BEIRUT — For decades, the United States and Israel have repeatedly wagered that relentless pressure would erode the resolve of those loyal to the Resistance. 

Sanctions, isolation, psychological warfare, assassinations, and now the cowardly assassination of Sayyed Haitham Ali Tabatabai were all deployed with a single hope: that this community would finally raise a white flag.

They were, as always, mistaken!

Blinded by arrogance and intoxicated with their own propaganda, they fail to grasp a fundamental truth. This is a community that does not wilt under siege—it fortifies. It does not crumble under threat—it steadies. And with every martyr it buries, it deepens its roots and broadens its sense of duty.

To take the pulse of this steadfast society, Tehran Times walked through the streets of Beirut’s southern suburb—Hezbollah’s enduring heartland—and spoke with residents whose lives, sacrifices, and convictions form the backbone of this nation of resistance.

Ali, a carpenter in his early 30s, bursts into laughter when asked, “They say you’re defeated. Why hold onto your weapons?”

“Those idiots need a history lesson,” he says. “We are the indigenous people of this land. This weapon is the only thing that keeps us here.”

He recalls his grandfather’s words: If your neighbor is criminal, greedy, and aggressive, you’re a fool not to prepare yourself. 

Ali pledges loyalty to the martyrs’ path before tossing in a sarcastic jab: “Tell Trump to disarm the American gangs first, and keep weapons only with the U.S. police.”

Umm Hassan, mother of two martyrs, rejects the notion of surrender with quiet intensity.

“To accept that argument would be betraying my sons,” she says. “We are the guardians of their blood. Their sacrifice made us stronger. I have no sons left to give, but I will raise their children on their will, their path, and the right to avenge their pure blood.”

12-year-old Fatima, deeply injured during the Pager massacre, speaks with a maturity well beyond her age.

“Of course we’re scared of the warplanes,” she admits, “but we pray for the (resistance) fighters. And we always say that studying, being patient… that’s part of resistance too.”

Ahmed, a taxi driver, recounts being displaced four times in two years—from Aitaroun to Bint Jbeil, then Nabatieh, and finally to the southern suburb. Despite everything, despair has never taken hold.

“We come from a school that filled us with dignity,” he says. “We never attacked anyone. We only took up arms when we saw how vicious the Israeli project really is. God is witness—no matter how many they kill, we become more patient, more aware.”

On internal collaborators, his tone hardens: “History doesn’t forgive sell–out traitors. It only honors those who stand firm like mountains. We have dignity—they have none.”

Amal, a university student dressed in full Islamic attire (black garment), speaks of the cultural war accompanying the military aggression.

“As if the bombs weren’t enough, they attack our beliefs too. They repeat the same dull clichés that we’re backward or different. They forget that modesty is the natural instinct of a sane woman. We see this cultural war clearly, and we know our duty. Let them try—our laps are where leaders and fighters are born.”

Haneen, an elementary school teacher, describes the calculated assault on the Resistance community’s institutions.

“They dream of pushing Shia back into an era of deprivation—no schools, no services. They accuse al-Mahdi schools of ‘Iranian indoctrination,’ while drowning their own children in Western liberal narratives. We proudly embrace Wilayat al-Faqih, but we reject the filth of calling us ‘Persians,’ ‘Majous,’ or ‘Safavids.’ We are children of this land too. The difference is simple: we reject foreign dictates and want to raise a generation that builds a sovereign Lebanon—not one that bows to Israel.”

Jaafar, a scout leader, says the attacks on cultural and educational spaces only strengthen resolve.

“As the ‘Generations of Sayyed Nasrallah’ gathering declared, we inherit a legacy of struggle from father to son. Let the enemies threaten; by Allah, we only grow stronger.”

Sami, still uncertain whether his relative is a martyr whose body was never found or a prisoner in Israeli jails, condemns the Lebanese government’s neglect.
“It feels like a collective punishment of the Resistance community. With this open conspiracy, we have no option but to hold onto the path of resistance and the legacy of the martyrs.”

Taken together, these voices weave a consistent narrative: a society unbroken by siege, unmoved by propaganda, undeterred by displacement, and unfazed by cultural warfare. Across generations—children, parents, educators, fighters, the displaced—one message echoes with clarity: dignity over fear, sovereignty over compromise, resistance over erasure.

For this community, Resistance is not a slogan. It is identity, survival, inheritance, and, above all, a moral obligation.

“We stand with the Resistance, even if patience stretches for ages.

We stand with it when it responds, even if the sky collapses onto the earth.

Our land is violated, our state is paralyzed, and our enemy grows more ferocious.

We trust the Resistance alone, for the Israeli enemy understands no language but strength.

With the Resistance—whatever the cost.”

As these testimonies reveal, the people are fully aware of the coordinated conspiracy targeting their security, culture, and political presence. Their response is unwavering loyalty to the Resistance’s leadership—especially to the steady, principled guidance of Sheikh Naim Qassem, whose clarity of vision continues to anchor the community through war, sacrifice, and existential struggle.