My therapist once told me, “You’re like a whistleblower—you know something for certain and try your best to tell everyone, but most people think you’re insane and ignore it. That only frustrates you more, especially when you’re eventually proven right—often too late.” I’m paraphrasing, but that sentiment has stuck with me for years. It sums things up perfectly.
I’ve been called everything: crazy, too extreme, impractical, delusional, obsessed with the wrong priorities. I’ve heard people say, “Things will never change,” like it’s gospel. But here’s what I’ve learned since that conversation: my convictions didn’t come out of nowhere. They’re grounded in reason, shaped by evidence and undeniable patterns. Sure, it’s maddening when others don’t see it, but I’ve come to understand that time and circumstances inevitably validate the truth—and that makes the frustration worth enduring.
Those emotions are surging right now after this historic, unprecedented week. I know many of you feel the same way—stunned, reflective and definitely energized.
As the blindsided establishment scrambles, spinning conspiracies, throwing around threats, and playing the victim card (classic moves from those long entrenched as the aggressors), it’s time to take a breath and dissect what just happened. Let’s talk about how we outmaneuvered Wafik Safa’s brutal, slaughterhouse tactics and why Hezbollah is still reeling from their Captagon withdrawal.
January 9: Joseph Aoun Becomes the 14th President of the Republic
Endorsing Joseph Aoun so publicly and forcefully was a gamble—I knew some backlash was inevitable. The puritanical crowd, along with those who’ve been consistently too soft on Hezbollah, were always going to bristle. These are the same voices that stood with us during October 17, 2019, but could never bring themselves to acknowledge the obvious: Hezbollah isn’t just part of the problem; it’s the mob boss ensuring the whole corrupt system stays obedient and in line.
Still, I was convinced he was the right man for this moment, and I laid out my reasoning in detail in my endorsement. If you haven’t read it yet, you can check it out here. I don’t know Joseph Aoun personally, but I’ve been following his leadership closely and offering my quiet support for a while now. That conviction solidified after the Tayyouneh invasion, when Hezbollah’s armed thugs sought to assassinate the judge investigating the catastrophic August 4, 2020, Beirut Port explosion. Moments like that reveal character—and his response spoke volumes.
Despite Hezbollah’s relentless efforts, Joseph Aoun was on track to be elected. Not even the barrage of over a dozen front-page smear campaigns by Al Akhbar or the chorus of Hezbollah-aligned influencers and analysts could derail it. Tellingly, many of those voices have fallen eerily silent in recent days.
When their threats failed to land, Wafik Safa, Hezbollah’s notorious enforcer, made a calculated move. Standing at the site where Nasrallah orchestrated countless assassinations, he claimed Hezbollah “never had a veto” on Joseph Aoun—a desperate attempt to spin the narrative and mitigate the fallout. For the first time, Hezbollah found itself unable to strong-arm the country into submission, its iron grip slipping as it failed to impose its will.
Soon, MPs within Hezbollah’s orbit began to see the writing on the wall and shifted their stance, aligning themselves with Joseph Aoun. They calculated that the presidency, in their view, is largely ceremonial—especially if the prime minister is one of their own. With a cabinet united under their influence, they believed they could effectively sideline the president, no matter how strong his popular mandate might be.
Now we get to the even more exciting part.
January 10: The Makhzoumi-Mikati showdown
Eager to mask the embarrassment of Berri and Hezbollah losing their grip on parliament and their ability to keep the presidency vacant, traditional media and political echo chambers quickly framed the narrative around two "viable" candidates: Najib Mikati and Fouad Makhzoumi.
Mikati, firmly Hezbollah’s choice, was the establishment’s candidate through and through—backed by the banks and a close ally of now-deposed Bashar al Assad. He had partnered with Riad Salameh in looting public funds and was Hezbollah’s pick to lead the executive branch on multiple occasions in the past 20 years. Hezbollah’s spare tire, as I like to call him.
Makhzoumi, on the other hand, was framed as the anti-Hezbollah candidate, backed by the Lebanese Forces and their parliamentary bloc. His main credentials? Wealth—though no one seemed to question how he amassed it—and his recent distance from Hezbollah’s orbit. For the Lebanese Forces, that seemed to suffice.
Admittedly, Makhzoumi would have been less catastrophic than Mikati, but he still fell far short of the leadership and vision people have come to expect after someone like Joseph Aoun became president. The comparison was laughable; Makhzoumi was nowhere near the level needed to meet the moment.
January 11: Ibrahim Mneimneh Steps Forward
Ibrahim Mneimeh has consistently been one of my top choices for prime minister. I’ve supported him since his run for Beirut Municipality chief in 2016, where he gave us our first glimpse of near-victory against all odds and an establishment under Hezbollah’s command.
Despite facing immense pressure at the height of Hezbollah’s dominance—when they were deeply entrenched in the slaughter of innocent Syrian civilians for Bashar al-Assad’s gain—Mneimeh stood firm. His resilience and vision have made him a standout leader in my eyes ever since. He’s also one of our 13 MPs we managed to get into elected office in 2022, the first election after the Thawra.
Unsurprisingly, the more conservative and right-leaning factions within the change-minded camp began attacking Ibrahim Mneimeh. Their justification? That everyone needed to rally around Makhzoumi, arguing that defeating Mikati was the only priority and dismissing the importance of a solid platform. Meanwhile, casual observers chimed in with the all-too-familiar refrain: “Ugh, these new MPs are screwing everything up! There’s no hope! Why won’t they just unite?!”
It was a lazy excuse—a cop-out for those unwilling to engage, preferring instead to expect elections to follow a preordained, risk-free script. This mindset, sadly, is a direct product of decades of failed governance. Over 40 years of mismanagement have conditioned people to view even the most basic campaigning and political work as disruptive, as if challenging the status quo is inherently reckless rather than necessary.
I was enthusiastic, and not just because Ibrahim Mneimeh is one of my favorite MPs and someone I consider a friend. It was because I saw an opportunity—a chance to flip the table and prevent the fragile, unpredictable coalition we had with parties like the Lebanese Forces from derailing the momentum sparked by Joseph Aoun’s election and his powerful speech. This moment felt like a rare opening to push forward, rather than let old patterns reassert themselves.
Which brings us to Sunday, January 12, 2025—a day that still has my adrenaline pumping, even now.
January 12: LF and Makhzoumi’s Dig In
The brilliant result of Ibrahim Mneimneh entering the race was that it weakened Makhzoumi’s chances, thus improving the numbers for Mikati. This gave Hezbollah’s camp a much-needed sigh of relief, and in my opinion, false sense of safety that it was gonna be business as usual.
Dutifully, the major TV stations and their lineup of woeful analysts and commentators jumped on the narrative, confidently proclaiming that Mikati was a certainty and cautioning everyone not to hope for anything more.
The lazy crowd quickly jumped on the bandwagon, lamenting with their usual chorus of "Woe is me, it was all for nothing, we’re doomed," and other defeatist mantras. It was yet another excuse to avoid putting in the work, to shy away from the clear opportunity staring us in the face.
For those of us paying attention, it was obvious: this was the moment. The stars (and planets this week!) had aligned, presenting us with a rare chance to knock it out of the park.
All it required was the courage to seize it.
That’s when we got the game-changing news: Nawaf Salam, the President of the ICJ, signaled to our MPs that he would accept the prime minister position if he got the votes. For me—and for many like-minded Lebanese, both at home and abroad—this was the moment we’d been hoping for. The race was now between Ibrahim Mneimneh, Nawaf Salam, Fouad Makhzoumi, and Najib Mikati.
Then, in a move that epitomized selflessness and vision, Ibrahim Mneimneh pulled out of the race and threw his support behind Nawaf Salam. Suddenly, what had seemed like a long shot began to feel real—Nawaf Salam’s momentum was no longer a pipe dream; it was rapidly gaining traction.
But, as always, the traditional parties couldn’t help themselves. The Lebanese Forces stubbornly insisted on nominating Makhzoumi, clinging to their rigid, short-sighted calculations rather than seizing the moment for real change. Meanwhile, Makhzoumi—often dismissed and sidelined by the Mumana3a—was now experiencing the same treatment from the opposing camp. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t having it.
Intense negotiations stretched into the early hours of Monday morning, with tensions high and no clear outcome in sight, at least publicly. Neither the Lebanese Forces nor Makhzoumi were willing to budge, each digging their heels in as the clock ticked on.
I knew that Makhzoumi didn’t have the support. I knew he will eventually move aside. I also couldn’t trust the Lebanese Forces. I am still reeling from their disastrous decision to elect Michel Aoun, in coordination with Hezbollah, because they were promised a few ministries and public service posts they could benefit from. I thought, are these guys seriously doing the exact same mistake? Have they not learned from last time? Are they really throwing this chance away for a ministry here and a ministry there?
That’s when I started considering where we could possibly find replacements for the 19 Lebanese Forces votes. The thought alone made my stomach tighten, but the answer was glaringly obvious—and deeply unsettling for me. The votes had to come from what was left of the Free Patriotic Movement and Gebran Bassil’s MPs, and Walid Jublat.
Bassil, the man whose abuse of the judiciary and exploitation of his father-in-law’s power had forced me to seek refuge in the United States. Not once, but twice, they tried to drag me before military tribunals—as a civilian—because of his relentless pursuit of abuse of power and petty vengeance for calling him out. Now, the idea of relying on his bloc felt like swallowing poison, but the stakes left no room for idealism.
I reached out to them. I wrote this piece and recorded a podcast episode and quickly put it up everywhere. This was the gist of my argument:
But here’s the thing—Gebran’s presidential ambitions are effectively dead, and he’s been making noises about distancing himself from Hezbollah. Whether out of desperation or strategy, he’s always given the excuse that his hands were tied by Nabih Berri and the rest of the corrupt elite, even though for some reason he partnered with in nearly every ministry he controlled. While that’s hard to swallow, the reality is Hezbollah’s weakening grip means they can no longer anoint him as president. So he has no reason to stick with them. With his bloc shrinking and his political capital in freefall, this could be his moment to attempt some semblance of beginning for redemption for his crimes of selling Lebanon off to Nasrallah.
If the Lebanese Forces were faltering, we could still secure the majority of votes by securing votes from the FPM, Jumblatt’s bloc, and a handful of other persuadable MPs.
I still was convinced that Makhzoumi would pull out and the Lebanese Forces will fall in line with the rest of us behind Nawaf Salam, a candidate that will bolster and complement Joseph Aoun, instead of derail the hopes of the Lebanese people he had been elected because of. I didn’t wanna leave anything to chance though.
But, the negotiators needed to sleep. I couldn’t, I stayed up most of Sunday night waiting for the morning and the votes to begin.
What was undeniable was that the bold move by our October 17 MPs, and the master stroke by Ibrahim Mneimneh, had put us in the driver’s seat. Just hours later, Nawaf Salam emerged as the focal point—not the Mikati-Makhzoumi dichotomy being pushed by pro-bank, pro-Hezbollah commentators flooding every TV station with their negativity.
I could almost touch the finish line…
I want to take a moment to thank my representative Michel Douaihy and his colleagues, my longtime friend Mark Daou and Waddah Saddeq. You three are the “unsung heroes” who secured Nawaf’s approval, lobbied Ibrahim Mneimneh, the Kataeb, the LF, Fouad Makhzoumi, and others, ensuring that Nawaf Salam’s path was clear.
You made us proud and gave us hope for a chance to save Lebanon. Stay tuned—one of these three will be joining me on a podcast episode this week!
January 13: Nawaf Salam Gets 85 Votes
Even in my most optimistic calculations, I estimated we’d secure around 77 votes for Nawaf Salam. Instead, we got a resounding 85.
A good night’s sleep seemed to do wonders, as it gave the Lebanese Forces and Makhzoumi the clarity to see what we could accomplish if we stood united. For once, they set aside the business-as-usual approach—the endless game of musical chairs with cabinet positions and backroom deals over what each PM candidate could offer in exchange for votes—and chose to embrace the potential of real change.
That same morning, my trusted sources confirmed that Gebran Bassil had decided to vote for Nawaf Salam. I kept that to myself and stayed focused, ramping up the pressure on LF, PSP, and FPM MPs. I shared their contact details widely, urging everyone to call, text, or WhatsApp them with a simple demand: vote for Nawaf Salam.
By mid-morning in Beirut, I was certain we were going to win. I didn’t want to jump the gun or risk complacency, so I kept working—preparing visuals and drafting bullet points to publish the moment we hit the threshold for victory.
As soon as Gebran officially announced his bloc’s support for Nawaf Salam, I hit publish. Then, running on fumes after 36 hours without sleep, I went straight to a job interview I’d scheduled. Exhausted but elated, I felt unstoppable. It was a moment I’ll never forget.
Final Thoughts
There is always hope. There is always a way. When opportunity knocks, we cannot afford to be lazy or cling to the comfort of the status quo. We must do everything in our power to seize the moment and turn possibility into reality.
What felt truly euphoric, though, was the chance to engage in politics as it should be—without the ever-present shadow of Iran’s proxy, Hezbollah, looming over every decision with threats of violence and intimidation. For the first time, it felt like taking a deep, clean breath of fresh air after being trapped in a suffocating, musty room where Hezbollah plotted assassinations and tortured its detainees. It was liberating—a glimpse of what Lebanon could be. And I’m absolutely hooked.
Our next battle lies ahead: forming the cabinet. The very people who are the reason we’re in this mess won’t go down without a fight. Hezbollah has already threatened to derail the process after Joseph Aoun ordered Mohamad Raad and co to come up to his office and vote when they tried to delay it until Tuesday—despite failing to even muster 10 votes for Mikati. In the end, even they abandoned their now-deflated spare tire, submitting blank votes instead.
The message was clear and undisputed: things have changed.
To all those who dismissed the significance of what we began in October 2019—those who scoffed, complained, and barely tried—you’re probably feeling a lump in your throat now, realizing how wrong that cynicism was. To you, I say: welcome, please come in, there’s plenty of room here for anyone ready to join us in the march forward.
To those who never lost faith, including our dear October 17 MPs: congratulations. You did it. Together, we turned what seemed unimaginable just three days ago into an undeniable reality.
Now, get ready for the next step in this long march toward a country we can all return to and proudly call home—myself included.
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