Two weeks after President Joseph Aoun announced an initiative for a dialogue with Hezbollah aimed at placing all weapons under state control, no tangible progress has emerged. No official date, no defined framework, and no clear timeline have been set—aside from a single mention by Aoun that implementation should begin before the end of 2025. So far, the dialogue appears limited to indirect message exchanges via envoys, more exploratory than substantive.
This ambiguity reflects Hezbollah’s steadfast refusal to relinquish its arsenal, underscored by a stark threat: “We will cut off the hand that reaches for our weapons.” This defiant rhetoric conspicuously overlooks the “Israeli hand” that has repeatedly targeted Hezbollah, its leaders, and its bases—both during and after the recent conflict. If Hezbollah has been unable to sever that long-reaching hand, to whom exactly is this threat now directed? Especially when the Lebanese presidency and government are extending their hands in peace, not war.
The timing of Hezbollah’s warning—delivered just after President Aoun publicly confirmed the state’s decision to monopolize arms and begin implementation through dialogue—suggests the threat is directed squarely at the president and Prime Minister Nawaf Salam. Both leaders have consistently advocated the necessity of reasserting the state’s sole authority over arms within Lebanese borders.
Hezbollah has since tried to reframe its threats as targeting only the so-called "sovereignist" parties, such as the Lebanese Forces and the Kataeb, who have long opposed its military autonomy. But in truth, the stance of these groups aligns with that of the president, the prime minister, numerous ministers, and the broader Lebanese public: weapons should be handed over peacefully, through the constitution and ministerial declarations—not by force.
This escalating rhetoric now encompasses not only traditional political rivals but also the full spectrum of Lebanese institutions—executive, legislative, and popular—calling for stability and an end to the era of militias. Even Speaker Nabih Berri, Hezbollah’s long-time ally, is rumored to be growing weary of the group’s hardline position.
Adding fuel to the fire, Hezbollah now conditions any dialogue on four pre-requisites: an end to Israeli airstrikes, Israeli withdrawal from occupied territories, the release of detainees, and the start of the reconstruction. These demands resemble an intentionally unreachable dowry—designed by someone unwilling to marry off their daughter, as the saying goes.
What’s more, some within Hezbollah have begun to frame their weapons as sacred—entrusted to the long-absent “Mahdi,” a messianic figure in Shiite theology. This elevation of arms into the realm of the divine suggests that the matter is no longer one for earthly discussion in the Presidential Palace or the Grand Serail, but rather for metaphysical judgment beyond human reach.
It may be that Hezbollah is simply playing a familiar negotiation game: raise the stakes before sitting at the table. Yet when the stakes rise to threats of “cutting off hands” and branding weapons as sacred relics, the conversation risks collapsing before it begins.
Hezbollah’s sanctification of its arsenal is not new. It was enshrined in the tenth article of its 2006 Memorandum of Understanding with the Free Patriotic Movement, where it labeled its weapons “a sacred and honorable instruments.”
Given these realities, serious doubts arise about the feasibility of a dialogue already hemmed in by two incompatible sets of conditions: one grounded in southern geography, the other in celestial doctrine. The real key may lie not in Beirut, but in Tehran—specifically in Iran’s doctrine of “Wilayat al-Faqih,” or Guardianship of the Jurist. Should negotiations between Washington and Tehran progress, they might eventually sever the link between Hezbollah’s ideology and its armament, rendering genuine dialogue possible.
But for now, Tehran’s position remains firm. Iranian Ambassador Mojtaba Amani recently rejected the disarmament of Hezbollah, prompting a rebuke from Lebanon’s Foreign Minister. In a later interview, Amani sought to soften his tone, stating ambiguously that Iran “will accept whatever the Lebanese agree upon” and considers the weapons issue “a Lebanese internal matter.”
So, the presidential dialogue appears trapped between Muscat and Rome, suspended in the balance of Iran’s supreme leadership—and whether the so-called “sacred weapons” doctrine can ever be amended, by peace or by pressure.
