Lebanon: The Real War and the War of Words – Ian Linden

“The abuse and manipulation of God’s name to justify this and any other war is the gravest sin we can commit at the present time”.
 Cardinal Pierbattista Pizzaballa, Patriarch of Jerusalem, 17 March 2026.

What do Peter Hegsmith, US Secretary of Defence, Naim Qassem, secretary-General of Hezbollah, and Itamar Ben-Gvir, Israeli Minister of National Security, have in common?  They all believe that military force is there to fulfill their version of God’s will.  Deus Vult, God Wills it. That their use of force does not conform to the laws of war does not seem to bother them.  Their own might is always right because it has a divine purpose whether inspired by Christian nationalism, extreme forms of Islamist thinking or Zionist Judaism. 

Modern warfare  has become an exercise in increasing the distance between those perpetrating the killing and the reality on the ground ‘Collateral damage’ sounds like storm damage – to a building.  But those words frequently indicate dead and maimed children, women and other non-combatants.  Political leaders, military chiefs and nuclear scientists,  called ‘high value targets’,  are “taken out”, not assassinated.  With them often die their wives, children, and friends; it has been reported that Israel calibrates the number deemed acceptable against the estimated importance of each target.  ‘States have “capabilities”: the vast array of technical resources capable of overwhelming an enemy not their capacity to resolve conflict diplomatically.  Vague euphemisms, the ‘cuttlefish ink’ Orwell described  in his 1946 essay “Politics and the English Language”, are spurted out daily trying to obscure what television news reveals thanks to courageous war correspondents. 

At the opposite pole from military euphemism is the word ‘terrorist’, covering a multitude of sins.  The once functional definition of terrorism – violent actions by a sub-state actor to achieve political goals by instilling fear in communities is increasingly inadequate.   States themselves can, and do, terrorise their citizens.  Iran is an obvious example.  Sub-state actors become a part of a government, or at some point take over the State itself.  If terrorism simply means violence to achieve political aims there is no moral reason not to accuse brutal States of ‘terrorism’   Madeleine Albright, US Secretary of State under President Bill Clinton 1997-2001 pointed out – at a later date – that the United States has often had “limited success when declaring war against nouns”.

Slovenly use of language creates a pernicious loop with what Orwell called ‘foolish thoughts’ and with what we today call ‘spin’.  This loop characterises the arsenal of disinformation and propaganda used to quieten citizens’ moral concerns about today’s wars.  Had he not been a “Christian atheist” confronted by totalitarianism, Orwell might have added how misuse of language and poor theology links to ‘foolish thoughts’ about war and God’s will.  Christian nationalists are a good example.

Just war theory, both Islamic and Christianmakes the distinction between combatants and non-combatants.  But the nature of today’s weapons,  modern warfare, the relationships within civil society created by Islamist dispensations, or implanted in other religious communities by propagandists, makes distinguishing actual combatants more difficult.  Today’s war in the Lebanon makes it almost impossible.   If a war is God’s Will, it seems, the Divine Will overrides moral restraints.

Trump and his circle convince themselves with their own misleading language.  Given the information available to his Intelligence agencies, the US Administration’s misconception about  likely reaction to their attack on Iran is startling.   Iran obviously had been long preparing for war and would prove a resolute opponent, drawing in Hezbollah, yet the White House didn’t anticipate blocking of the Straits of Hormuz.

Hezbollah’s origins lie in the war between Israel and the Palestinians and Israel’s 1978 and 1982 invasions of Lebanon targeting refugees and the Palestine Liberation Organisation’s (PLO) militia.  Lebanon had fallen apart into a civil war between ten different religious communities and their militias, segregated along sectarian lines. 

Export of its 1979 Islamic revolution was the foreign policy of the Islamic Republic of Iran lead by Ayatollah Khomenei Hezbollah initially saw itself as an integral part of this new dispensation.  In 1983 it placed bombs by the US embassy and marine barracks killing 241 Americans.   The Ta’if Agreement mediated by Saudi Arabia and brokered by the Arab League, designed to end Lebanon’s civil war, was signed in 1989:  Hezbollah was recognised as the sole militia responsible for future resistance. 

Modelled on IranHezbollah created a multi-layered pyramidal structure for governance: a Majlis Shura al-Qarar, a consultative council of seven primarily clerical members, Sheik Naim Qassem amongst them, elected every three years by a convention of some 250 Hezbollah top cadres.  There are executive, political, judicial, jihad/security and the parliamentary work, councils. By 1992 Ayatollah Khamenei, successor to Khomenei, was recommending Hezbollah adopt a policy of Infitah: participation  in Lebanon’s elections.   They maintain on average ten deputies in Lebanon’s parliament and are guaranteed two Government Ministers.

According to Joseph Daher’s Hezbollah: The Political Economy of Lebanon’s Party of God, Pluto Press 2016, Hezbollah developed organisations for health, education, seminary training,  orphans, and emergency aid.  Islam compliant loans, zakat tithing, donations and discount cards aided the poor.  An extensive education system plus a TV network, radio station and publishing outlets inculcated the principal of Iltizam, religious commitment and adherence to strict Islamist practice including the duty of supporting Hezbollah. 

Houses were rebuilt after bombing raids honouring the slogan ‘reconstruction, resistance and rebirth’.  Disciplined lives became prosperous lives; a Shi’a middle class grew. The vision was a pure society uncorrupted by the West, an Islamic milieu, hala islamiyya, a ‘resistance society’ against the Zionist enemy. The provision of public services and charitable outreach, a  ‘combination of consent and coercion’, in Daher’s words, encouraged Lebanese Shi’a acceptance of Hezbollah’s authority. 

Southern Lebanon, predominantly Shi’a, dotted with small towns with some ancient Christian villages, now under Israeli attack, has an agricultural economy.   Its people are farmers plus well-off entrepreneurs, landowners and Hezbollah local government officials.  There are possibly 60,000 fighters including part-time reservists and a UN peacekeeping force reduced to 7,500 mandated to secure a buffer zone south of the Litani river.   A significant Shi’a community lives in the more mixed northern Beqaa Valley.

It is easy, especially in war time, to interpret attempts to understand a party to a conflict as support for that party.   Support is clearly not the intention of Daher’s Hezbollah.   Nor is it mine.  But for several reasons, including future negotiations, ignorance is not bliss as  the Middle East today demonstrates.
With its armed wing, trained by the Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), Hezbollah poses an intractable problem for Lebanon’s army and government.  Its rocket attacks provide Israel with their perennial justification for prolonged invasions of Lebanon and the bombing of “Hezbollah strongholds”.  Over one million people, 18% of Lebanon’s population, have had to abandon their homes as the invading Israeli Defence Force (IDF) pushes further into the South again.  In Dahieh, a densely populated southern suburb of Beirut,  controlled by Hezbollah residents cannot easily be sorted into combatants and non-combatants.  Bombs hit buildings which collapse burying people under rubble In Dahieh as in Gaza  The death toll is already above 1,000, 10% children. 

An infinite gulf exists between the Will of a loving, merciful and compassionate God and the will to power that States, and non-state actors, exert in war.  It cannot be bridged – least of all by euphemistic language, ignorance and disinformation.  On his right biceps, Peter Hegseth has a Deus Vult tattoo.  A  chant from the First Crusade, it marks the clear and present danger of Christian Nationalism.

St Oscar Romero and the Lenten Way of Nonviolence

Image: Portrait of St Oscar Romero by Luis Del Valle Peralta, commissioned by Christina Cox and the National Museum of Catholic Art and Library in honour of his Canonisation.

On March 24, the Church commemorates the martyrdom of Bishop Oscar Romero, canonized as Saint Oscar Romero, a pastor whose life and death embodied the power of Gospel nonviolence. Assassinated while celebrating Mass in 1980, Romero’s witness continues to challenge a world addicted to violence, retaliation, and indifference.

Romero did not begin as a radical peacemaker. Appointed Archbishop of San Salvador amid growing repression in El Salvador, he was initially considered cautious. Seeing the suffering of peasants, labourers, catechists, and priests targeted by state violence, converted his heart more deeply to the radical demands of the Gospel. Grounded in prayer and the Eucharist, he came to see that fidelity to Jesus meant standing unarmed before the machinery of death.

“I would like to make an appeal in a special way to the men of the army,” he preached the day before he was killed. “In the name of God, then, and in the name of this suffering people… I beg you, I implore you, I order you in the name of God: stop the repression!” His words were a call to a conversion of heart, to the way of the nonviolent Jesus. Romero believed that violence deforms both victim and perpetrator; only truth, justice, and love can heal a nation.

For Romero, nonviolence was not passivity. It was active, courageous discipleship shaped by the Sermon on the Mount. “The church,” he insisted, “would betray its own love for God and its fidelity to the Gospel if it stopped being… the defender of the rights of the poor.” To defend the poor without taking up arms required a fierce trust that God’s justice outlasts every regime. “If they kill me, I shall rise again in the Salvadoran people,”. A true expression of Easter hope in the face of Good Friday brutality.

Romero’s martyrdom at the altar revealed the logic of Gospel nonviolence: the shepherd lays down his life rather than take another’s. Decades later, his voice still resounds wherever Christians confront oppression without hatred or violence.

On this anniversary, his life asks us whether we will mirror the world’s violence, or the way of nonviolent love revealed in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. In remembering Romero, we trust that nonviolence is not weakness; it is the boldest proclamation that God’s reign comes not by the sword, but by nonviolent love.

St Joseph and the Subversive Power of Tenderness

Image: Icon of St.Joseph written by Brother Simeon Davis for Monastery Icons

In the middle of Lent, March 19th, the Church interrupts its journey toward the Cross to remember a man who never speaks a word in the Gospels. Yet the quiet life of St Joseph may be one of the most radical testimonies to Gospel nonviolence in all of Scripture.

Joseph is not a prophet, priest, or preacher. He is a working man whose holiness is revealed in the small, dangerous decisions of everyday life. In a world obsessed with honour, control, and reputation, Joseph chooses nonviolent love.

The Gospel tells us that when Joseph discovered Mary’s unexpected pregnancy, he resolved to divorce her quietly. Under the social codes of the time, he could have exposed her to humiliation, violence, even death. Instead, Joseph refuses to weaponize the law. Even before the angel appears in a dream, he leans toward compassion. His silence is not weakness. It is resistance.

Joseph’s life continues as a series of disruptive calls from God. In the middle of the night, he rises to protect Mary and the child Jesus, fleeing the machinery of imperial violence unleashed by Herod. The Holy Family becomes a refugee family, crossing borders and surviving on the margins in Egypt. His nonviolence is not sentimental. It is practical, embodied, and risky.

Lent asks us hard questions:
How do we respond to fear?
What do we do when power threatens the vulnerable?
Do we reach for control, retaliation, and self-protection, or do we choose the costly path of nonviolent love?

Joseph shows us another way. His vocation as husband and father is expressed not through authority but through service, anticipating the servant leadership that Jesus will later proclaim and embody.

In recent years, Pope Francis has spoken of a “revolution of tenderness.” Joseph embodies that revolution as an antidote to the rise of ‘toxic masculinity’ in our culture.

As we journey through Lent toward the Cross, Joseph reminds us that nonviolence begins in the heart. It begins in the refusal to shame, to dominate, to retaliate. It begins with the daily decision to protect rather than wound, to trust rather than control, and to love without calculating the cost.

That may look small in the eyes of the world. But in the Gospel, it is revolutionary!

Sr Katrina Alton, National Chaplain to Pax Christi E&W

Nonviolence: A Radical Alternative

We had a great weekend with Nicholas Paz from the Catholic Nonviolence Initiative meeting with a number of Bishops on Friday and then speaking at events in London, Leeds and Liverpool. Thank you to everyone who joined us and to Nicholas for your input and inspiration.

Here are just some of the comments from those who attended:

Nonviolence ‘is much broader than ‘pacifism’, disarmament etc. It is a spirituality above all’.

‘Good to hear about the recent research on effectiveness of nonviolence and the different ways of presenting the idea to a Catholic audience’

Nicholas explained ‘the interconnectedness of the varied manifestations of violence: personal, community and international’.

I learned that ‘nonviolence is not about submission. Nonviolence should say NO to what is wrong.’

One of our former Vice Chairs, Joan Sharples has written a longer reflection on the event in Liverpool which you can read as a Members’ Blog here:

Reflections on Nonviolence – Joan Sharples

As part of a national tour, Nicholas Paz, director of the Catholic Nonviolence Initiative, led an evening session in Liverpool. In a brief introduction he described his own journey from research work to work in mediation. It was encouraging to hear him assert that nonviolence is recognised as an academic field and that there is hard evidence that nonviolence achieves goals faster and more effectively than through violent methods. 

For Nicholas, however, nonviolence was predominantly a spirituality, a deep call to live the nonviolent way of Jesus.

Nicholas invited the thirty people present to name a conflict of concern to them in their life. A rich sharing ensued as people named: personal issues: ‘my own anger’; family situations: ‘my grandchildren struggling with being bullied at school’; community tensions: ‘demonising migrants’; and the global context: ‘world news is too horrifying to watch’.  This process took a long time. Watching Nicholas listen with great attention to each contribution was a lesson in itself.

Nicholas affirmed what had been said, commenting, ‘This is what we are living: violence starts when we don’t take time to listen to each other’. He suggested that we need to acknowledge our own violence as the first step and to work in community with others, reminding us that conflict and violence are not the same and that conflict can be addressed nonviolently. He gave us a tool-box of four words; perception, narrative, space and time.

Perception is the way each person perceives reality. It is not fact. 

We can describe a narrative with closed language: always, never… , but open language: maybe, perhaps…is more effective at promoting dialogue and disarming violence.

Space is important, whether it is the way one sits in a chair; the layout of a room; the planning of the city… Space conditions behaviour.

Understanding and nonviolence work takes time and requires sitting together.

Unfortunately – and ironically – that was when I had to leave for my train. I would like to have listened a lot longer to Nicholas – and I would have liked to pursue conversations with some of the others in the room who had brought to the space such important real-life concerns.