Billboard of Hassan Nasrallah in Tehran on Sept. 30, 2024. (Credit: Atta Kenare/AFP)
I am not claiming that I know him well, as I have only met him a few times. But out of all the figures I’ve met in the course of my decades-long career, Hassan Nasrallah is one of the most remarkable. First is because of his charisma, and second, because of the special circumstances that accompanied each of his appearances, which always gave his interlocutors the impression of being on a great adventure.
The first time I met the Sayyed was in early May 1997. Pope John Paul II was due to arrive in Beirut for a historic visit, and the newspaper’s management wanted to sound out Hezbollah’s secretary-general at the time, as his party was still talking about the establishment of an Islamic Republic in Lebanon.
The security measures were not as strict as they later became. The meeting took place in an ordinary apartment in a neighborhood of Beirut’s southern suburb. There was no personal evidence suggesting that this was the apartment where he lived. Then, suddenly, he entered alone through the front door. He even sat down on the sofa beside me, and I was so flustered I didn’t know what to do with myself.
Smiling, I could even say a bit timidly, without looking me in the eye so as not to make me feel uncomfortable, he spoke in a low voice that had nothing to do with the tone of his speeches.
Despite my provocative questions about the compatibility between the Islamic Republic and Lebanon, and the role of the Christian community, the Sayyed answered calmly, never giving the impression of being fanatical, simply explaining that the injustice done to the Palestinians by the Israelis and those who support them is, in his eyes, the reason behind the problems in the region.
Nasrallah had sent a positive message to the Pope in this interview, joining him and even preceding him in his desire to encourage Christians to become even more integrated into their environment, as was later stated in the famous Apostolic Exhortation for Lebanon, published after John Paul II’s visit.
A few months later, in September of the same year, I saw the Sayyed again in painful circumstances. He had just lost his son Hadi in an operation against the Israeli occupiers, and Hezbollah had held condolences open to all, under tents in the southern suburb. Having interviewed him a few months ago, I felt it was my duty to express my grief and solidarity at this particular time.
But as I wasn’t really aware of the customs and tradition in force, I wasn’t dressed appropriately, and Hezbollah’s guards did not let me go near him. Then, when he saw me and saw the guards blocking my way, he signaled to them to let me pass, letting me know that he appreciated my presence, regardless of customs and traditions.
I saw him again in June 1998, at the ceremony welcoming the living and dead prisoners released by the Israelis as part of an exchange negotiated via the Germans. It was late, around midnight, and the main government officials — Emile Lahoud, Nabih Berri and Rafik Hariri — were there, waiting for the plane to land in an adjoining lounge.
The rest of us journalists were waiting in a narrow area, surrounded by a cordon, and we couldn’t move around. Suddenly, the Sayyed passed by, surrounded of course by his guards and several officials. Impulsively, I told him, “Sayyed, when are you going to free us, too?”
The question echoed in shocked silence. Most of the officials gave me reproachful looks. Nasrallah stopped, looked in my direction and said nothing. A few minutes later, the cordon was loosened and the journalists were invited to move about freely.
Years went by. Nasrallah often made headlines, and I covered his activities as much as possible. I only saw him again in person on July 12, 2006, when he held a press conference announcing the kidnapping of Israeli soldiers, which subsequently triggered the war that lasted until Aug. 14 of that same year. I remember asking a question that displeased the organizers, who quickly tried to pass the microphone to another journalist. But once again, Nasrallah chose to respond without showing any annoyance.
The same scenario unfolded on Dec. 1, 2009, when he personally announced Hezbollah’s new manifesto, which replaced the 1985 version, to a large crowd.
In the new charter, the party acknowledged Lebanon's unique political structure and its place in the Arab world, stating it had no intention of altering that reality. It was a turning point in the party's history, and Nasrallah chose to read the document himself to emphasize Hezbollah’s commitment to integrating within Lebanon's social fabric.
At the end of the reading, a debate was organized, and this time, it was he who encouraged me to ask questions, eager to ensure that all voices were heard.
A few years later, Hezbollah invited a small group of journalists, including myself, to a meeting without specifying who we’d be meeting. I was only told to dress warmly because "the air conditioning is strong, and you might get cold." I realized it would be with a significant figure, and I wasn’t wrong.
As usual, the attendees were asked to gather at a specific location in the southern suburbs. Once there, we were ushered into cars with tinted windows, and couldn’t see the road outside. The ride lasted about 20 minutes, during which we often felt like we were driving in circles.
Finally, we arrived at an unremarkable underground parking lot, much like any other, and then stepped into an elevator with just one button. There wasn’t enough time to figure out if we were going up or down before we reached an apartment, one of many with the same design: heavy curtains, intricately carved wooden furniture and small tables. Then, there was the Sayyed, as always, with his jovial smile, soft voice and slightly heavy gait.
Up close, Nasrallah was different from the one seen during his speeches, where he deliberately shifts his tone, sometimes lyrical, sometimes threatening. In person, he was an impressive leader, marked by the softness of his voice, his calm demeanor and his genuine effort to put his interlocutors at ease, without trying to provoke or hurt them.
Whether one likes him or not, Nasrallah has left an indelible mark on his era. History will undoubtedly assess his actions, but one thing is certain: his name will be remembered, just like those who had the chance to meet him — and who, even today, struggle to fully understand him, as he carried within him so many contradictory messages.
This article was originally published in French and translated by Sahar Ghoussoub and Joelle El-Khoury.
