On a radiant September morning, UNESCO’s announcement stirred the ancient hills of the Levant. Among the latest additions to the World Heritage List was Tell es-Sultan near Jericho, a site whose silent stones have borne witness to millennia of human drama: empires rising and falling, prophets walking the desert, refugees passing through. The inscription is not only an archaeological victory — it is, for many Palestinians, a moment of recognition long sought.
In what followed, debate, hope, and tension intertwined. That fourth point — the sharp contradictions between heritage protection and political realities — became the heart of the story.
A Site Beyond Time: Tell Es-Sultan’s Ancient Voice
Tell es-Sultan lies just outside the modern city of Jericho. Its ruins, stretching back to the ninth millennium B.C., predate cities, kings, and written records. The layers of settlement reflect generations of settlement, abandonment, and reoccupation.
In naming it a UNESCO World Heritage Site in September 2023, the agency affirmed the site’s “Outstanding Universal Value,” recognizing it not only for antiquity, but for its continuity and the stories it carries across time.
The Palestinian Authority celebrated the decision as vindication. In a gesture of symbolic pride, officials described it as an act of reclamation — of culture, memory, place. UNESCO itself clarified that the designation targets the prehistoric ruins, not surrounding religious or contested zones — a technical nuance, but one with outsized implications in a land where every meter is freighted with meaning.
For the local people of Jericho, the recognition offered both pride and new possibilities. Pilgrims, scholars, and tourists could view the site through a different lens, not just as stones, but as signposts of identity. Yet already, the tension between memory and territory was proving hard to navigate.
Multiple Perspectives, Competing Narratives
From the Palestinian side:
In statements released after the inscription, Palestinian antiquities officials emphasized preservation, local stewardship, and international partnership. For community members, the recognition became a rare moment of agency — a symbolic nod to what many feel has been erased or marginalized.
From Israel and Its Proxies:
The Israeli foreign ministry dismissed the designation as a politicized act, warning that it could inflame tensions in areas under contested sovereignty. In broader media, observers pointed out that Israel formally withdrew from UNESCO in 2019, alleging institutional bias. That exit complicates dialogue: Israel often decries UNESCO’s Middle East designations as unfair, while Palestinian advocates see UNESCO as among the few global bodies willing to assert their narrative.
From Media and Independent Reporting:
A piece in Le Monde describes how, in the West Bank, Israel has accelerated settlement construction in adjacent UNESCO sites — most notably at Battir — despite legal and diplomatic objections. Another report from Le Monde explores the case of Sebastia, an archaeological site under Israeli control, where access, preservation, and tourism have grown increasingly constrained as settler presence expands.
In effect, UNESCO’s inscription becomes a kind of flash point — not just for heritage, but for sovereignty, land control, and identity.
The Tension At The Core (The Fourth Point)
If the first points are about heritage, recognition, and narrative, the fourth is about power — who controls, who preserves, who accesses. The UNESCO inscription of Tell es-Sultan cannot fully shield it from the geopolitical reality on the ground. Indeed, heritage designation often collides with military presence, land seizure, and settlement expansion.
One stark illustration is the situation around Battir, a picturesque Palestinian village near Jerusalem. Battir’s terraced fields and ancient irrigation systems were declared a UNESCO Cultural Landscape in 2014.
Yet in recent years, as Reuters and Le Monde report, the Israeli government has advanced plans for settlement construction in adjacent zones. The concern is that UNESCO protection may not be sufficient to stop de facto changes on the ground.
In Sebastia, Israeli investment in infrastructure, tourism development, and land reclassification has altered both the physical terrain and the narrative of ownership. Palestinians in Sebastia have spoken of exclusion: they are often barred from conducting maintenance or guiding visitors, while settlers and state agencies use the site for their own tours.
These realities underscore that heritage is not only about stones — it is about laws, guns, cartography, audience, management, and access. When military outposts, settler tours, or restrictions alter how sites are experienced, they change not just who interprets history, but who can see it.
That inherent tension — between the ideals of universal human heritage and the realities of contested sovereignty — is the most potent element of this story. UNESCO’s seal is powerful, but it cannot by itself rewrite maps or change military orders.
Hope In Heritage: Ways Forward
Despite all the friction, this new inscription is a hopeful moment. It opens pathways — diplomatic, academic, and cultural — for more engaged protection.
First, there is technical support. UNESCO and international bodies can provide funds, expertise, monitoring, and pressure to prevent degradation.
Second, local engagement matters. When residents of Jericho see the site as theirs — not simply as an international label — they become partners in preservation. Educational programs, community tours, and youth involvement can build sustainable guardianship.
Third, cross-communal and interfaith linkages can help. Archaeologists, historians, and religious communities could find common ground in preserving ancient landscapes. Narratives of shared heritage may soften binary claims.
Finally, continuous vigilance in civil society is vital. Journalists, NGOs, and heritage bodies must monitor threats — from urban expansion to looting, from political decrees to infrastructure projects. UNESCO’s designation is only the start; accountability must follow.
A Narrative For Generations
Years from now, a child in Jericho might walk among Tell es-Sultan’s stones and hear the echoes of distant voices. She might touch an ancient fragment and feel the weight of continuity. Ideally, no boundary, no checkpoint, no dispute would prevent that intimacy.
Recognition by UNESCO did not end the conflict — but it added a new layer of defense, legitimacy, and story. In the tension between preservation and politics, heritage becomes a battlefield, yes — but also a bridge.
If we listen, the silent stones of Tell es-Sultan speak — to the past, and to a possible future.
