March 14 friends.
Why does Jumblatt insist on the reelection of Berri? The answer might be that he thinks Berri can use his influence with Hezbollah to keep them away from the Shouf and Aley as a way of returning the favor.
The same arrangement will apply to the premiership. Unless Najib Miqati, the incumbent, fails to stuff enough ballot boxes to guarantee his reelection in Tripoli, Jumblatt and Berri will probably reconstitute the majority needed for the renewal of Miqati's term.
Meanwhile, Hezbollah will be content to extend the status quo. Forget the shenanigans of the Moqdad clan and the abortive Assad-Samaha attempts at spreading terror in the north. Reading between the lines of the statements of its leader, Hassan Nasrallah, in his interview with Al-Mayadeen TV, the group seems to be coming to terms with the idea that Bashar al-Assad will not be around for much longer, and that the party had better hunker down for now.
As for March 14—composed of Hariri's Future Movement, Samir Geagea's Lebanese Forces and their junior Christian partners—extension of the status quo might be to their detriment because it leaves them out of power for a longer period.
But March 14 only has itself to blame. Over the past few years it has made itself irrelevant, waiting on the sidelines for too long, rarely being proactive, and always expecting that world or regional events might improve their lots.
March 14 has yet to realize that there is nothing more to Lebanese politics. It is what it is. No saviors will come from outside, and the only way for their return to center stage would be through reinventing themselves along the lines of the Arab Spring, as they accidently did once on March 14, 2005.
But without any new ideas from March 14—and given Jumblatt's persistent fear of Shiite power, coupled with Hezbollah's apprehension of the coming change in Syria that might produce an unfriendly Sunni-dominated government—things will remain the same until further notice.
In short, the parties that have the power to make things happen are apprehensive of the inevitable change in Syria and are therefore lying low, while the parties that are cheering for Syrian change have no influence over things in either Lebanon or Syria.
The world should not be expecting news from Lebanon in the near future, but, as the saying goes, no news is good news.
Hussain Abdul-Hussain is the Washington Bureau Chief of Kuwaiti newspaper Al-Rai
Hussain Abdul-Hussain
The National
In the Shia Islamic tradition, initiating a greeting by saying "Assalamu Alaykom" yields 69 blessings. Uttering "wa Alaykom Assalam" in response begets only one. Your net balance of blessings (awarded for all good deeds, subtracted for sins) will decide your fate on the Day of Reckoning.
In my early teens Ali, a cousin of my cousin, always insisted on saying the first part of this salutation even if we beat him to it. So adamant was he about collecting all the blessings that we nicknamed him Ali Assalamu Alaykom. So pious was he that during our football games, he would concede fouls without his opponents calling them.
Ali's father Ibrahim Al Sayyed, a religious man, was the man who announced the founding of Hizbollah in Baalbek, eastern Lebanon, in September 1982, and in Beirut three years later. For at least the first decade after Hizbollah's founding, its supporters were disciplined, and so observant of religious teachings that one season the party's football team, Al Ahed, did not receive even one yellow or red card.
Over the next few years I lost contact with Ali. His father was elected to parliament on Hizbollah's ticket in the 1990s, but later fell from grace with the leadership - or maybe with its sponsors in Tehran and Damascus - and was made the chair of the party's politburo, a role that seems marginal.
Since then, a new generation has taken over Hizbollah. Piety seems to have fallen out of fashion, which is odd for a party that claims a divine role.
On Twitter, I often comment on the speeches by Hizbollah's secretary general, Hassan Nasrallah, which are usually transmitted from his hideout and broadcast on a giant screen.
Perhaps it is Mr Nasrallah's disconnection from the world that has made him seemingly delusional. Or maybe the changing world around him, with the advent of the Arab Spring, has caught him unprepared to defend his alliance with the region's tyrannies in Iran and Syria.
Mr Nasrallah looks nervous. And he has referred to his party's missile arsenal in each of his last three speeches, in a clear show of force, promising to kill tens of thousands of Israelis.
In my tweets, I highlighted what seemed to be his inconsistencies. My points, retweeted by many, came to the attention of Hizbollah members who unleashed a barrage of offensive comments and swear words against me. I tried to reason with many of them, urging them to keep the discussion civil, but to no avail. None of Hizbollah's younger generation seemed interested in the heavenly blessings that Ali was so keen on collecting more than 25 years ago. Times have changed, and the "Party of God" looks godly no more.
Instead of old-fashioned kindness, members of Hizbollah now reiterate Mr Nasrallah's rhetoric by threatening their opponents with "surprises" and punishment of "apocalyptic proportions". They warn everyone not to test their patience and advise against disagreeing with them, or with the tyrants of Iran and Syria.
Swear words and threats are only part of the story. Hizbollah now suffers from rampant corruption. Since Iran richly compensated the party for the losses Hizbollah supporters suffered during the war with Israel in 2006, bags of cash have encouraged decadence and fraud.
In September 2009, a Hizbollah old-timer, Salah Ezzidine, was arrested after running a Ponzi scheme that caused financial losses within the group. Soon thereafter, a pro-Hizbollah columnist in Beirut wrote that Mr Nasrallah had expressed outrage about the wives of Hizbollah officials aggressively driving big new SUVs, bullying other drivers. Mr Nasrallah reportedly urged his lieutenants to go back to the old ways, piety and thrift.
To add insult to injury, Hizbollah members and their allies have been implicated in various mafia-style murders and cases of domestic sabotage. In 2011, a UN-sponsored tribunal charged four Hizbollah leaders with the assassination six years earlier of Rafik Hariri, the former Lebanese prime minister.
In another incident this year, a group of men were caught trying to plant a bomb in the lift of the building of Boutros Harb, an anti-Hizbollah Christian lawmaker. Two black SUVs rushed to the scene carrying men, pretending to be police, who snatched the would-be assassins out of the hands of the building's security and passers-by. The men are still at large - and under the protection of Hizbollah.
Last month, former Lebanese minister and lawmaker Michel Samaha - a close ally of Syria's Assad regime - was caught in a police sting and accused of planning to detonate bombs across north Lebanon to sow discord, perhaps civil war.
Proven links to attacks and assassination attempts, along with corruption, threats and simple incivility have turned Hizbollah into the opposite of its founding principles.
Reflecting on all this made me wonder where Ali is these days. Our common cousin, also called Ali and a supporter of Hizbollah during our boyhood, still sends me his regards. "Does he still like Hizbollah?" I recently asked my mother, who had run into him. "Quite the opposite," she said. I asked why and my mother quoted Ali as saying: "I did not sign up for this."
Many Lebanese Shiites did not, either.
Hussain Abdul-Hussain is the Washington bureau chief of the Kuwaiti newspaper Alrai
On Twitter: @hahussain
