Mohammad Zaid Malik:
The sanctity of Mecca and Medina is not the property of any dynasty, regime, or state. These sacred cities belong to the entire Muslim Ummah—past, present, and future. They carry the living legacy of Prophet Muhammad, his family, his companions, and the earliest chapters of Islamic civilization. Yet today, this shared inheritance stands effectively monopolized by the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia under the control of the House of Saud.
This is not merely a question of administration—it is a question of ownership, identity, and accountability.
For centuries, the Haramain remained under Muslim rule, but never as the exclusive domain of a single ruling family imposing its ideological and political will without meaningful consultation with the broader Muslim world. Today, however, the situation reflects a centralized authority where decisions impacting over a billion Muslims are taken unilaterally.
One of the most alarming consequences of this monopoly has been the systematic erasure of Islamic historical heritage. Sites associated with the life of Prophet Muhammad, his household, and his companions have either disappeared or been reduced to obscurity. The physical memory of early Islam—once embedded in the streets and spaces of these cities—is being steadily replaced by concrete, glass, and steel.
This transformation is not accidental. It is rooted in the rigid doctrinal framework of Wahhabism, which has come to dominate religious policy in the kingdom. Under the pretext of preventing shirk, a sweeping campaign has effectively flattened centuries of Islamic history. The result is not just theological uniformity—but historical amnesia.
At the same time, the skyline of the Haramain has been overtaken by luxury hotels, elite commercial complexes, and towering structures that loom over the sacred mosques. The expansion of Masjid al-Haram and Al-Masjid an-Nabawi has indeed increased capacity—but at what cost? The spiritual intimacy of these sacred spaces is increasingly overshadowed by aggressive commercialization and architectural dominance.
For the ordinary pilgrim, the experience is becoming more regulated, more restricted, and, in many ways, more distant from the simplicity that once defined the journey of Hajj and Umrah.
The issue, therefore, is not development—it is direction. It is not expansion—it is exclusion.
Can the holiest sites of Islam remain under the absolute authority of one state, shaped by one interpretation, and insulated from the voices of the global Muslim community?
A growing number of voices across the Muslim world argue that this model is no longer sustainable. The Haramain require a new framework of custodianship—one that reflects the diversity, unity, and collective ownership of the Ummah. A representative and consultative council, drawing from across regions, schools of thought, and traditions, is not a radical idea—it is a necessary evolution.
Such a structure would not weaken the sanctity of the holy sites; it would strengthen it by restoring a sense of shared responsibility and trust.
This is not a call for chaos or confrontation. It is a call for reform—measured, principled, and rooted in the very ideals of justice and consultation that Islam upholds.
The Haramain do not belong to a throne. They belong to the Ummah.
And it is time that reality reflects that truth.
