In south Lebanon, Hezbollah's long-established social welfare system is filling the void left by the cash-strapped state, deepening divisions as the government attempts to reassert its authority amid ongoing Israeli occupation and attacks.
Widow turns to Hezbollah after husband's death
Fatima al-Ashkar, a 26-year-old resident of Markaba, used toys to explain to her children that their father had been killed. She arranged toy soldiers in a mock battle and picked up an airplane, miming an air raid on the plastic men below. “I started explaining to them: ‘Israel came and bombed here. Daddy was here. Daddy was martyred. Daddy was protecting us from Israel,’” she said. Her husband, Mohammed Ali, a Hezbollah member, was killed fighting Israel in early April.
Hezbollah's social support system quickly stepped in. Its martyr foundation found and furnished an apartment for al-Ashkar and her children in Beirut's southern suburbs, covering the rent in full. It continues to provide stipends for each child, pay school fees, and cover all healthcare costs. Foundation representatives visit regularly for psychological support sessions. “[Hezbollah] is standing by us. They do everything for us,” said al-Ashkar.
State's absence leaves little alternative
Al-Ashkar and other south Lebanon residents turned to Hezbollah, not the state, for support. Many did so out of belief; others because the state's absence left little choice. As the Lebanese state tries to reassert authority, it faces a deeply divided country. The challenge extends beyond disarming Hezbollah, which the US and Israel are pushing. The state must contend with Hezbollah's deep-rooted welfare system and persuade supporters it can provide security, even as Israeli occupation and attacks undermine its claims.
The latest war has hardened divisions. Hezbollah supporters accuse the government of humiliating Lebanon by negotiating directly with Israel and not responding to attacks. Opponents blame the group for provoking war by launching rockets on 2 March, triggering Israel's invasion and occupation. “Honestly, I don't care about the state. Before, we used to say: ‘They should speak, they should do something.’ Now, whether they speak, or don't speak, it makes no difference to us,” said al-Ashkar. Her home was blown up during a nominal ceasefire in 2024, and her village was occupied until 2000.
Differing views on Hezbollah and state
Mustapha Hamze, a 66-year-old doctor from Nabatieh's outskirts, believes a stronger state would help. Neither Hezbollah's weapons nor government diplomacy has helped him access his home, which he fled early in the war. An Israeli drone fired on him the last time he tried. “Israel says it wants peace, that's a lie. But Hezbollah also needs wars, these groups live through war. They have weapons and they take everything from you. They resemble one another,” said Hamze. He has little faith in the state's ability to defend his rights, having applied for safe passage through the Lebanese army but not yet received it.
Lebanese officials acknowledge the challenge of convincing people to trust the state. “This needs to be a whole-of-government approach. For supporters of Hezbollah, you are talking about three generations of social indoctrination. You have to start with the culture, then inclusion in government, and then we can talk about security,” a senior Lebanese security official said anonymously.
Pilot zones and reconstruction efforts
The government is using three “pilot zones” – areas returned to Lebanese army control – as prototypes to rebuild trust. Reconstruction in these areas, mostly destroyed by Israeli shelling, follows a different blueprint. The army is not allowing the southern council, tied to the Hezbollah-allied Amal movement, to conduct reconstruction as in the past. Instead, the army is rebuilding roads and infrastructure, making the state visible, so citizens turn to Beirut rather than Hezbollah. The army can also ensure infrastructure projects are not used for military purposes.
But the state's narrative is undermined by daily Israeli shelling, with no response. Last week, Israeli troops blew up the municipal building, a public school, and a clinic in eastern Zawtar, near one pilot zone. The cash-strapped state cannot match Hezbollah's social services. Tia Abdalah, a displaced resident from Aitaroun, said, “We got medical treatment, free medicine, blood tests from Hezbollah and Samidoun [an affiliated aid group]. As for the state, we haven't gotten anything from them. And the army's hands were tied by the government.” Though not affiliated with Hezbollah, she received monthly cash stipends and aid boxes.
Lebanese officials know they cannot stop Israeli bombing but are determined to pursue diplomacy. Without Israel's withdrawal, they fear state legitimacy will collapse. “The pilot zones won't work unless there is a clear timetable for withdrawal. We want to push out Hezbollah, but we don't want to appear as if we are playing the role of the South Lebanese Army,” said the official, referencing Israel's proxy from the 1980s to 2000.
For al-Ashkar, the state offers little promise. “[Israel] calls [the army] on the telephone and tells them: ‘Leave the village,’ so they leave the village. Then there's nobody left defending it … Sometimes you feel they're working for the Israelis,” she said.
