There are individuals who do not leave behind a disconcerting or troubled image in memory; rather, they offer a new way of perceiving the world. The Moroccan historian and writer, Hamid Al-Treiki, who sadly passed away recently, was one of these remarkable figures. When I visited him at his home in the Gueliz district of Marrakech in the summer of 2023, I had no idea that the hours we spent among the bookshelves would become one of my most enduring media and human experiences over time. In his presence, knowledge pulsated with a different rhythm; it did not flaunt itself but instead gently seeped into the mind, leading one to feel as if they were rediscovering what they once thought was already known.
We sat for hours on a sweltering evening, engaging in a dialogue that transcended mere questions and answers, morphing instead into a quest for horizons, a conversation between a restless spirit seeking understanding and a man who spent his life searching for life in forgotten maps, silent manuscripts, and cities that conceal their memories behind ancient walls. I later understood, as Paul Ricoeur suggests, that "memory is not a repository of the past but an act of interpretation." Al-Treiki, may he rest in peace, practiced this interpretation with the clarity of the world, devoid of the fervor typical of historians who seek to champion a specific narrative.
As our conversation deepened, I discovered that his vast erudition was not solely the result of extensive reading, but rather a product of an ethical relationship with knowledge. He effortlessly moved from Ibn Khaldun to "The Ring of the Dove," from Aristotle to Taha Hussein, and from the architecture of Marrakech to the symbolism of the Alhambra, all without making his interlocutor feel as though they were subjected to a cultural showcase. He embodied what Edward Said refers to as "the intellectual who transcends borders," not only geographical boundaries but also those separating disciplines, languages, and fields of knowledge.
When he spoke of Andalusia, he did not evoke it as a lost paradise but rather as a laboratory for understanding the history of the Mediterranean, a space where civilizations interacted and cultures exchanged their human influences. It is not surprising that he was a member of the scientific committee for the Andalusian Heritage Foundation in Andalusia, a guiding intellect for the activities of the Cervantes Institute in Marrakech, and dedicated many years to studying the cultural pathways of the Almoravids and Almohads, the Marrakech School, and the Alhambra as a shared memory that transcends narrow political boundaries.
He firmly believed that cities are not built through the incantations of failing plans, but rather by the narratives they hold and the powerful minds they harbor. This belief perhaps explains his commitment to defending the memory of Marrakech and Asfi, for as Pierre Nora posits, a city that loses its memory becomes merely a geographical space after once being a space of meaning. Memory is what imbues a place with its spirit and provides individuals with a sense of continuity.
After his passing, I recalled what Walter Benjamin wrote: "It is not the duty of the historian to tell us what happened but to salvage what is about to disappear." At the core of Hamid Al-Treiki's scholarly project was a desire to rescue what seeps from Moroccan and Andalusian memory, not through nostalgia but through rigorous research, documentary investigation, and the reconstruction of cultural relationships that wove the identity of this Mediterranean West.
When he departed this world in July 2026 at the age of eighty-two, I felt that Morocco had not only lost a historian but also one of those who safeguarded memory from simplification, history from trivialization, and heritage from tourist consumption. There is a significant difference between merely collecting documents and granting them the power to speak.
What remains in my memory from that evening is not only what he said but also the way he listened. He listened as if knowledge begins with listening, not with speaking. Perhaps this is why he resonated with the words of Hans-Georg Gadamer: "All genuine understanding begins with dialogue." For him, dialogue was not a mere exchange of information but rather a meeting of horizons, from which both parties emerged more humble and more aware of the vastness of the unknown.
That session taught me that some figures cannot be measured by the number of their books or accolades, no matter how significant, but rather by the quiet impact they leave in the consciousness of those who approach them. Knowledge, in its highest form, is not possession of the truth but a continual ability to pose the right questions. This is precisely what Hamid Al-Treiki did; he opened doors more than he provided answers, making history, as Marc Bloch intended, a science for understanding humanity before being a science for preserving the past.
Thus, whenever I recall that dialogue, I do not feel as though I am retrieving a media interview but rather reliving a rare lesson in the essence of culture; a culture that does not boast of its library but rather of its ability to make individuals more human, more faithful to their memories, and more humble before time. Perhaps this is why some meetings remain unforgettable; they do not end with the camera turning off but begin at a moment when their participants fade, leaving behind a lasting impact in the consciousness of those who engaged with them.
As reported by hespress.com.
