Architects of Peace, Contractors of War

Diplomacy is sometimes less the art of ending war than the art of transferring responsibility for it. Many agreements born in quiet negotiating rooms fail not because the parties disagree over principles, but because no one is willing to bear the cost of implementing them. The contemporary history of the Middle East has repeatedly shown that a deep gap exists between signing an agreement and carrying it out—a gap that is often filled by violence.

The latest U.S.-brokered talks in Rome have given the June 26 framework agreement between the United States, Israel, and Lebanon a new appearance of momentum. The discussions focused on proposed “pilot zones” in which Israel is to withdraw from parts of the occupied territories, the Lebanese Army is to deploy in the south, and armed groups—above all Hezbollah—are to withdraw and ultimately disarm. U.S. officials initially described the agreement as “the first step toward lasting peace” and have since called the Rome talks “productive and positive.” If one reads only the text of the agreement and the latest diplomatic statements, such optimism may seem understandable. The main issue, however, lies not in what has been written, but in what has not.

Nearly all discussions surrounding the agreement initially focused on one question: Would Hezbollah agree to disarm?

Hezbollah’s rejection of both the agreement and the demand that it disarm has now answered that question. But a more important one remains: What happens now that Hezbollah has refused?

The answer is far from simple. Israel has repeatedly declared that its full withdrawal depends on Hezbollah’s disarmament. Hezbollah, in turn, has made it clear that it considers this condition a red line. The agreement is therefore built upon the very point on which the two sides continue to disagree. Such an agreement can have meaning only if there is a mechanism to resolve this deadlock.

But where is that mechanism?

In successful postwar settlements, the answer is usually clear. Either an international force guarantees implementation, one of the victorious parties assumes responsibility for enforcing the agreement, or the settlement is built on a compromise accepted by all the principal actors. In the June 26 agreement, however, none of these conditions exists.

The Rome talks have produced guidelines for pilot zones, but no outside force is to disarm Hezbollah, Hezbollah has not accepted the agreement itself, and no political or coercive mechanism has been provided to resolve the underlying dispute.

Here the agreement’s first paradox becomes clear. The most difficult and costly part of the agreement is precisely the part for which no one has accepted direct responsibility.

This gap cannot be concealed by the language of diplomacy. Agreements are ultimately judged not by political statements but by the actions of the actors on the ground. Now that Hezbollah has refused to disarm, who is supposed to compel it?

The answer, though rarely discussed, is embedded in both the text and the logic of the agreement: the Lebanese government.

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At first glance, this seems natural. Should not the state alone hold the legitimate monopoly over the use of force? Should not the Lebanese Army assume full control of the country’s south? Yet this seemingly obvious answer exposes the agreement’s greatest weakness.

Hezbollah is not simply an armed organization that can be disarmed through a security operation. Over the past four decades, it has become part of Lebanon’s political, social, and security structure.

Its popular base, parliamentary presence, influence within the government, and extensive organizational network mean that any attempt to eliminate its military capacity would quickly turn from a security operation into a political and sectarian crisis. Under such circumstances, assigning the Lebanese government to carry out this mission means placing the state itself against one of the country’s most powerful domestic forces.

Here, the agreement’s true nature becomes clear.

What appears to be a plan to end the war between Israel and Hezbollah actually transfers responsibility for continuing it to another actor. Israel is no longer expected to bear the cost of disarming Hezbollah, and the United States has no intention of entering such a confrontation directly. Instead, the Lebanese government is expected to accomplish a mission that even Israel, despite years of military operations and overwhelming military superiority, failed to achieve.

In other words, the agreement does not end the war; it merely changes who is expected to carry it out.

This is the same logic that has increasingly characterized the security policy of major powers in recent years. After the costly experiences of Iraq and Afghanistan, the prevailing strategy is no longer direct military intervention, but shifting the costs of conflict to local actors. Under this model, outside powers preserve their security objectives while assigning the most costly part of implementation to weaker states. As a result, the war does not end; only the party that bears its cost changes.

Lebanon now finds itself in precisely such a position. If the government fails to implement the agreement, the agreement will lose its credibility and the likelihood of continued or renewed fighting with Israel will increase. If it moves to enforce it, however, it will inevitably confront Hezbollah—a confrontation that could reactivate sectarian divisions, strain the cohesion of the Lebanese Army, and push the country toward a crisis that revives memories of the civil war. In either case, Lebanon—not the architects of the agreement—will bear the main cost.

Perhaps this is why Hezbollah’s sharp rejection should not be viewed merely as a political position. The group’s objection is not simply to a security provision; it is to shifting the main arena of conflict from the southern border into Lebanon’s own political structure. This is the change that receives little attention in the agreement’s official language, yet in practice may prove to be its most significant consequence.

Supporters of the agreement argue that no lasting peace can exist unless the state holds the exclusive monopoly over arms. In theory, this proposition is correct. In practice, however, the order in which it is pursued is crucial. The experience of divided societies shows that a state’s monopoly over arms is usually the result of political agreement, not its precondition. When governments are tasked with eliminating one of the principal actors before a national consensus has been reached, the outcome is not a stronger state, but a state that becomes one of the parties to the conflict.

This may be the Washington agreement’s greatest mistake. It assumes that war can be ended by transferring responsibility for it, when in fact transferring responsibility means transferring the war itself. If peace can be achieved only by forcing Lebanese to fight other Lebanese, then the agreement has neither institutionalized peace nor ended the war; it has merely outsourced the conflict.

For this reason, the central issue with the agreement is not the promises it makes about the future, but the cost it assigns to achieving them.

To implement the agreement, the Lebanese government will inevitably have to confront one of the most powerful domestic actors in the country. Such an agreement does not consolidate peace; it transfers the cost of achieving it to a state that is itself the most fragile part of the equation.

In the Middle East, shifting the costs of war onto fragile states rarely brings violence to an end. More often, it simply moves the war from the borders into the state itself.

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The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Monitor.