I know something quite sure. We'll never have peace with this

Hear the fiery words of Walid Jumblatt, spoken as one who has borne the weight of conflict and betrayal: “I know something quite sure. We'll never have peace with this Syrian regime. They'll never give us relief, and we'll never forget that.” These words are not the idle musings of a philosopher, but the hardened cry of a man who has seen his land scarred, his people wounded, and his hopes tested in the furnace of history. He speaks of peace, yet declares its impossibility with oppressors who neither yield nor forgive. He speaks of relief, yet testifies that tyrants will grant none. He speaks of memory, and proclaims that the suffering endured will never be erased from the soul of a people.

This quote emerges from the soil of Lebanon’s struggle, a land often caught in the storms of greater powers. Jumblatt, a leader of the Druze and a figure in Lebanese politics, was shaped by the endless shadow of the Syrian regime, whose interference in Lebanon left deep scars of mistrust. For decades, Lebanon’s destiny was entwined with its neighbor’s ambitions. Promises of stability were made, yet too often delivered in chains and grief. Thus, Jumblatt’s words come as a declaration of clarity: some rulers will never change, and some oppressors can never be bargained with.

History itself echoes this truth. Consider the fate of the Polish people in the twentieth century. Under the boot of both Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia, they longed for peace and relief, but none came. Agreements were broken, treaties betrayed, lives crushed beneath the wheels of empire. For generations, they carried the weight of injustice in their hearts. Yet their memory, like Lebanon’s, preserved the truth. They did not forget, and in time, they rose again, reclaiming their freedom when the mighty seemed unshakable. Jumblatt’s words flow in the same current: peace cannot be forged with those who live only by conquest and domination.

The lesson is not one of despair, but of vigilance and courage. To say, “we’ll never forget” is not to wallow in bitterness, but to honor memory as a shield against deception. For how often do nations, lulled by false promises, forget the wounds of the past, only to be struck again by the same hand? To remember is to guard one’s freedom. To declare the impossibility of peace with tyranny is not to reject peace itself, but to seek it on the higher plane of justice, where oppressors have no place.

And yet, there is also a personal truth within this political cry. Each of us has known people or powers who will never give us relief, who thrive only on control, who take and never give. The wisdom is this: do not waste your years expecting peace where there can be none, nor begging for kindness from hearts that are closed. Instead, turn your strength toward building freedom, alliances, and hope with those who share your longing for justice.

But let us not forget the heroic edge of memory. Just as Lebanon carries the remembrance of wounds inflicted by the Syrian regime, so too must we carry remembrance of the trials that have shaped us. Forgetting is easy, but it is also dangerous. To remember is to give meaning to suffering, to ensure that sacrifices are not in vain, to keep alive the flame of dignity that no tyrant can extinguish.

Therefore, let the teaching be clear: guard your memory, honor your pain, and trust not in the false promises of oppressors. Seek peace, yes, but seek it in truth, not in illusion. When faced with those who will not change, stand firm and build a life that does not depend on their mercy. And in your own struggles, whether against great powers or the small tyrannies of daily life, let this wisdom guide you: hope not in the unjust, but in the strength of your people, your allies, and the unyielding spirit within yourself. For only then will true relief and lasting peace be found.