Khaberni - In a world that rises every day on a question and sets on another, nature alone can expose the secret of politics more than words. It's enough to look at the spider in the early morning as it retightens its trembling threads, to understand how some systems are built in our Arab world, and it’s enough to watch the beehive as it opens the doors to a new day to realize why some states remain and others collapse. The spider only knows existence as a network, only understands strength as a trap, and only sees the world as a space for catching the weak. Every thread in its web resembles a politically inflated speech with no substance, and every tremble in the corner exposes its fragility no matter how it shines under the sunlight.
Thus appear the republics of fear: structures that build their legitimacy on panic, living more on pretence than on institutions. Systems that raise the voice of revolution but rule with the logic of vengeance, talk on behalf of the people but cannot bear the people breathing outside the thread, and remain throughout their life like those creatures that do not know whether to protect themselves or to prey on others. Republics that claim to be republics or publicly oriented, but when tested, reveal themselves as weak networks run by small mafias bigger than the state itself. Republics live not because they are strong, but because no one has come close enough to discover how fragile they are, and that their shine is just a reflection of light, not reality!
On the other side of the same picture, the world of bees appears as the quiet answer that transcends the noise. No network here but a cell, no trap here but architecture, no predation here but nurturing. Bees are not afraid of tomorrow because they are part of a system that has proven itself by action not by noise. They don’t need to justify their existence because they turn chaos into order, flying nectar into food, and differences into harmony. It is a complete political model without intending to be, a model that says stability is not a power monopolized by the ruler but a gift distributed to everyone. And when power is ethics before it is an order, it becomes capable of survival no matter how strong the storms are.
Here, the comparison between the vices of the spider and the virtues of the bee gains a meaning that transcends morals into politics. Vice is not just in predation, but in the absence of an idea. Virtue is not just in kindness, but in having the ability to turn power into a means for ethical survival, not just brutal survival. Politics, as nature says, is not a question of who rules, but how one rules. It's not about power, but about the meaning of power. It's not about the thread, but about the home.
In the heart of the Middle East, where regimes fall and others rise, a model that deserves long consideration appears: the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. A kingdom not built on screams, nor on terror, nor on the engineering of fear, but on a long-breath project that has managed to transform legitimacy from discourse to biography, from thread to trunk, from network to cell. A state that has not entered a survival battle with its people, but entered into a dialogue of survival with them. A royal system that discovered early that stability is not in the grip, but in balance; and that power is not in the show, but in the ability to distribute tranquility; and that legitimacy, in our region, is not made from blood alone, but from shared history and mutual awareness.
And this makes Jordan, despite the storms hitting the region from all sides, a model resistant to the typical interpretation. How did it remain while around it republics that claimed they were tougher than iron collapsed? And how did it endure while larger states around it fell like autumn leaves? The answer is not a puzzle, but a natural obvious: because the cell remains when the network falls, and because those who build their house on meaning do not need to scream to be heard by people.
States ruled by the logic of the spider weave fear and fall into it. States governed by the logic of bees and ants build on trust and rise with it. The former fears the future because it is coming, and the latter prepares for it because it is right. The first creates a void, and the second creates an idea. The former devours society, and the latter embraces it. And between them, people stand perplexed before the eternal question: Which is fitter for life? The house or the trap? The trunk or the thread? The cell or the network?
And with each cycle of history, the answer seems clearer than ever: no future for spiders no matter how many networks they create, and no long life for the republics of fear no matter how loud their voice. Survival, in the end, is an ethical rule before it’s a political rule. And the wisdom that builds a single cell is stronger and more enduring than a thousand networks ruled by force and living on instinct. Kingdoms of wisdom triumph because they understand the people, and republics of fear collapse because they are afraid of them.
Thus, from above the spider webs and from beneath the wings of the bee, the world appears as if it is one lesson in two different forms: there are countries that live because they hunt, and countries that live because they build. The first jumps from chaos to chaos, the second progresses from meaning to meaning. In the end, the shimmer of a spider's thread does not redeem it when it fades. What remains is the cell, and what falls is the network, and what makes the difference is not the number of legs, but the measure of wisdom.
