Subtle Diplomacy: Historical Figures in Contemporary Disputes
In the realm of diplomacy, responses can take numerous forms, from formal press releases to public conferences, yet sometimes, a few names can convey profound messages. In the ongoing tension regarding the territorial claims over Sebta and Melilla, Madrid consistently dismisses any Moroccan assertions. However, during the Mawlid vigil at the Royal Palace, Rabat may have delivered a nuanced response by invoking history rather than engaging directly in the territorial debate.
Presided over by His Majesty King Mohammed VI, the ceremony featured Ahmed Taoufiq, the Minister of Endowments and Islamic Affairs, who recalled two eminent figures in Islam and regional history: Cadi Ayyad and Abou al-Abbas al-Azafi. These men are not merely names in Islamic intellectual heritage; both are deeply connected to Sebta. Cadi Ayyad was born there in 1083, where he studied and developed a significant portion of his work while serving as a judge from 1121 for over fifteen years before continuing his career in Granada and eventually passing away in Morocco.
Al-Azafi, a prominent scholar and judge of Sebta in the 13th century, is also closely associated with the history of Mawlid, having authored a treatise on the celebration of the Prophet's birth, continued by his son. The works dedicated to prophetic veneration in the Maghreb highlight Sebta as a major center for the celebration, significantly influencing Islamic history on both sides of the Strait of Gibraltar.
Historical Memory Over Territorial Claims
This leads to a compelling question: why invoke these two figures at this specific moment during a Mawlid ceremony? Understanding diplomacy sometimes requires us to look beyond the press releases. While Madrid can assert that Sebta belongs to Spain and dismiss any discussion on sovereignty, there is a reality that no government can erase: the deep-rooted history and the physical and human geography of the region.
The Moroccan gesture is not about proclaiming that "Sebta is Moroccan"; rather, it serves to remind us of a historical and geographical truth that is harder to refute: Sebta was a pivotal center of civilization, knowledge, law, and spirituality long before Spanish sovereignty was exercised. Cadi Ayyad and Al-Azafi take us back to the 11th, 12th, and 13th centuries, well before the protectorates, modern borders, and the diplomatic quarrels of the 20th century; even before the formation of contemporary nation-states.
To seriously discuss Sebta involves considering its entire history, not just its recent political sequence. The city has been a crossroads between the Maghreb, Andalusia, the Mediterranean, and the Atlantic, serving as a hub for jurists, traders, navigators, and scholars, with Cadi Ayyad and Al-Azafi as prominent representatives.
The mention of Al-Azafi during a Mawlid ceremony adds a unique dimension to this narrative. It is not merely a reminder of Sebta's scholarly history but also directly ties to the celebration itself. The nuance here is critical: Morocco is not waving a territorial map or slogan; instead, it invokes the memory of its scholars and heritage, emphasizing a centuries-old belonging and a deep connection with the broader Muslim community.
Morocco seeks not escalation but rather a reaffirmation of its historical continuity. This represents a sophisticated form of diplomacy: borders may change, empires may fall, and powers may shift, but the works of great scholars endure. As Aziz Daouda aptly states, "To remind is perhaps more powerful than to claim. The claimant must persuade; the one who reminds opens the books to pages that matter." Thus, the legacies of Cadi Ayyad and Al-Azafi remain intact, as do their connections to Sebta, preserved in archives, libraries, and historical works.
In this context, the official cultural heritage of Sebta itself highlights the importance of the Azafids and Al-Azafi's role in the city's religious history. It would be reductive to view this reference solely as a religious or academic one; it can also be interpreted as a demonstration of historical soft power, reminding us that the issues surrounding Sebta and Melilla extend beyond a mere political snapshot of the present. There exists a history predating current borders, and that history also belongs to Moroccan memory. The strength of this approach lies in its non-aggressive nature; it does not threaten, provoke, or incite controversy but simply reminds.
Thus, when Morocco highlights Cadi Ayyad and Al-Azafi at the Royal Palace, it does not shout, "Sebta is ours"; it places a stone calmly and elegantly, allowing history to speak when official communiqués have reached their limits. This response may be the most skillful: not to vociferously claim ownership but to remind what Sebta was before contemporary political history sought to exhaust its meaning. Diplomacy sometimes involves knowing when to speak and, more importantly, when to let the voices of the past be heard. No one, including Madrid, can silence the dead, for their existence, words, writings, traces, and narratives are eternal and assertive. There is little value in raising voices to shout and insult when history speaks with such finesse. This encapsulates the essence of a centuries-old monarchy that is both contemporary in its tone and powerful in its people, state, and civilization.
When Morocco chooses to recall the figure of Cadi Ayyad at the Royal Palace, it does not raise a cry; it places a stone, calmly and elegantly.
As reported by fr.le360.ma.
