Apparent peace in Lebanon: between truce and remote-controlled war

Never the Wild Boar (Lebanon)A year after the ceasefire of November 27, 2024, southern Lebanon remains far from normalization. The truce between Hezbollah and Israel halted the most visible escalation, but it did not stop the destruction or the remote military control that weighs on the border towns. The region is experiencing a hybrid form of conflict, with no ground advances and under constant aerial surveillance, with sporadic attacks and devastation that prevents the mass return of the displaced population.

In Mais al-Jabal, just two kilometers from the Blue Line, this suspended peace is reflected in the public school reduced to rubble during Israeli bombings in the summer of 2024. Faraj Badran, its principal, silently walks through what remains of the building where he also studied as a child. He says that seeing it destroyed felt like losing a loved one. Now he teaches in prefabricated classrooms installed by the Ministry of Education. Amid generators, metal-clad blackboards, and corrugated iron roofs that vibrate with every drone, Badran insists that reopening the school allows for the rebuilding of the community and offers a reason for families to return to the border villages. "If there's no education, people can't even think about coming back. Reconstruction isn't just about putting up buildings: if people don't feel they can return to normal, these border villages will remain empty," Badran laments.

The damage figures reveal the scale of the human void. More than ten thousand civilian structures were destroyed or severely damaged between October 2024 and the beginning of 2025. In municipalities like Kfar Kila, half of the housing stock is in ruins. In Marwahin and Aita al-Shaab, entire neighborhoods were razed, and schools, roads, and crops were rendered unusable. In many villages, the human landscape has been replaced by rubble, making daily life impossible.

Attacks and constant surveillance

Adding to this devastation is the persistence of attacks. Since January, Lebanese authorities have documented thousands of ceasefire violations, including air raids, targeted bombings, and low-flying drone patrols. The constant presence of these devices has become what several analysts describe as a remote occupation based on continuous surveillance, data collection, and the capacity for immediate intervention. A drone hovering for hours is enough to empty streets, halt agricultural work, and force businesses to close.

In this fragmented territory, internal exile becomes permanent. Manahel Rammal, 65, was evacuated from Odissey, a village incorporated into the Israeli-controlled security zone. Her house was destroyed. Today, she rents a place near Tyre with financial support from her son, who works in Beirut. After the closure of the displacement centers, thousands of families like hers have nowhere to return. Manahel reiterates that they talk about a ceasefire, but they remain homeless and unsafe. Their lives, like those of so many displaced people, unfold in a limbo without open war, but without any prospect of return.

Reconstruction is progressing as slowly as the return. The Lebanese state lacks the resources to intervene in dozens of villages simultaneously. Many local authorities are working with minimal resources. Families return intermittently to remove rubble or recover belongings, although in most cases the destruction is so extensive that returning means inhabiting an environment without essential services, without security, and without an economy.

The south is trying to maintain something resembling daily life. In the Nabatiyeh souk, the bustle has returned, though not normality. Hassan Darwish, a textile merchant, explains that many suppliers no longer come for fear of attacks and that prices change almost every week. The market, which once supplied villages in the south and west of the Bekaa Valley, now depends on barter networks and small-scale solidarity. Families buying on credit, neighbors sharing rides, and shopkeepers stockpiling goods in case the road closes again. Amid half-empty stalls and hushed conversations about the upcoming harvest or the previous night's bombings, the souk embodies a silent resistance where opening the shutters each morning becomes an act of defiance.

The absence of an effective state presence facilitates the consolidation of the vacuum that Israel manages remotely. The sustained use of drones to patrol, identify movements, and carry out attacks maintains a climate of constant threat that undermines the 2024 agreement, which in theory was meant to allow for the safe return of residents and the restoration of services.

A year after the ceasefire, southern Lebanon faces an impossible equation: rebuilding without security, repopulating without services, and surviving in a space where aerial surveillance replaces ground occupation. The truce wasn't broken, but neither was it respected. A different form of warfare has taken hold, less visible but equally decisive, one that suspends daily life and indefinitely postpones any return to normalcy.