Powerful Cities… More Powerful Narratives Still

Influence in the Middle East is no longer measured solely by the ability of states to impose their military or political domination; it is now bound up with their capacity to build attractive cities and craft convincing narratives. In this shift, cities such as Riyadh, Dubai and Doha are emerging as new centres of gravity, while states unable to produce an effective city or a coherent discourse find themselves receding. Between economics and media, a different model of governance is taking shape, one that raises a fundamental question: who actually governs?

In this context, the city has ceased to be a mere urban space or administrative hub and has become a fully-fledged political instrument. Its rise cannot be understood through the lens of economic growth alone; it points to something deeper — a redefinition of power itself. Cities are no longer built simply to house populations, but to serve as transborder platforms of influence, capable of attracting investment, drawing in talent and affirming their presence in the global economy. These are cities that compete with states, presenting themselves as models of stability and openness in a region long associated with conflict and uncertainty. In this sense, the city becomes the face of the state, and in certain contexts its substitute, where success is measured by the capacity to attract rather than to dominate, to produce rather than to declaim.

Yet urban and economic power are not sufficient on their own. Every city needs a narrative that legitimises its ascent and gives it meaning. The media are no longer mere carriers of reality: they have become its co-producers. Digital platforms, news channels, and even influencers, all contribute to constructing a coherent image — that of modern, stable cities capable of leading the future. These narratives do not speak only to the outside world; they also reshape internal consciousness, becoming a tool for redefining legitimacy. The question is no longer who holds power, but who holds the ability to define reality. And whoever succeeds in imposing their narrative consolidates their position, even if the facts are far more complex than the image suggests.

What is striking about this model is that it dissolves the boundary between economics and media. Rising cities do not merely invest in infrastructure; they invest with equal care in the image they project of themselves. Major projects, international events and economic openness are not solely tools of development — they are also narrative instruments. They are deployed to produce a coherent story of success, presented to the world as reality and, internally, as a path that admits no alternative. In this sense, soft power becomes a direct extension of economic power, and narrative an asset no less strategic than material resources.

This transformation raises a legitimate question about the nature of this power: are we witnessing genuine power, or power that has been carefully designed? The truth is that the distinction between the two is no longer sustainable. A narrative cannot function without grounding in reality, but it is equally capable of reframing that reality, amplifying it, or even simplifying it in the service of political goals. The narrative no longer merely reflects reality: it reproduces it. What is presented as success may well be a compound of real achievement and skilful management of image.

Against this backdrop, Lebanon appears to be outside the equation. Beirut, once a regional centre for media, culture and the economy, has progressively lost its capacity to play that role. The city can no longer attract investment, produce a model worth emulating, or even present itself as a space of relative stability. Yet the deepest loss lies not in this retreat from relevance, but in the absence of narrative. There is no longer a coherent Lebanese discourse capable of explaining what is happening or offering a vision of the future — only contradictory narratives that reflect a deeper fracture in the structure of state and society. At a time when the region is governed through cities and narratives, Lebanon finds itself without an effective city and without a narrative capable of competing.

In light of these transformations, the question of who governs the Middle East today no longer yields an easy answer. Does the state remain the central actor, or have cities — sustained by economic power and coherent narratives — become the most influential force? The answer may not yet be settled, but one thing is certain: the balance of power is shifting, and influence is no longer measured only by the traditional instruments at states' disposal, but by their ability to produce models that can convince.

In the Middle East today, it is not enough to exist. It is not enough to possess resources or a geographic position. Real power lies in the capacity to produce a city that attracts and a narrative that convinces. Whoever fails at this finds himself outside the game, even if he remains present on the map. In an era of rising cities and competing narratives, influence is no longer simply a matter of control, but a matter of meaning.