The narrative, deeply conceptual, is a cognitive system shaping the consciousness of peoples and granting legitimacy to states' existence. It goes beyond mere literary storytelling into a complex social and political instrument that requires meticulous deconstruction to address the widespread confusion around it. Understanding this concept starts from the official narrative crafted by authorities to cement loyalty and legitimize directives through institutions and curricula. It parallels the geopolitical narrative dictated by the state's geographical position and its role as a bridge or safety valve in its regional environment. Conversely, the popular narrative emerges as a spontaneous voice of the community reflecting its living concerns and collective memory, while all these layers merge into the identity narrative that answers the question of historical roots and belonging.
In Jordan, where these four levels intersect in their most sensitive and complicated entanglements, the announcement of the national narrative project revealed a deep need that had been latent for decades: for Jordanians to write their own story, not in the voices of others. Not because others wrote it with malice, but because the Jordanians themselves have not yet written it in a way that unifies the scattered memories and establishes a collective vision. The history of this country, spanning thousands of years, has been a tale told in the margins of others' books, or reduced to the moment of the modern state's founding, as if the time before the Emirate of 1921 was merely a prelude to transient civilizations that have no connection to those residing on the land today.
The project, adopted by the Crown Prince and announced in the fall of 2025 carries within its spirit an implicit recognition of this void, and a sincere desire to fill it with a comprehensive national vision. In this context, it is not just a transient cultural initiative, but a serious attempt to regain the initiative in crafting the national narrative and to immunize the younger generations in an era where misinformation and distorted narratives spread at the click of a button. However, the courage in launching the project is met with even greater responsibility in its formulation, and here begin the questions that must inevitably be confronted.
The first and most pressing of these questions concerns the internal diversity of the Jordanian society. How to write a unifying narrative for citizens whose memories are divided between the banks of the river, between those who see the 1948 Nakba as the beginning of their personal refugee story, and those who see it as a significant Arab event but not as a founding element of their Jordanian identity? The national narrative is not expected to solve this philosophical historical conundrum with a definitive answer, for this is what decades of policies and dialogues have failed to achieve. Rather, it is expected not to ignore it, nor to deal with Jordanian diversity as an obstacle to be overcome by silence or vague generalities about "land and people" and"shared living". The diversity of Jordan is not a stigma but a social and demographic reality, and a narrative that fails to encompass it remains incomplete and potentially divided.
The second question pertains to the relationship between what is national and what is pan-Arab. Modern Jordan was born within an Arab context rebelling against colonialism, dreaming of unity, and rejecting division. This origin has implanted in the cultural DNA of Jordanians an acute sensitivity toward any emphasis on national specificity, fearing it might be interpreted as disengagement from the region or abandonment of central issues. However, the bitter experiences of Arab states, some of which were more zealous for pan-Arab slogans than others, have proven that building a strong national state is not betrayal of Arabness but its fundamental condition. A strong, self-assured Jordan is the only one capable of sincerely championing the Palestinian cause because those without a homeland cannot protect another's homeland. This precise equation requires a clear narrative formulation that leaves no room for interpretation, combining pride in Jordanian uniqueness and organic affiliation with the Arab nation.
The third question, which is most closely tied to the daily life of the citizen, relates to the gap between the official narrative and quotidian concerns. When the state narrates a tale of seven thousand years of civilization, while the citizen is preoccupied with rising prices, job opportunities, and declining services, the distance between the text and reality widens, transforming the narrative from a lively story experienced by people into a lofty discourse that neither touches their hunger nor their hopes. The narrative project is not expected to solve economic issues, nor to become a government statement on development plans. However, it is required not to detach from these problems, nor to create a parallel space of idealism that does not intersect with the details of daily life. The narrative that does not acknowledge citizen suffering, nor contextualize this suffering historically and socially, will remain a discourse that does not touch the spirit.
But the deeper question, which precedes and permeates all these, is about the method: Who writes the Jordanian narrative? If the project remains confined to official committees and appointed experts, and if the Jordanian story is limited to certain voices with institutional legitimacy rather than community legitimacy, the result will be another document we pridefully display at occasions then return to the shelf. A living narrative is written by many hands, by the pen of the angry, the dreamer, the fearful, and the hopeful, by the pen of the farmer, the refugee, the Bedouin, the urbanite, by the pen of those who fought at Karameh, those displaced from a camp, those educated at Jordan University, and those who migrated then returned. The national narrative is by nature a collective project, and any attempt to reduce it to a single narrative, however solid, will produce cognitive fragility without immunity.
The Crown Prince's vision in launching the project appears more significant than its operational details. A personal adoption of such a large-scale cultural initiative sends a clear message: that Jordanian identity is a national priority, and that delaying discussing it has become costly. However, personal patronage also carries its own risks; the project might be perceived as a royal narrative rather than a national one, and as a directive from above rather than a horizontal dialogue. Here, a precise awareness of the sponsor's role limitations is required, and genuine space must be allowed for community actors, academics, and creatives to make their mark on the project, so it does not remain under tutelage but transforms into public ownership.
One cannot discuss the Jordanian narrative without considering the geopolitical context in which it is born. Jordan today, just as over the past century, is a state facing renewed existential threats under changing headlines. The most recent and most dangerous are the revival of slogans like "the alternative" and"the alternative homeland" in Israeli right-wing rhetoric, and attempts to resolve the Palestinian issue at the expense of Jordanian constants. In this context, the Jordanian narrative project becomes a proactive defense of existence, and affirmation that this homeland is not a backup option for anyone, nor a bargaining chip in regional equations. But defending existence does not require an idealized narrative that conceals vulnerabilities and denies challenges; real defense starts with a realistic acknowledgment of the situation, and by building cognitive immunity founded on truth rather than denial.
Perhaps the most dangerous aspect of national narrative construction projects is the temptation to oversimplify: reducing complex history to a single heroic tale, obliterating contradictions and uncomfortable details, and presenting a monolithic identity that allows no interpretation. This model of narratives produces a beautiful document on paper but fails in the test of reality. Because living identities, like living individuals, carry within them their contradictions and open questions. The Jordanian who takes pride in his Arab army and worries about his children's future, who keeps Jerusalem in his heart and dreams of a job, who honors his ancestors' history and mocks bureaucracy, this multi-faceted Jordanian is the true hero of the narrative, not a faultless, tireless, unquesting hero statue.
The sought-after Jordanian narrative is not a final answer that closes the door to reevaluation, but rather a national space open for continuous dialogue. It is an acknowledgment that the Jordanian identity is still in a state of formation, and that the pluralism of society is not a weakness to be erased but a richness to be narrated. It is courage in facing tough questions, and humility in accepting that the final narrative will be written by future generations, not today's committees. At its deepest core, it is not a documentary project of the past, but an investment in the future: to bring forth Jordanians who know who they are, not because someone taught them the answer, but because they were raised to love questioning.
Then and only then, the Jordanian narrative will not be a document kept in drawers, nor a discourse read at occasions and then forgotten. It becomes a pulse in the veins, a collective conscience, a mirror in which every Jordanian sees their face without feeling that another's face was erased to make room. This inclusive mirror, which accommodates all and breaks none, alone ensures that this nation remains cohesive in an era when nations are falling.
