Is it a Gas Shortage or a Moral Shortage?!

Author: Rami Mahdawi

I did not expect, standing at 7 AM in front of the Al-irsal gas station, that I would leave after noon with a lesson in sociology more than in crisis management. Five hours of waiting were enough for me to discover that the fuel crisis which occupied people is not actually a fuel crisis, but rather a moral crisis, and what we lack is not more tanks but more education. At first, the scene seemed ordinary; dozens of cars lined up waiting for their turn, and the faces were tired but accepting of the idea of waiting. However, a few minutes were enough for the real story to begin. A car entered from the side, another tried to bypass the queue, a third sought information or a favor, and a fourth believed that waiting for others did not concern them. Here I realized that the crisis does not stop at the gas station's gate, but resides in the minds of some of us before it reaches our car tanks. I found myself, without any official title or assignment from anyone, participating in organizing the queue. I asked those who bypassed the system to return to their places, and I explained to people that fairness starts with respecting the turn. Some responded respectfully, while others objected, but the majority wanted order and just needed someone to remind them that respecting others is not weakness but rather dignity. As I observed the scene, an image kept recurring that deserves reflection. Among those waiting was the owner of a luxury car, next to him was the owner of an old vehicle, and among them were a doctor, an engineer, a worker, and an employee, as well as men and women, young and old. At that moment standing in line, all these differences fell away. The question was no longer: What do you do? or How much do you earn? or What kind of car do you drive? or What title do you hold? The only question that imposed itself was: How much moral character do you possess? For respecting the system is not measured by your cultural level, nor by your social status, nor by the size of your bank account, nor by the type of car you drive, nor by whether you are a man or a woman. All of that diminishes before one infallible standard: the degree of respect you show for the rights of others. A person may hold the highest degrees yet fail to respect a queue. They may drive the most expensive cars, but believe themselves above the law. They may speak at length about patriotism and belonging, but they shorten that when it comes to minutes of waiting. Here, culture becomes just information, and money becomes merely a means, while morals remain the true measure of civility. We have become accustomed, in every crisis, to searching for administrative solutions. We demand a new committee, or an operations room, or a specialized company to manage the crisis, and perhaps we argue about who is responsible for shortcomings. But my experience that day led me to a completely different conclusion. We do not need a company to manage fuel queues as much as we need a national institute to teach ethics. The phrase may seem sarcastic, but it captures a painful reality. What is the benefit of the best systems if citizens insist on bypassing them? What is the value of laws if some consider themselves a permanent exception? And what is the use of technology if respecting the system remains a personal choice without social value? A society that respects queues respects the state. A citizen who waits their turn at a gas station will respect their turn in the government office, in the street, in elections, and in public life. As for those who learn that their right begins where the rights of others end, they will not need a police officer watching over them at every corner. The problem is not just a shortage of fuel, as this is a transitory crisis that will eventually end. But the crisis of morals is much more dangerous because if it becomes entrenched, it will accompany us in every institution, on every street, in every transaction, and in every coming crisis. Perhaps what struck me the most is that most people felt relieved every time order returned to the queue, as if they were waiting for someone to break the cycle of chaos. This means that goodness is still present, and that the majority wants order, but they need a general culture that makes respecting it an automatic behavior, not a temporary response. Nations are not measured by the number of their towers, nor by the length of their streets, nor by the size of their economy alone, but are also measured by the way their citizens line up in a simple queue. In those small details lies the true image of society. I left the gas station with enough gasoline for my car, but I carried a much bigger question: What if we invested in building the human being as we invest in building roads? What if we made ethics a national project that starts from the family, passes through the school, is solidified in the media, and is translated into state institutions? Only then, our crises will not only be fewer in number, but dealing with them will be more civilized. For a society that possesses morals does not fear queues, nor does it fear crises, but transforms them into a test in which everyone succeeds. After five hours at the gas station, I am no longer convinced that we suffer from a shortage of gasoline... but rather a shortage of conscience. For nations are not built when the car tank is full, but when the human being is filled with morals.