Hezbollah: From Militant Birth to Political Power — Lebanon’s Paradox and the Region’s Pressure Point
Few forces have shaped modern Lebanon — and unsettled the Middle East — as profoundly as Hezbollah. Its rise is inseparable from Lebanon’s painful history of sectarian marginalization, foreign occupation, and political fragility. Yet the organization that once cast itself as a liberation movement today stands as both a pillar of Lebanese society and a symbol of its divisions. Hezbollah is at once defender and destabilizer, a social institution and a military giant, a national actor and a regional proxy. Understanding its story is essential to understanding the fractures of the contemporary Middle East.
Hezbollah was born in the crucible of the Lebanese Civil War and the 1982 Israeli invasion. For decades, Lebanese Shiʿa — the country’s largest but historically most disadvantaged sect — lived on the margins of political life. Their communities in the south were routinely caught between the violence of Palestinian militias and the retaliation of Israeli forces. The Lebanese state, weak and fragmented, offered little protection. Into this void stepped Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, newly empowered by its 1979 revolution and eager to export a revolutionary vision. With Iranian funding, training, and ideological support, a new militant movement coalesced — one that promised not only resistance to Israel but empowerment for a neglected community. That movement called itself Hezbollah: “the Party of God.”
In its earliest years, Hezbollah was defined by uncompromising militancy and rejection of the Lebanese political system. It carried out suicide attacks, kidnappings, and guerrilla strikes that forced Israel into a costly occupation struggle. In 2000, when Israel withdrew from southern Lebanon, Hezbollah declared victory — and many Lebanese, even critics, acknowledged that no other force had achieved what the national army could not. That moment cemented Hezbollah’s legitimacy in the eyes of many Shiʿa Lebanese: they had finally found not just a protector, but a victor.
But victory brought transformation. Having tasted political influence and popular authority, Hezbollah shifted from a clandestine militia to a political and social powerhouse. It entered parliament in the 1990s, built an extensive social-welfare system of schools, hospitals, charities and reconstruction projects, and embedded itself into Lebanon’s administrative machinery. It became, in effect, a state within a state: one that collected loyalty not just through ideology but through services the government could not provide.
Yet it never disarmed. Its military wing grew stronger — vastly stronger — acquiring sophisticated weaponry and an arsenal unmatched by any other non-state actor in the Middle East. Hezbollah’s fighters gained battlefield experience in Syria, where they fought to preserve Bashar al-Assad’s regime, deepening both their capabilities and their reliance on Tehran. Its identity shifted from a local resistance group to a regional arm of Iran’s strategic infrastructure — a central node in the so-called “Axis of Resistance” against Israel and U.S-aligned Arab states.
Today, Hezbollah sits at the center of Lebanon’s most unresolved contradiction. It claims to defend Lebanon, but its military autonomy undermines the authority of the Lebanese state. It insists it protects national sovereignty, but determines war and peace without national consensus. It provides essential services to the poor, yet contributes to a geopolitical climate that fuels sanctions and economic isolation. It presents itself as a resistance force, yet wields power that rivals the government itself.
For many Lebanese — especially Shiʿa who still feel abandoned by a corrupt political class — Hezbollah represents strength, dignity, and protection. For others, particularly Sunnis and Christians, it represents the failure of the state, the dominance of Iran, and a perpetual risk of dragging Lebanon into wars it cannot endure. The 2006 war with Israel devastated Lebanon’s infrastructure and economy. Today, with border clashes escalating and regional tensions rising, many fear that another conflict could be catastrophic — economically, socially, and demographically.
Beyond Lebanon, Hezbollah’s influence is deeply felt. To Israel, it remains the most immediate and dangerous military threat, with tens of thousands of rockets pointed across the border. To Iran, it is a strategic deterrent — a frontline force capable of pressuring Israel without triggering direct confrontation. To the wider Arab world, it is a polarizing symbol: admired by some as a champion of resistance, condemned by others as the embodiment of sectarian militancy and foreign interference.
This is the paradox at the heart of modern Lebanon: a nation where the most effective military force answers not to the state, but to a movement; where the protector of one community is feared by others; where the aspiration for sovereignty is shadowed by dependence on a militia. Hezbollah’s rise tells a story not only of empowerment but of the vacuum left by weak governance, foreign intervention, and fractured national identity.
Lebanon today stands at a crossroads. Its economic collapse, mass migration, stalled politics, and widening social despair demand unity — yet unity feels increasingly unattainable as long as two states exist within one. Hezbollah’s supporters insist that disarmament is impossible while threats remain; its critics argue that threats will never disappear while it remains armed.
The truth may be somewhere in between: Hezbollah’s continued existence is both a symptom and a source of Lebanon’s broken political system. And until that system is rebuilt — inclusively, credibly, and nationally — the Party of God will remain both Lebanon’s shield and its shadow.
In the story of Hezbollah lies the story of a country struggling to decide who it is — and who it will become.
Hamas and the New Middle East Order: Power, Violence, and Diplomacy in Turmoil
The story of Hamas is the story of how an underground movement, born in the chaos of uprising and occupation, grew into a governing force in Gaza and a central fault line of Middle Eastern geopolitics.
It begins in 1987, at the dawn of the First Intifada. Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza rose up against Israeli occupation in a spontaneous, largely grassroots rebellion. Out of the mosque networks, charities, and Islamic student groups linked to the Muslim Brotherhood in Gaza emerged a new organization: Ḥarakat al-Muqāwama al-Islāmiyyah — the Islamic Resistance Movement, better known by its Arabic acronym, Hamas.
Hamas presented itself as something different from the secular Palestinian nationalists of Fatah and the PLO. Where the PLO had adopted a largely nationalist, often secular discourse, Hamas fused Palestinian nationalism with Sunni Islamist ideology. Its founding charter framed all of historic Palestine as Islamic land that could not be surrendered, rejected coexistence with Israel, and cast the conflict in religious as well as political terms.
Yet the movement did not emerge from ideology alone. It grew in a specific social landscape: refugee camps, poverty, and a sense of abandoned aspirations. In Gaza, Israeli occupation, tight control over borders, and economic dependency created a deep reservoir of frustration. Hamas built on this by offering not only resistance but also services — clinics, schools, welfare associations — that reached people in ways the PLO and the fractured Palestinian Authority often did not.
Through the 1990s, Hamas became known internationally for suicide bombings and attacks inside Israel, particularly as the Oslo peace process took shape. While Yasser Arafat’s PLO entered negotiations and recognized Israel, Hamas rejected Oslo as a betrayal. For some Palestinians disillusioned with corruption and stagnation in the Palestinian Authority, that rejectionism, combined with visible social work, enhanced Hamas’s appeal. For Israel, the U.S., the EU and others, Hamas became defined above all as a terrorist organization.
The turning point in Hamas’s evolution from movement to governing authority came at the ballot box. In 2006, in legislative elections widely regarded as competitive and relatively fair, Hamas won a surprising victory over Fatah. It capitalised on popular anger at economic hardship, security chaos, and the perception of Fatah’s corruption and failure. Suddenly, an organization that many outsiders saw solely through the lens of militancy now held the formal levers of Palestinian governance.
The world’s response was swift and punishing. Israel, the U.S., and much of Europe demanded that Hamas renounce violence, recognize Israel, and accept past agreements. Hamas refused. Sanctions followed. International aid was cut or rerouted. Internal Palestinian tensions, already severe, worsened. By 2007, after months of clashes and failed unity arrangements, Hamas forcibly took control of the Gaza Strip in a short, brutal conflict with Fatah. Fatah retained dominance in the West Bank; Hamas ruled Gaza. The Palestinian national movement split in two.
From that moment, Gaza under Hamas became the symbol of both resistance and isolation. Israel, with Egyptian cooperation, imposed a blockade. Goods, fuel, and people flowed in and out under heavy restriction. Hamas maintained its armed wing, the Qassam Brigades, continuing rocket attacks and other operations against Israel. Israel responded with repeated military campaigns — 2008–09, 2012, 2014, and beyond — each round of fighting leaving Gaza more devastated and its civilian population more traumatized.
Over time, Hamas adjusted its tactics and messaging, but without abandoning its core resistance identity. A new political document in 2017 softened some positions — accepting a Palestinian state on 1967 borders as an interim goal, for instance — but it never recognized Israel or renounced armed struggle.
Meanwhile, its regional relationships evolved. Originally rooted in the ideological orbit of the Muslim Brotherhood and backed substantially by Iran, Hamas navigated the shifting currents of Middle Eastern politics: the Arab Spring, the Syrian civil war, the rise and fall of Islamist parties in Egypt and elsewhere. Tensions with Damascus over Syria’s war pushed Hamas away from the Assad regime for a time and strained its ties with Iran, but Tehran’s support — financial, military, and political — never disappeared. Qatar provided funding and a political base for exiled leaders; Turkey offered rhetorical support and diplomatic backing. These ties made Hamas not just a Palestinian actor but a piece on the broader regional chessboard, linking Gaza to Tehran, Doha, Ankara, and beyond.
The October 7, 2023, attacks on southern Israel, in which Hamas militants killed around 1,200 people and took more than 200 hostages, marked another seismic shift. Israel’s response — a massive military campaign in Gaza aimed at crushing Hamas — produced staggering destruction and loss of life. The war reverberated across the region: Hezbollah stepped up attacks along Israel’s northern border; Iran’s role was scrutinized intensely; protests erupted from Amman to London; and diplomatic efforts, including the slow normalization between Israel and several Arab states, were shaken.
Hamas’s role in Gaza today is inseparable from both the suffering of its people and the paralysis of Palestinian politics. For many Gazans, Hamas is responsible for repression, misrule, and the militarization of a tiny, besieged territory — yet it is also seen by some as the only force that “stands up” to Israel. For many in the West Bank and diaspora, it represents either the uncompromising face of Palestinian resistance or a disastrous strategic choice that has brought immense devastation and set back the national cause.
Geopolitically, Hamas has become far more than a local actor. Its actions can derail normalization between Israel and Arab states, drag neighboring countries toward confrontation, and force global powers to recalibrate their policies. The war following October 7 reshaped calculations in Washington, Riyadh, Tehran, and Brussels. It exposed the limits of existing peace frameworks, challenged the assumption that the Palestinian question could be “parked,” and revived debates about two-state solutions, international peacekeeping, and even the future of international humanitarian law in urban warfare.
Beyond the region, Hamas has become a symbol and a litmus test. To some movements and states, it is framed as legitimate resistance against occupation; to others, it is the epitome of terrorism. This split feeds into wider global divides — between North and South, West and non-West, Muslim-majority societies and Western capitals — shaping UN votes, diplomatic alignments, and domestic politics in countries far from Gaza.
What began in 1987 as a local offshoot of the Muslim Brotherhood, operating from mosques and clinics in a crowded strip of land, now sits at the heart of one of the world’s most consequential conflicts. Hamas is both a product of that conflict and a driver of it — born of occupation and disillusionment, hardened by war and blockade, sustained by a blend of ideology, social control, and regional backing.
Whether the future Middle East moves toward de-escalation or deeper fragmentation will depend, in part, on what becomes of Hamas: whether it remains an armed Islamist government in a shattered Gaza, is replaced by some new Palestinian leadership, or is transformed into something different under intense international pressure. Whatever happens, the movement’s birth and evolution have already altered the geopolitics of the region — and ensured that the name “Hamas” will remain entwined with the story of Palestine, Israel, and the wider world for decades to come.
The Rise of the Houthis: From Mountain Rebellion to a Force Reshaping Global Geopolitics
The story of the Houthi movement does not begin with missiles fired into the Red Sea, nor with their dramatic seizure of Yemen’s capital in 2014. It begins decades earlier in the rugged mountains of Saada in northern Yemen, where a once-powerful community felt abandoned and humiliated. To understand why the Houthis matter today — why shipping lanes reroute around Africa and global diplomats scramble every time they issue a threat — one must look not just at their weapons, but at the wounds that forged them.
For centuries, Yemen’s Zaydi Shia community formed the backbone of northern rule. But the republican overthrow of the Zaydi imamate in 1962 began a slow erosion of political influence, economic opportunities, and cultural identity. By the 1990s, northern Yemen’s Zaydi heartland had become one of the country’s poorest regions. The spread of Saudi-funded Wahhabi religious institutions, perceived by many locals as an attempt to dilute Zaydi heritage, deepened a sense of siege. The state in Sanaa, dominated by alliances between tribal, military and Sunni-Islamist power centers, appeared indifferent to their grievances.
It was from this cauldron of marginalization that the movement that would become the Houthis emerged. What started as al-Shabab al-Mu’min, the “Believing Youth,” began as a religious and cultural revival effort — a push to preserve identity, dignity and regional autonomy. Yet history shifted dramatically in 2003 when the U.S. invasion of Iraq electrified anti-American sentiment across the region. Hussein Badreddin al-Houthi, a charismatic cleric and parliamentarian, transformed a cultural revival into a political rebellion, accusing the Yemeni government of bowing to foreign powers and abandoning its own citizens. His rallies thundered with chants condemning America and Israel — rhetoric that unnerved President Ali Abdullah Saleh, a long-time U.S. ally.
The government responded with force. In 2004, when troops moved to arrest Hussein al-Houthi, he refused to surrender. He was killed during the military assault that followed. But in death, he became a martyr and a symbol. What had been a localized religious revival exploded into an armed insurgency that would stretch across six brutal wars between the Houthis and the Yemeni government over the next decade. Each round of conflict expanded their power and hardened their identity. Each round showcased the state’s weakness, corruption and inability to govern a fragmented nation.
The Arab Spring of 2011 marked the next turning point. As mass protests rocked Yemen and forced Saleh from office, the Houthis found themselves not merely rebels, but political actors with national ambitions. They participated in the transitional political process but rejected the power-sharing deal that emerged, seeing in it a map that once again disadvantaged the north. In 2014, they seized the moment: allied with remnants of the military loyal to Saleh — their old enemy turned temporary ally — they swept south and entered Sanaa. Within months, Yemen’s internationally recognized government fled into exile, and the Houthis became the de facto rulers of much of northern Yemen.
The reaction was global — and explosive. In 2015, Saudi Arabia, fearing that an Iran-aligned movement was establishing itself on its border, launched a military intervention supported by regional and Western allies. The campaign was billed as a short conflict to restore the legitimate government. Instead, it became a catastrophic, grinding war that left Yemen in ruins and created one of the world’s worst humanitarian crises. The Houthis survived airstrikes, blockade and internal splits. They emerged not weaker, but more entrenched, running ministries, courts, and security agencies — a state within a state.
Meanwhile, their international posture changed dramatically. What began as a local insurgency evolved into a key node in Iran’s “Axis of Resistance,” alongside Hezbollah in Lebanon, Hamas in Gaza and various militias in Iraq and Syria. Their once-limited arsenal grew into a sophisticated collection of drones, cruise missiles and ballistic weapons capable of striking deep inside Saudi Arabia and the UAE. They bombed Saudi oil facilities, disrupted air travel, and demonstrated a reach far beyond Yemen’s borders.
Then came the Gaza war in late 2023, and with it, a global awakening to the Houthis’ new geopolitical significance. Declaring solidarity with Palestinians, they began attacking commercial ships in the Red Sea — one of the most critical arteries of global trade. Overnight, the Houthis transformed from a regional insurgency into a group capable of threatening global supply chains. Oil prices fluctuated, shipping companies rerouted vessels around the Cape of Good Hope, adding weeks and millions of dollars to delivery times. The United States and its allies launched strikes in retaliation; the Houthis responded with more attacks, framing the clash as a fight against Western hegemony.
The Houthis today occupy a paradoxical position. To their supporters, they are defenders of Yemen’s sovereignty, protectors of the poor, and a symbol of resistance against foreign domination. To their critics, they are authoritarian rulers who suppress dissent, recruit child soldiers, and use civilians as bargaining chips. To the region’s Sunni Arab powers, they are a dangerous extension of Iranian influence. To global shipping companies, they are a strategic nightmare. And to world leaders, they are a reminder that local grievances can metastasize into global instability when states collapse and militias take their place.
Their trajectory reflects a brutal truth: when governance fails and outside powers treat nations as chessboards, movements born in forgotten mountains can one day hold the world’s trade routes hostage. Yemen’s tragedy is that millions of civilians are trapped between regional rivalries and internal repression, caught in a war where victory is ambiguous and peace remains elusive.
The rise of the Houthis is not simply a Yemeni story. It is a case study in how the 21st century’s most dangerous conflicts are no longer fought only by states, but by armed movements that wield ideology, identity, and international alliances as effectively as missiles. It is a warning that the world ignores local grievances at its peril. And it is proof that geopolitics today can turn, quite literally, on forces once dismissed as peripheral.
In a world where fragile states continue to fracture, the question is not whether there will be another Houthi — but where.
