In the Presence of Broken Mirrors: The Sultans’ Dance to the Desert’s Anthem of Sovereignty

In a silence that sounds like the whisper of sand beneath the invaders’ feet, footsteps move toward the haunted house in Washington. The visitor is no ordinary envoy from the East, but a man who has walked out of the prisons of occupation like a shadow resurrected from its own shackles — carrying upon his brow the sun of Damascus and the eyes of Galilee. He approaches the gates of the White House as if unaware that history is written in this strange new language: where accusations turn into credentials, devastation becomes diplomacy, and resistance transforms into presidency.

Abu Muhammad al-Julani —´-or-Ahmad al-Shar‘a, as those who once hunted him through the dark folds of blacklists would call him — is expected to soon sit in a hall that, two decades ago, was forbidden to anyone branded a “terrorist.” But time, that quiet and patient spy, owes loyalty to no one. It rearranges the maps through the simplest of games: erasing the past with one diplomatic gesture, and redefining legitimacy with a handshake in a white room.

Is it conceivable that the same state which invaded Iraq, imprisoned tens of thousands without trial, and placed bounties on the heads of its foes, now opens its arms to one of those very men? That those who once fought under al-Qaeda’s banner, and grew in the shadows of the Islamic State, now stand poised to govern a country still called “Syria” on the maps — though its body is scattered among agencies and intelligence fiefdoms?

Legitimacy today is not earned by election, nor by revolution, but by a flight itinerary: New York, Washington, Beijing. Armies are no longer required — only a cleared intelligence file, a travel permit, and the blessing of a committee called “International Security,” which now issues tickets of passage into the family of nations.

And so, in this theater where every name is rewritten, Washington declares a “new chapter” in relations. After years of siege, years of blacklisting, and decades of intervention, a fresh page is opened — not because it is just, but because it is possible. Politics, after all, does not ask about morality, only about balance. That is the essence of the game: as sanctions are lifted step by step, as visas are granted for the General Assembly, as meetings swirl through Manama, Moscow, and Beijing, the region is being remade — not by war, but by conversation.

Syria, once a battleground, becomes an “international player” — not because it has regained sovereignty, but because it has accepted its role as a mediator in a game far larger than itself.

Yet within this carefully choreographed “opening,” there are fault lines that cannot be ignored. The first concerns the future of the Syrian Democratic Forces — a formation born from the womb of resistance, and one that fought beside the United States for a decade. Now, talk has begun of integrating it into a new army structure led by Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham. This is no simple military restructuring, but a declaration that an entire era has ended.

What does it mean when forces once hailed as strategic allies are suddenly treated as secondary players, while yesterday’s enemies are received as heads of state? The message could not be clearer: there are no eternal loyalties, no lasting friendships — only interests that shift with the wind. The proposed integration — three brigades, one allegedly for joint operations with the Americans — may well be a stage performance designed to mask a deeper betrayal. Washington need not appear to abandon its allies, only to “relocate” them within a new hierarchy, beneath a new flag.

The second axis is more painful still: negotiations with Israel. The word “peace” is avoided, replaced with the softer term “border security.” But anyone who knows geography understands that “security” often conceals the surrender of land. The Golan Heights, occupied since 1967-;- the ruined village of Quneitra, symbol of both resilience and desolation-;- Mount Hermon, now a strategic choke point — none of these will be discussed as “occupied territories.” They are to be reframed as “zones of security cooperation.”

Even more striking is the quiet proposal of a tripartite committee — American, Israeli, and Syrian — to deploy forces on Mount Hermon. In other words, Syria may soon be asked to help secure the occupation of its own land. This is the ultimate paradox: a state summoned to legitimize its dispossession, all in the name of stability.

Meanwhile, in the background, Ankara maneuvers, Moscow repositions, Tehran observes. The “Syrian file” is no longer Syrian-;- it has become a mosaic painted by everyone but the Syrian people. Turkey — once the loudest opponent of such dealings — now acts as an in-dir-ect negotiator through covert coordination with Damascus. Russia, too, has begun to accept a new reality: that he who was a “terrorist” yesterday may be an “ally” today. And China? It opens its doors — not out of solidarity, but because Syria now sits along the arteries of the new Silk Road. Europe advances cautiously, chasing trade opportunities while trying to contain the flow of refugees, yet still without a coherent political compass.

But the question that lingers, like a long shadow on the wall, is this: what is the price of this new legitimacy? Will it be paid in Kurdish blood, in concessions of Druze rights, in the silent sale of the southern heights? Will Syria be asked to turn a blind eye to Israel’s expansion in exchange for the partial lifting of sanctions? The Caesar Act, once a symbol of moral pressure, is now being debated in Congress — not on grounds of justice, but of expedience. And perhaps, in some quiet moment, a clause will slip through the National Defense Authorization Act, annulling much of those sanctions — not because the regime has changed, but because the new faces now serve the same old agenda.

What we are witnessing, then, is not transformation, but rearrangement — a shifting of chairs around a single table. The freedom for which Syrians struggled has not been reclaimed-;- it has been auctioned off at a discount: a seat at the United Nations, a visit to the White House, a promise of a security agreement. The free spirit that once cried out from Daraa and Aleppo has been reduced to a press statement from a minister of a newly minted authority, declaring, “We seek a strong partnership with the United States.”

As though freedom itself had been rebranded as a strategic partnership.

Yet in the dim corners of the cities, and in the quiet depths of the villages, there remain those who still believe that legitimacy is not granted in Washington, nor invented in Manama — but born from the womb of suffering, and earned through blood and struggle. They, though silent today, are the true heirs of the future.

For history, in its decisive moments, is never written by those who enter the White House — but by those who refuse to forget who came first.

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