When young men decide to marry, they do it the traditional way: visiting homes of potential brides to chose from a wide array of women who are on public display like merchandise waiting to be purchased. It all depends on the customer. Sometimes the richest sell out immediately. Sometimes the cheapest. Sometimes the most attractive on the supermarket shelves. After going through a long pre-set checklist (good family, compatible social milieu, status of mother and father and sometimes even grandfather, and certain characteristics like whether a woman is veiled or not), the customer/suitor makes his decision. It is based on suitability or prestige—not love.

Then the couple literally train to start loving each other—or make it look as if they are in love. They often put on grand public performances, which vary from childish giggling and public hugs to constant show-ups in society to prove to the world—and themselves—that they are now ‘united.’ They act like lovers to compensate for having ‘fallen in love’ in such a doctored and fake manner. This often results in divorce, and sometimes in scandalous adultery, which is tolerated (depending on family name or personal fortune) in upper-new elite Damascus. Or at best, it leads to a shallow relationship—hollowed out completely from emotion—that mirrors a lifestyle common since the days of the Ottoman Empire. Love for that matter does not guarantee a long or healthy marriage. But it certainly is a much-needed ingredient for success.

We have very few ‘success stories’ for lovers in Damascus. Society does not encourage love. Religion does not encourage love. It is considered wrong and immoral in most cases for a young woman to be involved in pre-martial emotional relationships—certainly not sexual ones. In movies, songs, and TV series, lovers are often depicted committing a very challenging and impossible act that confronts society, religion, family, and moral values.

What are our love stories in Damascus? Apart from ancient ones (which are abundant) like Antar & Abla, Qays & Layla, and Mouawiyya (the Umayyad Caliph) and Maysoun, we have very few famous modern cases to study. One that immediately comes to mind is that of Prince Hasan al-Atrash, the leader of the Arab Mountain who defied social norms in the 1930s and married the singer Asmahan. He did it although it was frowned upon for someone of his socio-political stature to marry an artist who appeared on film in romantic musicals. He did it simply because he loved Asmahan, regardless of what her career was.

Another obvious example is Nizar Qabbani, who spent his entire career defending women, love, and lovers, encouraging Damascenes to free their minds and break established norms, where in his own words “a woman is whipped a thousand times for falling in love.” A third example is former Prime Minister Khaled al-Azm, who wanted to become president in 1955. Members of the Azm family and friends advised him that his wife—whom he loved dearly—would be an obstacle to his victory since would be unfit to become First Lady, given her public drinking and gambling habits. A friend, Fouad Mahasin, advised him to divorce her or lose the elections. The next day they brought an Islamic judge to divorce the Prime Minister. Azm offered him coffee, then tea, then more coffee, before bidding him farewell. He refused to abandon his beloved even if it meant giving up his life-long dream of becoming president. As a result he was defeated in the elections.

Whereas in the West, there is an abundance of inspiring love stories. We’ve got King Edward VIII, who abdicated the throne of England in 1936 to marry the woman he loved. He had to choose between committing himself to an American who was twice-divorced or the throne of his ancestors. Without hesitation, he chose Wallis Simpson. We have Prince Rene of Monaco, who also defied family tradition and in 1956 married an American—this time, the legendary Hollywood actress Grace Kelly. We have got Juan and Eva Peron, Elvis and Priscilla Presley, Gibran Khalil Gibran and May Ziadeh, and John Lennon and Yoko Ono—the avant-garde artist whose love for Lennon broke up The Beatles. We have Adolph Hitler and his mistress (some say last-minute wife) Eva Brown, who committed suicide with him at a bunker in Berlin towards the end of World War II. We have the passionate love letters of Winston Churchill and Franklin Roosevelt, two men who, despite their reputation as world leaders, never shied—not for a moment—from making their emotions public towards their beloveds. Were they scrutinized for it? On the contrary, it endeared them to the masses in both Great Britain and the United States. When asked about the secrets of good leadership, Churchill confidently said: “Find your sweetheart. Fall in love.”

Syrian society is not like that, and nor is Arab society in general. Nearly ninety years ago, the British colonel T.E. Lawrence addressed an Arab Bedouin leader during World War I, saying that if the Arabs did not mend their ways they would forever remain “a little people, a silly people.” That is the product of a society without love. Human progress becomes minimal and so does social, moral, and intellectual development. Damascus needs more love to survive. It needs more lovers. As Nizar once said: “If love does not exist (in Damascus), then we must create it.”