Hiasat Writes: As-Salt .. When Society Built Its Prestige

jordan pulse : By Prof. Dr. Ali Hiasat
With affection, I read the article by my friend, Dr. Zouqan Obeidat, titled 'Season of Migration to As-Salt.' He saw As-Salt through the eyes of a lover: its yellow stone, its embracing houses, its mosque and church, its balconies and alleys, and that human diversity that cleverly led him to describe it as akin to a 'United Nations.'
As a native of As-Salt who was born, raised, and continues to live there, I do not differ much with what he saw. However, his article prompted me to reflect on another As-Salt that does not fully appear in stone or photographs—the As-Salt of the human being and society, and the question of prestige and influence: Who built them, and how have they changed?
As-Salt was not a 'United Nations' merely because the Damascene, the Nabulsi, the Palestinian, and others came to it, nor simply because Muslims and Christians lived side by side. Rather, it possessed a remarkable social capacity to absorb newcomers without erasing their origins, forging a shared identity out of diversity.
Like any other local community, this society had its leaders, prominent figures, balances, interests, and conflicts. Old As-Salt was not a utopia, nor were its people angels walking the markets; yet the community held ample space to cultivate the prestige of its individuals and leaders from within.
Here a question arises that perhaps goes beyond my friend Zouqan's article: Who created the prominent figure (wajih) of As-Salt in the past—As-Salt or the central authority? And who creates them today?
In the past, prestige was built largely within the society itself: through what a person contributed, their wisdom, history, presence among the people, and their ability to solve problems and protect community interests. Of course, there were influence, interests, and competition—such is the nature of societies—but the source of prestige was predominantly local. Then, the equation gradually shifted.
With the establishment of the modern state, accompanied and preceded by political transformations since the late Ottoman period and the British Mandate, followed by the expansion of state authority and its institutions, the central authority took up a larger space in the life of the city. Influence was no longer generated within As-Salt alone; proximity to the decision-making center became, across various stages, a key source of prestige, opportunity, and influence.
Here, I am not criticizing the existence of the state or its institutions, nor am I advocating romantic nostalgia for a bygone era. Law, administration, education, and the modern state have brought about undeniable transformations. However, I am addressing a side effect of centralization: that society gradually loses part of its capacity to generate its own internal balances and leadership, and that the relationship with the central authority sometimes becomes a shorter path to prestige than the relationship with the community itself.
Perhaps the irony is that As-Salt’s stone resisted time better than some of its ancient social ties!
The yellow houses still stand, and the balconies, arches, and alleys continue to tell the story, but the society that created that place has changed significantly. The economy, education, migration, and lifestyles have evolved, and along with them, the sources of influence and prestige.
Here, preserving As-Salt becomes more challenging than restoring the facade of an old home.
We can clean the stone and restore its luster, but who restores relationships when they fracture? Who restores the city's ability to produce its balance from within? And who preserves the spirit of the place if we maintain its walls while losing a piece of its soul?
Therefore, my friend Zouqan, perhaps you saw the As-Salt that we love for others to see, whereas I am attempting to read with you the As-Salt that does not fully appear in the picture—the As-Salt whose people have changed as much as its stones have endured.
As-Salt is beautiful, yes, but its most beautiful aspect was never its stone alone, but rather the society that gave that stone its meaning.
Source: Rum News Agency

By Prof. Dr. Ali Hiasat
With affection, I read the article by my friend, Dr. Zouqan Obeidat, titled 'Season of Migration to As-Salt.' He saw As-Salt through the eyes of a lover: its yellow stone, its embracing houses, its mosque and church, its balconies and alleys, and that human diversity that cleverly led him to describe it as akin to a 'United Nations.'
As a native of As-Salt who was born, raised, and continues to live there, I do not differ much with what he saw. However, his article prompted me to reflect on another As-Salt that does not fully appear in stone or photographs—the As-Salt of the human being and society, and the question of prestige and influence: Who built them, and how have they changed?
As-Salt was not a 'United Nations' merely because the Damascene, the Nabulsi, the Palestinian, and others came to it, nor simply because Muslims and Christians lived side by side. Rather, it possessed a remarkable social capacity to absorb newcomers without erasing their origins, forging a shared identity out of diversity.
Like any other local community, this society had its leaders, prominent figures, balances, interests, and conflicts. Old As-Salt was not a utopia, nor were its people angels walking the markets; yet the community held ample space to cultivate the prestige of its individuals and leaders from within.
Here a question arises that perhaps goes beyond my friend Zouqan's article: Who created the prominent figure (wajih) of As-Salt in the past—As-Salt or the central authority? And who creates them today?
In the past, prestige was built largely within the society itself: through what a person contributed, their wisdom, history, presence among the people, and their ability to solve problems and protect community interests. Of course, there were influence, interests, and competition—such is the nature of societies—but the source of prestige was predominantly local. Then, the equation gradually shifted.
With the establishment of the modern state, accompanied and preceded by political transformations since the late Ottoman period and the British Mandate, followed by the expansion of state authority and its institutions, the central authority took up a larger space in the life of the city. Influence was no longer generated within As-Salt alone; proximity to the decision-making center became, across various stages, a key source of prestige, opportunity, and influence.
Here, I am not criticizing the existence of the state or its institutions, nor am I advocating romantic nostalgia for a bygone era. Law, administration, education, and the modern state have brought about undeniable transformations. However, I am addressing a side effect of centralization: that society gradually loses part of its capacity to generate its own internal balances and leadership, and that the relationship with the central authority sometimes becomes a shorter path to prestige than the relationship with the community itself.
Perhaps the irony is that As-Salt’s stone resisted time better than some of its ancient social ties!
The yellow houses still stand, and the balconies, arches, and alleys continue to tell the story, but the society that created that place has changed significantly. The economy, education, migration, and lifestyles have evolved, and along with them, the sources of influence and prestige.
Here, preserving As-Salt becomes more challenging than restoring the facade of an old home.
We can clean the stone and restore its luster, but who restores relationships when they fracture? Who restores the city's ability to produce its balance from within? And who preserves the spirit of the place if we maintain its walls while losing a piece of its soul?
Therefore, my friend Zouqan, perhaps you saw the As-Salt that we love for others to see, whereas I am attempting to read with you the As-Salt that does not fully appear in the picture—the As-Salt whose people have changed as much as its stones have endured.
As-Salt is beautiful, yes, but its most beautiful aspect was never its stone alone, but rather the society that gave that stone its meaning.
Source: Rum News Agency