The history of the Middle East has not merely been written in ink, but carved through oil, blood, and fragmented memory. Since the Sykes-Picot Agreement of 1916, when colonial architects divided Arab lands in the aftermath of World War I, the region has been managed not as a cradle of civilisation with the right to self-determination, but as a geopolitical zone that must remain under control. That colonial pact was not the end of the story — it was its beginning. From drawing borders with a pen, the strategy evolved into fragmenting awareness through sound and image, from military occupation to a silent invasion seeping into the marrow of identity.
The so-called “Greater Middle East” project was never a developmental initiative, but rather a carefully branded blueprint for dismantling the Arab world — hollowing out its spirit, dismantling its identity, and eroding its immunity. When Condoleezza Rice proclaimed that what was happening in Lebanon was the “birth pangs of a New Middle East,” her words were not spontaneous — they were calibrated and cynical, as though the blood spilled was a reasonable price for a long-awaited geopolitical infant dreamed up in the security think tanks of Washington, London, and Tel Aviv. America was no longer pursuing oil alone — it sought to unravel the Arab psyche, to tear social fabrics apart, and to manufacture generations that would see resistance as a burdensome relic, Arabism as a failed myth, and religion as an endless inner conflict.
When armies failed to subdue the will of the people, Western intelligence agencies stepped in through subtler channels. Both the CIA and Britain’s MI6 played pivotal roles in psychological warfare and covert influence operations across the Arab world. Using soft power and digital penetration, they launched invisible waves of mental conditioning via foreign-funded media, cultural organisations, and social platforms that morphed from spaces of free expression into elaborate laboratories for emotional and ideological manipulation. Public anger was outsourced, protests were scheduled by Greenwich Mean Time, and dreams of revolution were reduced to trending hashtags. In this engineered confusion, identity was fragmented, and legitimate demands were turned into explosions that ripped through the nation’s foundations.
MI6, in particular, has a long and discreet history of meddling in the region’s religious and cultural veins. The agency did not limit itself to espionage in the traditional sense but mastered the art of reprogramming consciousness from within. Through selective support of marginal religious currents, it fuelled ideologies that leaned heavily on mystical narratives, most notably the strategic amplification of messianic ideas such as the imminent arrival of the “Mahdi”. These narratives were no accident; they were subtly encouraged to promote passive hope over active resistance, turning religion from a liberating force into a mechanism of delay and submission. By nurturing a psychological climate of expectation and detachment, MI6 contributed to the erosion of political agency, where people clung to metaphysical salvation while their tangible world collapsed. The result was a population conditioned to wait for divine intervention instead of forging a national revival.
Within this same orchestrated landscape, Islamic movements were weaponised — sometimes with their complicity, other times with calculated infiltration. These groups promoted distorted religious doctrines that suffocated the spirit of resistance under the guise of “obedience,” dulled awareness in the name of “avoiding fitna,” and demonised any act of liberation as “rebellion against the ruler.” Grand ideals were hollowed out: jihad was twisted into civil war, the caliphate into blood-soaked fantasy, and religion into a cloak worn by those plotting to assassinate the homeland rather than defend it.
Yet none of this manipulation would have taken root without internal vulnerabilities. A decaying educational system, hollow media rhetoric, and a cultural vacuum devoid of inspiring figures created a fertile ground for chaos and extremism. The Arab youth today can quote the price of their smartphones better than they can name the martyrs of their nation. Cities like Beirut, Baghdad, and Damascus — once radiant beacons of Arab thought — have dimmed. Along with them, the dreams of generations have faded: some chronicled by Naguib Mahfouz, others mourned by Mahmoud Darwish, and many still waiting to be written.
Meanwhile, Israel watched, guided, and rejoiced. It was not merely an occupying force but a strategic mastermind — the spearhead of fragmentation lodged deep within the Arab world. Through intelligence alliances and security networks, it fuelled divisions, promoted fragmentation, and marketed the failures of Arab regimes as proof that unity is impossible, resistance is futile, and surrender is pragmatic. Israel’s greatest success lay in transforming the Arab-Israeli conflict into an endless series of Arab-Arab conflicts, making its presence feel ordinary in a region drowning in self-inflicted wounds.
Today, after decades of psychological, cultural, and political ruin, the Arab citizen is confronted with a question far more complex than any colonial map: Do we still have the capacity to forge a self-defined project? Can we afford to dream? Or have our nations become temporary theatres where Western labs redraw our fate? Can we reclaim our awareness before demanding the return of our land or our sovereignty? And perhaps most painfully: what does it mean to be Arab in an age when borders are illusions and the soul of the region lies scattered?
Perhaps we don’t need new maps — we need a compass that will help us navigate back to ourselves in a world where every direction has been obscured. Without the restoration of memory, we will continue to live inside stories written by our adversaries, with pens we have handed them ourselves.
Dr. Hatem Sadek – Professor at Helwan University
