By Noura Natour
In the Arab world, once someone ascends to a position of authority and is empowered by it, they often undergo a startling transformation—one so drastic that even they might struggle to recognize themselves. What lies behind this sudden shift in identity? After all, a chair, in its simplest definition, is just a seat with four legs and a backrest, intended for temporary use.
This simple definition applies everywhere—except when it comes to presidential, ministerial, or high-ranking official chairs in our region. In these cases, the chair takes on a different meaning. It becomes a symbol of unchecked power, capable of altering character and upending values.
So, what makes a government official’s chair different from that of a businessperson or an ordinary citizen in the Arab world? The difference lies not in the chair itself, but in the authority attached to it. When a seat of power exists outside the bounds of law, it turns into a dangerous tool—one driven by whims and personal desires rather than accountability or institutional frameworks.
When those in power operate without fear of punishment, they often shed ethical standards and universal human values. Justice becomes selective, and law is replaced by the rule of the jungle, where the strong consume the weak, and the rich crush the poor.
These chairs have weighed heavily on our shoulders for decades—crippling us with their tyranny and arrogance. From the moment we were born in these nations, we have suffered under the blindness and deafness of those seated in power. As the legendary Umm Kulthum once sang, “We were born into misery through no fault of our own.” Arabs in general, and Syrians in particular, have long endured the cruelty of officials devoid of conscience—a consequence of one fundamental failure: the absence of law in public life. Law is treated not as a foundational principle, but as a forbidden element from the agendas of ruling powers. Every faction has its own agenda, and none can be fulfilled unless the chair of power is rendered deaf, dumb, and blind.
Thus, the law remains a stranger in our political culture. And even if it is ever born or granted a place, it is likely to suffer loneliness and irrelevance—left to gather dust on the table beside the same immobilizing chair it was meant to restrain.
We have often cheered for individuals whose words inspired us. We voted for them, celebrated their promises—only to watch them assume high office and, within days or weeks, fall into the same patterns of silence, indifference, and disconnection. You visit them, appeal to their better nature, remind them of their past convictions—but your words fall flat. You leave their office dragging disappointment behind you, bitter for having chosen yet another opportunist who does not deserve the trust of the people.
The problem, however, lies neither in the individual nor in the chair itself. The true crisis is the systematic absence of law. Law has become a myth, its mere mention bordering on the miraculous. We are, after all, human—prone to desire, temptation, and ambition.
Many of us possess genuine patriotism and a sincere will to reform. But once in office, we face the harsh reality of hierarchy and authority. Saying “no” to someone above you is treated as madness, punishable by death, imprisonment, or exile. Fear takes hold, and the dream of reform dies quietly.
In such an environment, some choose retreat over confrontation. The position becomes a safe zone—a moderate amount of power, a manageable level of influence. And the human soul, vulnerable to greed and power, begins to drift away from its original principles and patriotic goals. Except for a few rare exceptions, most lose their way.
Yes, there are still those who enter office with sincere intent to bring about change. But the pressure is immense, and many exit quickly—fearful of what power might do to them, or of becoming complicit in the same corrupt structures they once stood against.
In countries governed by law—not by individuals or positions—officials serve the office and the people, not the other way around. Their tenure is temporary, not permanent. Perpetual leadership kills innovation, blocks progress, and replaces it with stagnation, nepotism, fear, and the suppression of speech. Criticism becomes treason, opposition becomes betrayal, and sometimes, dissent is silenced through extreme measures—even assassination.
One must ask: why are critics and political opponents in our region so often marginalized and excluded from public life? The standard answer: because they “destabilize” the state and “rely on foreign support”—a label reserved, conveniently, for “traitors.”
But to label every critic as a traitor simply because they expose corruption or injustice is to justify and shield the very corruption that undermines the state. This is precisely how authoritarian chairs continue to curse our nations—because the inner circle of enforcers surrounding those in power refuses to allow critique or reform.
So we are left with vital, unanswered questions:Is every appeal for foreign support truly an act of betrayal?
Is leaving authoritarian positions unchecked really a noble act, as long as it “preserves the state’s dignity”?Can a lawless seat of power be reined in by the morality of its occupant alone—and for how long? What happens when one ethical individual holds fast to the law while all those around him are part of a paralyzed and corrupt system?
Perhaps only when we understand the essential role of law—as a collective salvation, not a weapon of selective punishment—can we begin to answer these questions with honesty. Only then can we believe, with full conviction, that the law was created to serve and protect us all equally—not to shield the powerful while punishing the rest.
