Ali Hamad Al Marri
Qatar stands proudly at the crossroads of tradition and innovation. From desert festivals to AI-driven infrastructure, we are building a country that respects its roots while shaping the future. But in the rush to move forward, a crucial question emerges: Are we documenting the present—our golden era—for the generations to come?
Unlike many nations that look back at historical milestones centuries ago, Qatar is living its history now. The transformation in education, healthcare, sustainable urban design, and international diplomacy is not theoretical—it is unfolding before our eyes. We are witnessing the rise of smart cities like Lusail, the growth of cutting-edge universities, the expansion of green spaces in arid land, and the hosting of world-shaping events. But these monumental changes risk becoming mere footnotes unless we actively preserve the stories, emotions, and experiences behind them.
Do we have enough behind-the-scenes footage of how Lusail was planned, not just how it looks today? Are we recording the voices of nurses, teachers, migrant workers, and engineers who have contributed to this era of change? Will children in 2080 know how Qatar responded to the challenges of 2022, 2023, and beyond—not through headlines alone, but through the human narratives that define this chapter?
Every generation leaves behind a footprint. Ours is being created in real time—through images, videos, soundbites, digital diaries, and even social media posts. But without intentional curation, this wealth of memory can dissolve into digital noise, scattered and lost in the vast sea of information.
We need a national archive of the present—a living repository that captures not only the monumental events but the quiet, meaningful moments that define our society. Imagine a digital museum where you can hear a grandmother teaching her granddaughter how to make traditional Qatari dishes, or a student reciting his school poem about his neighborhood. Imagine walking into a virtual majlis where voices from all walks of life speak about what Qatar means to them—today.
This effort cannot fall solely on institutions. Yes, organizations like the Qatar National Library, Msheireb Museums, Qatar Foundation, and even local media outlets can lead and structure such initiatives. But it must also be a personal mission. Every Qatari household can become a guardian of heritage—by saving photos, recording oral history, writing journals, and submitting small but meaningful contributions to a national memory project.
If we do not tell our own story, others will—and they may not tell it accurately or with care. Heritage is not built in the past. It is built in the present, moment by moment, decision by decision, memory by memory.
In a world where data is everywhere, meaning is rare. Let us make Qatar not just a country of development, but a country of memory. Because memory inspires identity. And identity fuels purpose.
The future will ask: what did Qatar look like when it rose? And the answer must be more than numbers—it must be voices, faces, and stories that reflect the soul of a nation rising with dignity, clarity, and pride.
— Al Marri is an employee at the Ministry of Environment and Climate Change , Reserves and Wildlife Department.
Al Marri is an employee at the Ministry of Environment and Climate Change , Reserves and Wildlife Department.
