By Fatima Salemeh
Since when did sovereignty become a project subject to a trial phase?
The question may sound provocative, but it inevitably arises whenever “pilot zones” in southern Lebanon are discussed. When the restoration of sovereignty becomes contingent on the success of a pilot model implemented in one area before it is expanded to others, the debate is no longer merely technical or security-related; it becomes a debate about the very meaning of sovereignty.
By definition, sovereignty is indivisible. It cannot be applied in stages, nor does it await evaluation after a trial period. It either exists or remains a goal the state seeks to achieve.
Within the span of a single day, two images came to define Lebanon’s political moment. The first came from Washington, where Lebanese diplomacy took center stage in talks with the US administration amid discussions on supporting the Lebanese Army and advancing the implementation of arrangements for southern Lebanon. The second came from the Southern Lebanese town of Zawtar Al-Gharbiya, where the Lebanese Flag was raised in a gesture intended to affirm the state’s presence and the army’s deployment in the area.
Viewed separately, each scene appears consistent with the idea of the state reclaiming its role. But when considered together, an unavoidable question emerges:
Is sovereignty measured by symbols or by realities?
Raising the national flag is a patriotic act that few would dispute. Yet the value of a symbol comes not from the symbol itself, but from the reality behind it.
When a new hospital opens, the ribbon is cut only after the operating rooms are ready, the equipment is functioning, and patients have begun receiving care. Only then does the ribbon signify an achievement already realized.
If the ribbon is cut before construction is complete, however, it does not announce an existing reality; it merely promises one.
Herein lies the paradox.
Was raising the flag a declaration of fully realized sovereignty, or an expression of hope for sovereignty that has yet to be achieved?
If the state itself says that the “Israeli” withdrawal has not yet been completed, and that the implementation of security arrangements is still unfolding in successive stages, is sovereignty already a reality, or is it still a project awaiting the success of the process?
Another question naturally follows:
Can the debate over sovereignty truly be separated from the debate over weapons?
If the security threat persists, and if the state itself acknowledges that deployment and withdrawal are still unfolding in stages, it is only natural to ask whether the question of the country’s means of defense can be discussed independently of a threat that has not yet disappeared.
Yet another paradox soon becomes apparent.
The path currently proposed toward restoring sovereignty relies on international sponsorship and mediation, while the sponsoring powers remain “Israel’s” principal allies, even as Lebanon continues to demand a full “Israeli” withdrawal from its territory. Some may view this as pragmatism dictated by international relations, while others see it as a political contradiction that is difficult to reconcile.
Regardless of one’s political perspective, however, the central question remains:
Is sovereignty ultimately built through externally brokered arrangements, or through the state’s own capacity to assert and enforce it?
Perhaps this is why many Lebanese are no longer satisfied with images alone; whether it is a handshake in Washington or a flag raised in the South. Images may convey political messages, but they cannot, by themselves, answer the question that matters most:
What has actually changed on the ground?
Ultimately, sovereignty is not a flag being raised, nor a photograph being taken, nor a statement being read. It is a lived reality; one that must first be established on the ground before it can be captured by the cameras.
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