“We have fasted from joy for ages,

and now we break our fast upon the plate of dignity.

Record, O time of victory, record,

Damascus is ours until the Day of Resurrection.”

He quickly added a clarification, as if aware of the exclusion already implied:

“When we say ours, we mean everyone of every race, faith, and from every origin to every horizon.”

Yet the contradiction is already inscribed in the moment itself. Even in its gesture toward inclusivity, the speech evoked a purified, exalted Damascus, a vision of triumph rooted in a timeless Arab-Sunni imaginary rather than in the fractured present.

Capital of the Umayyads

Within hours, the clip circulated widely across social media. The verses became a digital anthem for the “new Syria”, often paired with a single, gleaming phrase that seemed to hold the promise of rebirth: “Damascus, capital of the Umayyads.”

The Umayyad Caliphate or Umayyad Empire (661–750 CE) was the second caliphate in Islamic history and, at its height, one of the largest states of the medieval world. Its territories stretched from the western frontiers of China to southern France, encompassing North Africa, the Maghreb, al-Andalus, the Sind, and Transoxiana. 

Centered in Damascus and marked by the Arabization of state administration under ʿAbd al-Malik, the Umayyads left a lasting political and cultural legacy that continues to be invoked and romanticized in contemporary Syrian and Arab imaginaries.

The expression itself was not new. Bashar al-Assad had used the same words years earlier to court the nostalgic imagination, portraying the city as “the beacon of the Umayyads and the cradle of Arab civilization.” Yet in the post-Assad imaginary, the phrase acquired a different resonance. It became both nostalgic and redemptive, a dream of authenticity after decades of humiliation and dictatorship.

In this evolving rhetoric, “Damascus, capital of the Umayyads” is more than a slogan. It is an affective myth: a promise of purity and resurrection projected by an Arab-Sunni imaginary trying to restore coherence amid collapse.

The Umayyad dream no longer belongs to power or opposition alone; it is deeply embedded in the moral and spiritual imagination through which many Syrians – particularly from the Arab-Sunni community – envision their place in history. Far from being a passing rhetoric tied to the fall of Assad or argumentatively the ascent of ”the majority” again’, it has become a framework for self-recognition, a way of reconstituting “the nation” as a moral community destined for restoration.

Orientalism from within

In this imagination, victory and virtue are inseparable. The nation’s rebirth is conceived not only as a political project but as an act of moral purification, a return to an untainted origin where faith, masculinity, and honour align. 

This is the same grammar that once structured cultural myths like Bab al-Hara  (the gate of the neighbourhood), a hugely popular Syrian TV drama series, first aired in 2006, that nostalgically imagines a 1930s Damascus neighbourhood as a tightly knit, patriarchal community of “honourable” men defending “tradition” and the homeland, and has been broadcast across the Arabic speaking region for 13 seasons. The yearning for an immaculate past, the masculine guardianship of a virtuous community, and the exclusion of difference as the condition of purity.

Here, Orientalism no longer arrives from the West. It emerges from within, through the desire to idealize the self by imagining it as both sacred and victimized, timeless and threatened. The Umayyad dream, in this sense, is a form of self-Orientalism: an internalized gaze that seeks redemption not through transformation, but through resemblance to an imagined essence of the Orient itself.

If the Umayyad dream shaped the ideological vocabulary of the new political order, it also found powerful expression in the media and digital public sphere. Figures in pro-government media and among online influencers began invoking “Banu Umayya” (Umayyad people) not merely as a historical dynasty but as a moral lineage, a metaphor for honor, continuity, and faith.

One striking example came from Qutaiba Yaseen, a widely followed influencer aligned with regime narratives, who shared a video titled “Men of Dignity from Sweida stand alongside the sons of Banu Umayya in Damascus.” The clip showed a group of Druze men celebrating what he called “the liberation of the land of the Umayyads.” While his caption emphasized unity and brotherhood, the very choice of imagery – where belonging is validated through the Umayyad idiom – reveals how deeply this moral geography structures the imagination of “the new Syria.”

Visual grammar

Across social media, dozens of Facebook groups and pages now carry names such as “Syria al-Umayyah” or “Banu Umayya.” Their posts blend patriotic iconography with religious overtones, producing a digital landscape where history is both sanctified and aestheticized.

Even episodes of misunderstanding highlight how emotionally charged this symbolism has become. During the July 2025 sectarian violence in Sweida, a predominantly Druze city, in which hundreds of people were killed and members of Syria’s defence and interior ministries were later detained on suspicion of abuses against civilians, a banner reading “Sweida without ummiyyah” (illiteracy) was mistaken for “Sweida without Umayyads,” triggering outrage among armed groups and their supporters. 

The intensity of the reaction spoke not to confusion alone, but to the extent to which Umayyah now functions as a sacred signifier, an emblem that fuses history, faith, and national legitimacy.

The romanticization of the Umayyad dream unfolds through gendered imagery that fuses purity, heroism, and faith into a single visual grammar. Viral videos set to the song “Banu Umayya, their origins are gold” portray men as guardians of a sacred lineage. 

One shows Ahmed al-Sharaa, the head of the transitional government, riding a horse in a slow, cinematic sequence, a tableau of masculine virtue and divine favor. Another, filmed in Damascus’ Umayyad Square, features a masked horseman carrying the tawheed flag, a black flag bearing the Islamic declaration of faith (the shahada) in white, echoing the same melody of glory and moral renewal.

While variants of such flags have existed historically as religious symbols, in contemporary Syria and the wider region this specific black shahada flag has become strongly associated with jihadist and Salafi-jihadi groups, and therefore carries militant and sectarian connotations rather than being a neutral religious emblem.

These scenes are not merely political symbols; they reveal how moral imagination is gendered, sanctified, and aestheticized. The horse, the flag, the disciplined body, all perform a yearning for order through the image of the righteous man. This visual culture does not imitate anyone’s gaze; rather, it springs from within, from a longing to see the self as pure, elevated, and whole.

Such imagery invites a question rather than an accusation:

What does it mean when a society envisions its rebirth through these codes of purity and virility?

Perhaps the “Umayyad dream” is less about reclaiming power than about reimagining the self, a collective effort to restore coherence through an idealized reflection of what it believes it once was.

The fiction of the moral past

In this expanding media ecosystem, the Umayyad dream operates less as nostalgia for empire than as a mode of moral self-fashioning. It provides an affective grammar through which the Arab-Sunni imaginary reclaims virtue and coherence amid collapse, a language of sanctified belonging that transforms loss into purity.

But the Umayyad dream is not the only vessel of nostalgia or self-Orientalism.

Years before the revolution – and still today – the TV series Bab al-Hara built another dream: one that turned “Old Damascus” into a mythical homeland for an entire Arab imaginary. 

As noted once in The Guardian, the series “has been an extraordinary phenomenon from the moment it was launched,” watched “from Morocco to Kuwait” and becoming a shared ritual of Ramadan evenings. Beyond entertainment, it crystallized a collective fantasy of what “authentic Arab life” once looked like, a Damascus of honour, piety, and masculine solidarity.

What distinguishes Bab al-Hara from other television dramas is not only its popularity but its power to shape collective memory. It became a reference point for how millions imagined Syrian – and by extension, Arab- identity. Danny Makki observed once that the series “misconstrues the history of what Syria was during the mandate era,” yet paradoxically defines how that history feels. 

For viewers across the Arab world, the Hara (the neighbourhood) became shorthand for virtue, resistance, and rootedness, an imagined moral homeland that transcended geography and class.

In this sense, Bab al-Hara did not just represent nostalgia; it manufactured it. It offered Arabs from Rabat to Riyadh a mirror in which to see a purified version of themselves, turning Damascus – remote, complex, and plural – into a moral epicenter of the Arab world.

In Bab al-Hara, purity is not only spiritual but domestic. The home becomes a miniature nation, ruled by paternal wisdom and feminine modesty. The neighborhood is a moral microcosm where every deviation – a woman’s defiance, a man’s betrayal – threatens the order of the whole. Through its melodrama of virtue and shame, the series transforms social hierarchy into moral truth.

A ritual of belonging

This is not merely nostalgia for a simpler past; it is an aesthetic theology of purity.

The men of Bab al-Hara embody the same disciplined masculinity seen later in the post-2011 Umayyad revival, vigilant, protective, and righteous. The show taught generations to feel authenticity as something lost and endangered, and to imagine moral restoration through obedience and gendered order.

Bab al-Hara does not simply reproduce Orientalist clichés of the “Arab patriarchal society.” It performs them from within, as a cultural desire. The Damascus it imagines – pure, communal, and morally intact – is a mirror of how the self wishes to see itself: uncorrupted by modernity, yet triumphant in its own virtue.

The Umayyad dream and Bab al-Hara reveal two distinct yet converging temporal imaginations through which the Arab-Sunni self performs its own “purity.” Both rely on what Ghassan Moussawi calls fractal Orientalism, a process through which societies reproduce the same binaries of progress and backwardness, purity and corruption, not between East and West but within themselves. 

Rather than a Western gaze imposed from outside, this is a local hierarchy of virtue: a self-sustaining taxonomy that distinguishes the “authentic” from the “deviant,” the “moral” from the “fallen.” It is constantly rehearsed through media, memory, and ritual performance, allowing communities to define themselves by continually reasserting who belongs and who does not.

In the Umayyad imaginary, history is compressed into a single, sanctified century. The Umayyad Caliphate – just one among many civilizations that flourished in the region – becomes reimagined as the timeless essence of Syria’s identity. What came before and after – Aramaic, Byzantine, Abbasid, Ottoman, and modern plural histories – fades from collective memory. 

The brevity of the Umayyad period paradoxically strengthens its symbolic power: its scarcity becomes proof of purity. This moralized temporality underpins contemporary political and religious discourse, where the call to restore “the Damascus of the Umayyads” becomes not an historical project but a ritual of belonging.

Historical fabrication

Bab al-Hara performs a similar manipulation of time, but within the domestic and social sphere. The series constructs a Damascus that never existed, erasing the city’s real modernity during the early 20th century. The show’s central motif of “gated neighborhoods” is a historical fabrication: “It was never the case that Damascus neighborhoods had gates. 

Damascus has seven main gates, known to this day. The character of the Aqid – the paternal leader who rules the neighborhood – is likewise an invented tradition, unknown to actual Damascene social structures. Historian Sami Moubayed noted that Bab al-Hara’s Damascus erases the city’s modernity: its tramways, newspapers, intellectual clubs, theaters, and publishing houses vanish, replaced by the simplified archetypes of the “Shamian setting” established in earlier dramas: barber, baker, vegetable seller, policeman.

In both imaginaries, the past is not remembered but rebuilt; time is aestheticized and moralized. The Umayyad past is purified into faith and conquest, while the Bab al-Hara past is purified into patriarchal virtue and social order. Each constructs a closed moral chronology that excludes historical complexity: one through divine authority, the other through domestic hierarchy. 

Together, they illustrate how some Syrians and Arabs perform self-Orientalism not by imitating the West, but by staging its own ideal self, the pure, disciplined, and timeless Orient it longs to inhabit.

If temporality in both Bab al-Hara and the Umayyad dream collapses history into a purified origin, their social and political dimensions translate that origin into hierarchy. Both imaginaries depend on the repeated performativity of authority – patriarchal in one case, and theocratic in the other – as the guarantor of purity.

In Bab al-Hara, patriarchy is not only a narrative structure but the moral axis of the world itself. As mentioned earlier, the Aqid as well as the Abadayat (strong men), stand as embodiments of collective virtue: decisive, self-sacrificing, and untainted by doubt. The stability of the neighbourhood depends on their ability to preserve honor through control, to punish deviation through violence, and to restore moral equilibrium through obedience. 

Female characters, in turn, serve as moral signifiers, either preserving communal dignity through modesty or threatening it through disobedience. Violence, far from being chaotic, is ritualized; it performs justice as purification. The show’s moral universe thus reduces social complexity to a binary between discipline and decay, mirroring “a theater of virtue.”

The Umayyad imaginary scales this logic upward. The masculine ethos of the neighbourhood – the man who protects his neighborhood and restores its honor- becomes the figure of the righteous man of the nation. What Bab al-Hara staged as domestic virtue now returns as public theology: a call for moral guardianship at the scale of the state.

This transformation is not merely rhetorical; it is enacted. Across social media and public gatherings, performances of faith and virility merge into a shared script of revival. The “pure man” of the neighborhood becomes the “defender of the Ummah,” the guardian of a faith imagined as both wounded and sovereign. Within this discourse, reclaiming moral order also implies reclaiming political legitimacy for the idea that the nation’s rightful rule, historically associated with Arab Sunnis, was “lost” under ”the non-Sunni Assad authority” and must be restored.

These notions have taken performative and embodied forms. Ahead of the coastal clashes in March 2025, Damascus authority-aligned preachers and local figures called for al-nafir (mobilisation) – a term rooted in jihadist lexicon – framing mobilization as a sacred duty of protection and purification. Ending up with massacres against the Alawite community there. 

With the July assault on the Druze in Sweida, tribal networks in Syria invoked al-faz‘a – traditionally a communal call for mutual aid – but here transformed into a performative act of aggression. In both cases, the vocabulary of purity and defense migrated from the household to the battlefield; the moral economy of the Hara became the national grammar of mobilization.

Performing the past: From the Baath to the Ummah

It is important to note, however, that the Baathist regime itself was an early architect of this self-Orientalizing grammar. As researcher Husam Itani observes, “the Umayyad revival draws from the same well as Baathist ideology, which turned the past- too- into a dream meant to guide the future.” The continuity is not merely symbolic: both frameworks reimagined moral order through the disciplined masculine body and the myth of civilizational resurrection.

Rahaf Doghli also demonstrates in her book Romanticizing Masculinity in Baathist Syria, Baathist rhetoric recentered the figure of the man as soldier-citizen, the disciplined, sacrificial masculine body whose loyalty, obedience, and willingness to wield ‘legitimate violence’ constitute the very essence of belonging. 

This legacy of moralized masculinity survives today in both the rhetoric of Islamist governance and the popular culture that preceded it. The Umayyad imaginary does not replace the Baathist one; it inherits and re-performs it, translating the soldier-citizen into the believer-warrior, and loyalty to the leader into devotion to God.

In this sense, social and political self-Orientalism in Syria is not a passive inheritance but an active practice. It is sustained through gendered performance and emotional investment, through rituals of loyalty and moral speech. Authority here is not imposed from above, it is lived, rehearsed, and believed in.

Across this imagined spectrum – from the Hara to the “Umayyad capital” – the yearning for origin reveals itself not as a national sentiment shared by all Syrians, but as a project rooted in the Arab-Sunni imaginary of moral restoration. It envisions not a plural Syria but a purified ummah, a spiritual polity redeemed through discipline and faith. 

Today, this imaginary finds its most visible expression in the rhetoric and performance of Islamist factions such as Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham, whose call to moral and territorial “liberation” extends the same logic that once governed the Hara: the defense of community purity through masculine virtue and divine order.

In this vision, the past is not recovered, it is rehearsed. The Umayyad century, brief and distant, becomes the horizon of eternity; the Damascus of Bab al-Hara, fictional and domesticated, becomes its emotional blueprint. Both transform history into a theater of redemption where belonging depends on the exclusion of difference.

Too often, Orientalism has become a convenient scapegoat, a totalizing explanation that attributes all the region’s distortions to Western power, leaving little room to interrogate the failures within. By locating domination exclusively outside the self, this reading absolves the internal hierarchies, mythologies, and desires that sustain oppression from within. 

Here, the notion of internal/self Orientalism becomes more revealing: it exposes how communities construct their own “Others,” reenacting the same logics of exclusion and moral superiority once ascribed to the West. In this sense, what is performed today is not merely resistance to Orientalism, but its domestication, the reproduction of its gaze in the mirror of the self.

The post From Bab al-Hara to the Umayyad Dream: How Nostalgia Shapes Syria’s New Moral Order appeared first on Untold.

Croatian oil and gas company INA, who stopped work in 2012 following European Union and U.S. sanctions against Bashar al Assad’s regime, are one of several international players that may be eager to capitalize on the renewed economic potential within the West Asian state.

Since Assad’s fall, the international community has been gradually integrating the new president of the country’s transitional government, Ahmed al-Sharaa. He’s received condemnation for his past association with the al-Qaeda affiliate and Islamist group Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS).

Despite concern over his previous ties, he’s managed several successful foreign engagements, beginning with when he was received in France by President Emmanuel Macron and shortly thereafter when he met U.S. President Donald Trump in Riyadh, with Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman also attending.

Following the diplomatic engagements, both the EU and the U.S. lifted sanctions on Syria, a continuation of a policy that has seen Western leaders eager to begin a process of economic rehabilitation. A White House statement highlighted the importance of “giving Syria a chance to succeed … but not at the expense of U.S. interests.”

The easing of sanctions has quickly realized a new capital injection, including multi-billion dollar energy and infrastructure investment deals with Saudi Arabia and Qatar.

On the 10th of September, Croatia’s Minister of Foreign and European Affairs, Goran Grlić-Radman, met with his Syrian counterpart, Asaad Al-Shaibani, to discuss the reestablishment of bilateral relations as well as areas of cooperation, including the economy, energy, post-war reconstruction and knowledge sharing. “We see Croatia as a key partner in the reconstruction of our homeland” said Al-Shaibani, while Grlić-Radman expressed Croatia’s readiness to open an embassy in Damascus. Joining Croatia’s delegation were representatives from INA and the Croatian Hydrocarbon Agency (AZU).

Although unable to match the financial power of its competitors, INA’s presence in Syria dates back to 1965, when the then Yugoslav state-owned company provided technical training to local staff on deep drilling. From this began the start of a unique business relationship that is almost unheard of in the modern oil trade.

Under an independent Croatia, the company began operations in Syria in 1998 and gained attention for their exploration and development activities in the Hayan Block, which lies west of Homs. They made key discoveries, including the Al Muhr, Jazar, Jihar, and Palmyra fields.

Exploration was handled by an INA branch office, while production was the responsibility of the Hayan Petroleum Company, a joint venture involving INA and the government-owned Syrian Petroleum Company (now GPC). By the early 2010s, INA had invested almost 1.7 billion USD, and Syrian energy made up a significant portion of their yearly profit.

At the height of operations, INA was extracting around 350,000 barrels per day. Today, because of conflict-affected infrastructure or general neglect, Syria’s total crude production sits somewhere between 80,000 and 100,000. Gas was equally lucrative, with the Jihar field producing 3,000,000 cubic meters per day. ISIS later destroyed the infrastructure at Jihar, claiming it was being used to finance the government.

Syria was a substantial investment vehicle for a company that, as part of a relatively new diplomatic entity in Croatia, was competing to establish itself among bigger industry names like Shell, Suncor, and TotalEnergies.

In 2011, they had begun exploration in the Aphamia Block before withdrawing the next year under political pressure due to Croatia’s upcoming EU accession. The decision was part of a larger policy of aligning strategic goals with the rest of the EU member states that had imposed sanctions on Assad following the horrific violence he unleashed on his own people.

The deterioration of infrastructure is believed to be a key factor in the reluctance of foreign investors to devote capital to a country, as they often expect a relatively quick return on their investment.

In the years that followed the withdrawal of INA and other major energy companies, the vacuum of uncertainty has raised ongoing suggestions from both the former Syrian government and private enterprise that the relationships could be rekindled upon stabilizing the situation on the ground. A press release in early 2016, which outlined the previous year’s fiscal achievements and challenges revealed that “[INA] has kept a smaller part of its assets in case geopolitical circumstances change and enable a return to Syria.”

Today, INA’s operations remain chiefly situated in Croatia with projects also underway in Angola and Egypt. While the ownership of the energy facilities in Syria is uncertain, the situation is changing rapidly day-to-day, and clarification would be expected by year’s end.

Dirty Energy Is Not Connected to Climate Change

The history behind INA’s ownership could be described as slightly convoluted. The words ‘It’s complicated’ can only function to open a Pandora’s box of history that muddles diplomacy and the inextricably linked public and private sectors.

Technically, INA is jointly-owned with the Hungarian oil giant MOL Group, controlling 49%, the Croatian government around 45% and the rest split between private investors and institutions. During the Yugoslav period, the company built up a robust profile – becoming the nation’s market leader and constituting around 10% of Croatia’s economy. This status enabled them to make investments and discoveries in Syria before MOL entered the picture.

After the breakup of Yugoslavia, INA needed to remain competitive and sought to move towards privatization, a position shared by many former state-owned companies within post-communist societies. They went private in 2003 after selling a 25% stake to MOL for 505 million euros (811 when adjusted for inflation). MOL continued to gradually increase their stake in INA until it reached 47.16% in 2008.

The following year, an amendment was made to INA’s shareholder agreement, which gave management control to MOL. This decision was a major component of the arrest of Ivo Sanader, who was Croatia’s Prime Minister at the time of the investment and shareholder amendment.

Sanader was accused of accepting a bribe of 10 million euros from MOL’s chairman Zsolt Hernádi in exchange for giving up control of INA. A near decade-long legal drama ensued where Sanader saw his conviction quashed, upheld by the Supreme Court, quashed again by the Constitutional Court before, ultimately in 2019, receiving six years for his role in the bribery case. Hernádi was tried in absentia and received two years, whereas his prosecution in Hungary found him innocent. Since the beginning of the scandal, Hernádi and MOL Group have denied any wrongdoing and rejected efforts to cooperate in the prosecution from the Croatian Government.

After a refusal to comply with a European arrest warrant, Interpol reissued a Red Notice for Hernádi. The dispute between MOL and the Croatian Government has led to several arbitration processes, with all finding in favour of MOL. The most recent was at the International Centre for Settlement of Investment Disputes (ICSID), a World Bank Court, where MOL was awarded $235 million.

Today, MOL’s ownership of INA still stands at 49.08%. The dispute and its subsequent arbitration are viewed as deeply interesting sagas among legal process analysts. On July 31st, Ivo Sanader was controversially released from prison eight years sooner than expected. His total sentence of 18 years for bribery and running a slush fund, among other crimes, was expected to keep him in prison until at least 2033. The presiding judge claimed he “fulfilled the requirements for an early release.”

What does International Law say?

Despite the business relationship between INA and the Syrian government, there is yet to be clarification on how ownership of the wells and infrastructure will be resolved. INA retains a strong degree of credibility not only due to their discoveries, but also the confidence they had in Syria’s energy potential. In the 1990s, as many foreign investors abandoned their business interests because of increasing costs and dry wells, INA persisted and made breakthroughs, which resulted in a net benefit for all stakeholders.

Due to sanctions compliance, INA invoked the force majeure clause in their contract, which stipulates that they were ‘unable to fulfill their contract due to unforeseen circumstances’. They later maintained that ownership of the oil and gas rights should remain theirs.

Analysts including Davor Štern, who was formerly the Chairman and CEO of INA, advised Croatian leadership to use diplomatic means to prevent the conflict between Israel and Syria from spilling over and inadvertently damaging INA’s remaining assets. “It would be good for Croatian diplomacy [to warn Israel to spare any sites designated as targets] as [INA] intends to exploit their previous investments.” Israel said its latest strikes were in defence of the Druze, a small religious community who lives primarily in rural regions and faced persecution in Syria.

Dr. Jamal Assad, a physician and representative of the Syrian National Coalition – who’ve now declared allegiance to President al-Sharaa, has lived and worked in Zagreb for many years. Regarding ownership he said: “everyone who has a right must get their right; there are others too [friendly and hostile countries], especially Croatia. When it was needed most, Croatia helped.”

The question over whether the previous oil rights contracts remain valid has yet to be resolved. Christina Abi, an energy consultant and attorney, suggested, “The terms of the contract have [by default] changed because they don’t apply to the situation anymore.”  She suggested that returning the sites to an operational status would be costly but that the force majeure clause could spark attempts to tie up loose ends in the current agreement.

Other foreign energy companies have shown an impetus to address the new political situation in Syria. U.K.-based Gulfsands Petroleum PLC, who, with their Chinese partner Sinochem, jointly controls Block 26 in the country’s northeast, said in a comment to Syria Report that “there are no material restrictions that would prevent our return to operations.” Gulfsands representative also iterated that they are “working with the Syrian government [to resolve remaining issues related to ‘force majeure’].”

Oil Rights and Human Rights

Hopes that large-scale sectarian violence would end under the transitional leadership were degraded by the mass killing of over 1,500 Alawites in March by government militias.

The ethnoreligious group was supposedly targeted because Bashar al-Assad is a member, and as revenge for ambush attacks carried out by armed groups loyal to the former president. When asked for a response to acts of violence, President al-Sharaa responded, saying: “We won’t accept that any blood be shed unjustly … even among those closest to us.”

Outside the communities themselves, many local and foreign observers are worried the fragile situation could delve even further into agonizing acts of depraved indifference to human suffering and casualty. Especially after similar attacks on Druze communities in the southern city of Suweida in July and August which left thousands dead and extended to clashes between the Druze and Bedouins aligned with the transitional government. 

UN Syria Envoy Geir Pedersen explained his office had received reports detailing abuses of women, arbitrary killings, kidnappings and summary executions. His statements occurred shortly after a briefing he gave to the Security Council explaining the volatility with which the July 19 ceasefire was holding. The briefing later describes humanitarian needs as ‘acute’ and that, despite the Syrian government “inheriting a landscape ravaged by 14 years of war and decades of misrule,” it must hold itself to a higher standard and “act with discipline, even when under attack.”

Safeguarding Syrian Prosperity

While several governments have released statements advocating for Syria to be able to develop free of interference, few observers expect the plan to be that straightforward. Controversial Parliamentary elections – which will see an appointed electoral committee chosen by the new government, vote for representatives will take place in September and could provide clarity over what kind of Syria we will see, not just regionally but in the wider international community.

Individuals facing daily threats of harm and government policies, which fail to guarantee the safety of minorities, are not conducive to building a Syria that works for all. A May report by the Norwegian Refugee Council, which interviewed refugee returnees and internally displaced Syrians (IDPs) put a spotlight on the perilous situation for citizens. Damaged or ruined infrastructure goes well beyond the energy sector, with 43% of respondents stating their homes were either virtually uninhabitable or completely destroyed.

Such an enormous development task needs to encompass more than rebuilding government and private infrastructure. The aim of providing support to refugees should not be to create a replacement existence within the boundaries of a safe country. It should be to provide support so that one day they may return to their land, their homes, and their lives.

When asked for comment on the content discussed, INA’s response was that the company “is continuously monitoring the situation in Syria,” and that, at this time, they are “unable to share additional information on this topic.” 

The post Who Will Control Syria’s Oil? Croatia’s INA and Other Oil Giants Eye a Return appeared first on Untold.

Enrico: You are quite critical of how the opening of the prisons and its aftermath have been managed. Can you tell us why?

Noura: The way of releasing the prisoners was quite wrong. It is unfortunate, as during the past years we had many workshops and conferences to prepare us for this transition period. And when it came, no one could behave correctly.

First, they started with liberating civil prisons until they came to Damascus. And now we don’t know who among those prisoners was a criminal and who was a political detainee. I saw videos of people released from those prisons who claimed they were activists, but based on what they were saying they clearly weren’t.

Second, the way they managed the opening of unofficial detention centers and security facilities was also wrong. Most of those prisoners have spent many years there, and they were in a terrible situation, both mentally and at the health level. In this context, you have to take precautions. Just to give an example: they gave them food just after they went out, sometimes heavy food. This could have killed them.

Third, outside they found crowds waiting for them. These are people who went through years of torture and ill treatment. Some of them completely lost their memory, some are in very bad health conditions. And then they find themselves surrounded by armed men, weapons and cameras. This added another big shock to them and it should have been avoided.

Enrico:Can you tell us more about what happened those days in Sednaya?

Noura: Every Syrian knows about Sednaya and it was known that the insurgents from the South were heading there. And yet, when they arrived, there were no medical teams. At least the civil defense (White Helmets) should have accompanied them. But they didn’t. So they started to release the prisoners and many people went there, including the families of the detainees. 

Sednaya has two different buildings, the white prison and the red prison. Those detained in the first one were in much better conditions. The reason is that in the white prison were detained military people, who were referred either to the military court or the counterterrorism court. Those in the white prison could receive visits, and had lawyers. They were in much better conditions. The detainees in the red prison, however, were in a terrible situation. More than we can imagine.

In the case of the red prison, the chaotic release of the prisoners contributed to create multiple traumas. Many families, for example, used to live for years in denial [that their dear ones are still alive]. Now, after years without any information about their beloved ones, they have to go through a new phase of trauma and denial. I know this very well, because I lived it. Imagine, even if the families found a record, and it’s written in it that their relative was sentenced to death, this is a new trauma they have to face. 

My team told me that when families discovered bodies even kids were present. Now the main three hospitals in Damascus are full of these bodies, and we are trying to convince the doctors not to publish any photo or data on social media.

The media were also a problem. I saw many videos from Al Arabiya and Al Jazeera interviewing detainees who were just released from Sednaya, asking them direct questions about the torture they were subjected to. And when those prisoners started to collapse and cry, they were insisting, which is unethical and unprofessional. And then of course there was the case of Clarissa Ward and CNN. Even my niece, who is 16 years old, knew at once it was fake. Her father was detained three times, so she knows.

At the same time, we cannot blame only the media because they are also relying on people who present themselves as experts but do not give correct information.

Enrico: Speaking about the media, it seems that a lot of fake news has been coming out since the prisons were liberated. 

Noura: There is a lot of disinformation and rumours circulating around all this. At the beginning, some videos came out and they said they were of detainees from the red prison. I do remember this moment. The first video I watched, I was with my partner, and I told him: it is impossible. They looked too healthy. When, later, we saw real detainees from the red prison, it was another story, and they had to  carry some of them because they couldn’t walk. Then many people were saying there were secret places under the ground in Sednaya. 

These rumours create additional traumas. While my team was there, they told me that some people hear voices. They go to my colleagues and they insist, but there are no voices. They are not lying. They are imagining. It’s a kind of self-defence because you need to believe that you will find your beloved ones.

Then we began to receive more reliable information. There was only a place they found underground, with, like, 13 bodies. My team was there and I received the photos. The only person I could recognise was Mazen Hamada. Until now, I am still not able to look at them. 

Another problem is when they tell families that there are applications in which you can put the name of a disappeared one in order to know where she or he was. But this is impossible now, since we do not have even half of the documents yet.

Finally, now we have all the rumours and fake news surrounding the mass graves. Everyone now is an expert of this, even if it is the first time in their life that they saw one.

So we hear people saying that a mass grave recently discovered close to Damascus, in Qutayfah, would contain 75.000 bodies. But we know it takes a long time to know how many people a mass grave contains. We are not speaking of bodies: it is human remains.

 Also in this case, the chaos can cause real damage, because, if these places are not protected, people can go there and mess with the evidence. Until now, no international organizations went to the mass graves, while ICMP specifically should go there.

This is tragic, because we have only these two types of evidence: the documents, and most of them were destroyed, and the bodies of those killed.

Enrico: Can you tell us about the work organizations like Nophotozone are now doing in Sednaya? 

Noura: Now the problem is that the prison is open to everyone. Everyone is going there. Everyone is taking documents and records. We saw videos of people walking and stepping on the documents. Most of the records with the names of the detainees in the red prisons are lost. Why? Also because their families and even some media workers took some of them.

HTS thought it was ok, that it was better to keep it open for the families to search for their beloved ones. But now it is impossible to have accurate numbers, and there are big differences between those given by different organizations, or the civil defence.

Now some volunteers, including my team, are going every day to collect documents and keep them. But another problem is that this is a new trend: everyone wants to work on this. All the organizations write on social media that they are working in Sednaya. Some organizations then said they finished their work, while my team was even helping digging and getting people out of there.

The effect is that unfortunately most of the families lost trust in civil society organizations, as they are offering contradicting data. There are no clear answers. But those doing the real work are those on the ground, who silently try to save these documents.

A colleague told HTS that we are collecting those documents just to save them and deliver them to international bodies. We are coordinating with ICRC and IIMP [established by the UN in 2023].

So, for example we are publishing and sharing within our network everything ICRC publishes because they ask us to help with delivering back the missing documents, spreading their contacts among families of missing or released prisoners, and to provide assistance in the release of prisoners.

As for IIMP, we did a survey to collect data they can use when they have their teams on the ground. The only international organization that until now did not contact us is ICMP, despite the fact that we collaborated with them for years.

We are also collaborating with HTS of course, because they do not know how to handle this, and we established a new channel with them. At least many activists could convince them to close the other detention centres. This means we can focus only on Sednaya, and later we can start with other places.

The final agreement with HTS is that we will pass all the documents to them, and then, in coordination with them, we will archive them and try to fill the gaps (as many documents have been destroyed). In the end, we will deliver everything to the main international bodies. It will take a long time though, at least 1 or 2 months, to collect all the documents. Just if we consider only Sednaya, we are not even at 25% of the total work that has to be done. 

Another urgent issue is the rehabilitation of those who have been released. And here we have to include the families. There are two types of families: those that still do not have any information about their beloved ones (which involves a lot of pain), and those families whose beloved ones were released, but are in terrible conditions. In this second case, accepting them, realizing in which state they are, all this constitutes a new trauma. I experienced this trauma myself when my father was released the last time. 

All of this involves a process of ‘re-traumatization’, as it reopens again the trauma related to those you lost. For someone like me, it is like I just remembered everything. And I am asking myself: what if Basel is still alive? I have not been able to sleep since the 8th of December, and, when  I do, I have nightmares.  

Finally, we have those who were released and they lost their memories. Many of them are now living on the streets, there are at least one hundred in Damascus. They don’t remember who they are. It is difficult to know to which families they belong, because their aspect changed because of the detention.

Enrico: Which are the priorities now?

Noura: There are a lot of things to do. We started to coordinate with academic centers and other organizations because some of the documents should be used to create historical archives, publish them and maybe create a museum. In this context, as Nophotozone we are just there to help, to act as mediators. 

Assisting the released detainees and their families requires a lot of work and resources, and we are now collecting donations to cover these activities, like to pay psychologists for example. This is a moment in which grieving is happening, but there are also false hopes. We must take more care of the feelings of the families. 

That’s why we are telling the families that they should lead civil society organizations. We should follow them, and not the other way around. 

This is very difficult also because some of the people working on the ground, including me and my team, are deeply involved. Some of those working today in Sednaya were detained before. Others have their own relatives among the disappeared. Being there is a kind of torture, but we can’t leave it. 

Luckily, Syrian communities are providing a lot of support here. Many volunteers are working in Sednaya, like teachers, musicians and artists. 

At least, we found again this feeling of being part of a larger Syrian society. 

The post When they opened the prison doors appeared first on Untold.

Many questions are being raised around Syria’s future, and particularly on what are the main threats to the establishment of a democratic society. Some liberal and democratic commentators, intellectuals, activists have focused on the “feloul” or remnants of the ancient regime, particularly the security and military sectors, as the main threat today for the country. On social networks, mentions of an Egyptian scenario is often mentioned, regarding the Sisi led coup against the President Morsi, member of the Muslim Brotherhoods in July 2013. 

On the other side, there are some sectors of commentators and democrats that are relatively uncritical or not significantly on the current HTS led administration. They generally give the Salafist group credentials for its management of the transitional phase.  

 This article seeks to study what are the main threats for Syria’s democratic future, which stands for social justice and equality for all in the country. It will analyse first the threat represented by the remnants of the ancient regime and then examine HTS policy of consolidating its power on the new Syria. 

What was the nature of the Assad regime?

First, it is important to analyse what was the nature of the ancient regime. The Assad family had established a despotic and patrimonial regime in Syria. This despotic and patrimonial regime was an absolute autocratic and hereditary power, which functioned through ownership of the state  by a small group of individuals connected by family, tribal, sectarian and clientelist connections symbolized by the Presidential Palace led by Bashar al-Assad and its family. The armed forces were dominated by a praetorian guard (a force whose allegiance goes to the rulers, not to the state) represented by the Fourth Brigade headed by Maher al-Assad, as is the case for economic means and the levers of administration. The Syrian regime developed a type of crony capitalism dominated by a small group of businessmen completely dependent on the Presidential Palace (Bashar al-Assad, Asma al-Assad and Maher Al-Assad), who exploited their dominant position guaranteed by this latter to amass considerable fortunes. The rentier nature of the economy strengthened the patrimonial nature of the state as well. In other words, the centers of power (political, military and economy) within the Syrian regime were concentrated in one family and its clique, the Assad, similar to Libya under Moammer Qaddhafi, Saddam Hussein in Iraq or the Gulf Monarchies. This drives the regime to use all the violence at its disposition to protect its rule.

The establishment of the modern patrimonial state started under the leadership of Hafez al-Assad following his arrival to power in 1970. He patiently built a state in which he could secure power through various means such as sectarianism, regionalism, tribalism and clientelism, which were managed on informal networks of power and patronage. This came alongside harsh repression against any form of dissent. These tools allowed the regime to integrate, boost or undermine groups belonging to different ethnicities and religious sects. This was translated at the local level by the collaboration of various actors submitted to the regime, including state or Ba’th officials, intelligence officers, and prominent members of local society (clerics, tribal members, businessmen, etc..), who managed specific localities. Hafez al-Assad also opened the way for the beginning of economic liberalization, in opposition to previous radical policies of the 1960s.

Bashar al-Assad’s arrival to power in 2000 considerably strengthened the patrimonial nature of the state with a particular increasing weight of crony capitalists. The accelerated neoliberal policies of the regime led to an increasing shift in the social base of the regime constituted from its origins of peasants, government employees and some sections of the bourgeoisie, to a regime coalition with at its heart the crony capitalists – the rent seeking alliance of political brokers (led by Assad mother’s family, Makhlouf) and the regime supporting bourgeoisie and higher middle classes. This shift was paralleled by disempowerment of the traditional corporatist organizations of workers and peasants and their patronage networks and the co-optation in their place of business groups and higher middle classes. However, this did not balance or compensate for its former support base. More generally, the increased patrimonial nature of the state and the weakening of the Ba’th party apparatus and corporatist organizations rendered cliental, tribal and sectarian connections all the more important and was therefore reflected in society.

Following the uprising in 2011, the regime’s repression and policies were largely based on its main base of support, old and new: crony capitalists, security services, and high religious institutions linked to the state. At the same time, it made use of its patronage networks through sectarian, clientelist and tribal links to mobilize on a popular level. Through the war, the deepening Alawi sectarian and clientelist aspect of the regime prevented major desertions, while patronage connections served as essential elements, binding the interests of disparate social groups to the regime. 

The regime’s popular base demonstrated the nature of the state and the way the power elite related to the rest of society, or more precisely in this case its popular base, through a mix of modern and archaic forms of social relations, and not through a constructed and large civil society. The regime had to rely mostly on coercive powers, which included repressive actions and installing fear, but not only. The regime could also indeed count on the passivity or at least non-active opposition of large sections of urban government employees and more generally middle class strata in the two main cities of Damascus and Aleppo, although their suburbs were often hotbeds of revolt. This was part of the passive hegemony imposed by the regime.

 Moreover, this situation demonstrated that the regime’s popular base was not limited to sectors and groups issued from the Alawi and/or religious minority populations, although they were predominant, but included personalities and groups from various sects and ethnicities pledging their support to the regime. More generally, large sections of regime’s popular base mobilized through sectarian, tribal and clientielist connections were increasingly acting as agents of regime repression.

This resilience came at a cost, in addition to increasing significantly its dependence on foreign states and actors. The regime’s existing characteristics and tendencies were amplified. A small group of crony capitalists considerably expanded their power as large sectors of Syria’s bourgeoisie had left the country massively withdrawing its political and financial support to the regime. This situation compelled the regime to adopt more and more predatory behavior in its extraction of increasing needed revenues on the remaining business class in the country. At the same time, the clientelist, sectarian, and tribal features of the regime were reinforced. The regime’s sectarian Alawite identity was strengthened, especially in key institutions such as the army and to a lesser extent in state administrations. But at the same time, among the Alawite population, frustrations have been growing in these past few years because of the continuous impoverishment of the society and exactions of regime’s militias against them as well.

More generally, this is why seeing the regime as solely Alawite, notwithstanding the alawitization of some institutions, especially its armed repressive apparatus, does not grasp its dynamics of power and ruling system. Furthermore, the regime does not serve the political and socio-economic interests of the Alawite population as a whole, quite on the contrary. The rising death toll in the army and other militias was made up of many Alawis; insecurity and growing economic hardships have actually created tensions and fuelled animosities against regime officials among Alawite populations.

Seeing the regime as solely Alawite, notwithstanding the alawitization of some institutions, especially its armed repressive apparatus, does not grasp its dynamics of power and ruling system.

The fall of the regime proved its structural weakness, militarily, economically, and politically. It collapsed like a house of cards. This is hardly surprising because it seemed clear that the soldiers were not going to fight for the Assad regime, given their poor wages and conditions. They preferred to flee or just not fight rather than defend a regime for which they have very little sympathy, especially because a lot of them had been forcefully conscripted.

The regime’s dependence on its foreign allies had become crucial for its survival, demonstrating its weakness. Russia, Assad’s key international sponsor, has diverted its forces and resources to its imperialist war against Ukraine. As a result, its involvement in Syria has been significantly more limited than in similar military operations in previous years. Its other two key allies, Lebanon’s Hezbollah and Iran, have been dramatically weakened by Israel since October 7, 2023. Tel Aviv has carried out assassinations of Hezbollah’s leadership, including Hassan Nasrallah, decimated its cadre with the pager attacks, and bombed its forces in Lebanon. Hezbollah is definitely facing its greatest challenge since its foundation. Israel has also launched waves of strikes against Iran, exposing its vulnerabilities. It has also increased bombing of Iranian and Hezbollah positions in Syria in the past few months.

With its main backers preoccupied and weakened, Assad’s dictatorship was in a vulnerable position. Because of all its structural weaknesses, lack of support from the population it rules, unreliability of its own troops, and without international and regional support, it proved unable to withstand the rebel forces advances and in city after city and its rule over them has collapsed like a house of cards.

In this context, we can say that the Presidential Palace is dead politically. Assad’s family has left the country, the fourth brigade led by Maher al-Assad does not exist anymore as an organized military unit and what was left of its key networks of power, whether crony-capitalists, religious, tribal, etc. have become irrelevant and reduced to a small number of individuals with no power. Meanwhile, some tribal chiefs, religious leaders and economic chambers have just changed their loyalty to the new ruling authorities, symbolized by their adoption of the new Syrian flag. 

Return of the ancient regime?

In this perspective, is the model of the Egyptian coup d’Etat potential in Syria? Is the ancient regime and its remnants the main threat for Syria? I believe this is a problematic analysis.  They are two main reasons interconnected: the difference of the regime’s nature and a threat can’t be reduced to individuals but structures of powers.

Contrary to Syria, the initial fall of the dictator Hosni Mubarak did not mean the end of the Egyptian regime. In the case of Egypt, the political system was closer to a form of neo-patrimonialism. Nepotism and cronyism were present in the Egyptian regime through the Mubarak family, and are still present today with the current regime headed by Sisi. In other words, an institutionalized authoritarian republican system with a greater or lesser degree of state autonomy from the rulers, who were liable to be replaced.  Indeed, in the Egyptian state, the armed forces constitute the central institution of political rule and power. No family owns the state to the point of making of it whatever its members wish, such as in the case of the Syrian regime under the Assad family. The Egyptian state is instead dominated collegially by the military high command. This explains why the military ended up getting rid of Mubarak and his entourage in order to safeguard the regime in 2011. Gamal Mubarak and his cronies were kicked out of the ruling coalition and the networks of the former ruling party, the National Democratic Party, and the power of the Interior Ministry were weakened in relation to the Armed Forces.

Similarly, even with the arrival to power of the Muslim Brotherhood with the election of Morsi at the presidency in 2012 did not mean the end of the Egyptian regime led by the military high command. Moreover, Morsi and the Brotherhood initially attempted to form a direct alliance with the army from the first days of the uprising in 2011, knowing very well its political weight and its repressive role over decades. From the first days of the revolution, the Brotherhood acted as a bulwark against criticism and protest of the military until after the overthrow of Morsi in July 2013. Before then, they denounced those protesting against the army as counterrevolutionaries and spreading sedition. The December 2012 constitution promoted by the Muslim Brotherhoods continued to shield the military’s budget from parliamentary control and guarantee the power of the armed forces. Morsi and the Brotherhood opposed and even repressed the popular and working-class mobilizations in Egypt and defended the army. Indeed, Morsi appointed Sisi as head of the army knowing full well that he had jailed and tortured protesters.

 Despite the Brotherhood’s efforts at collaboration with the army, it overthrew Morsi and repressed massively the Muslim Brotherhood’s movement and all forms of opposition, including leftists and democrats. In the end, the army and the Brotherhood represented different wings of the capitalist class, with different regional backers, who could not find an accommodation. The far more powerful army decided in the end to assert its direct dictatorial rule, to the detriment of all in Egypt. Sisi has created the most repressive regime Egypt has seen in decades, a dictatorial neoliberal regime that implemented most brutally the full range of IMF’s austerity recommendations, leading to massive impoverishment and huge inflation.

In this context, at no point in time and until today, the center of power in Egypt has been ousted, quite the opposite. In the case of Syria as explained above, the structures of powers connected to the Presidential Palace are no more and therefore comparisons with the Egyptian scenario are not useful.   

This said, individuals of the former regime, particularly from the militias, security services and Fourth Brigade, can represent a threat to the stability of Syria. They have an interest to nurture sectarian thrives, particularly in the coastal areas, where they are largely based since the fall of the Assad regime, and to a lesser extent in Homs. This was reflected in the attacks against HTS forces near the coastal town of Tartous, killing 14 and wounding 10, on 25 December. In response, HTS forces launched raids “pursuing the remnants of Assad’s militias”. Similarly, Iran has an interest as well to create instability through sectarian tensions by using individuals connected to its networks in the country. 

Individuals of the former regime, particularly from the militias, security services and Fourth Brigade, can represent a threat to the stability of Syria. They have an interest to nurture sectarian thrives, particularly in the coastal areas, where they are largely based since the fall of the Assad regime, and to a lesser extent in Homs.

Some of the remnants of the former regime were also indeed mobilized in the latest mobilisations in Homs and coastal areas following a video circulating on social networks showing an Alawite shrine in Aleppo being vandalized, which occurred a few weeks before its publication. However, these demonstrations should not be seen only as operated from outside by Iran or by remnants of the old regime, there are fears among sections of the Alawite population of the new ruling actor, HTS, and calls for revenge after the fall of the Assad regime.

This is why attention must be paid to the increase in incidents, so far isolated or at least not systemic, of a sectarian nature since the fall of the regime, and especially the executions and assassinations in dynamics of revenge. This has been the case against individuals who were involved in crimes with the former regime, in which often both political and sectarian reasons for revenge are mixed, particularly against the Alawites. The crimes of the Assad regime have torn Syrian society apart, leaving behind a legacy of atrocities and widespread suffering. In this context, it is necessary to put in place a coordinated action to respond to the immediate needs of the victims and to establish mechanisms for a comprehensive and long-term transitional justice framework. Addressing the legacy of the systemic brutality of the Assad regime is essential to create a sustainable and peaceful path. Transitional justice can play a crucial role against acts of revenge and the increase in sectarian tensions.

In addition to a process encouraging transitional justice and punishing all individuals involved in war crimes, whether from the ancient regime or other opposition armed groups, only a new political cycle allowing the large participation from below of the popular classes to decide and tackle various democratic and social issues can restore stability on a longer term.

Remnants of the ancient regime, particularly from the security services and military, are definitely a threat to the stability of Syria in the short term as mentioned above. They need to be stopped and judged for their crimes.  

 However, and while not underestimating threats represented by these groups of individuals, they do not constitute a threat  in the form of returning to power and reimposing a dictatorship. They do not have the political, military and economic means to achieve such an objective. It is important to understand the nature of Assad’s regime and the difference with the Egyptian scenario. While the ancient regime in Syria is structurally dead, reflected by the disappearance of the Presidential Palace and its networks, in Egypt the centers of power within the military high command have remained in power, despite the fall of Mubarak in 2011 and the rule of Morsi between July 2012 and July 2013. 

Understanding these dynamics is also important to warn of the accusations of feloul led by some commentators and medias close to the new ruling actor, HTS, against anyone criticizing or demonstrating against it. This is way to discredit individuals and groups and their political demands. Similarly, accusations of feloul were raised against a demonstration for a democratic and secular state in Damascus a few weeks ago, because several individuals were accused, sometimes wrongly, of being supporters of the ancient regime. Regardless of the presence of several individuals potentially supporters of the former regime among thousands and more of protesters, the real objective was to discredit the demonstration and the demands connected to it. Moreover, there is a willingness to characterize some issues such as secularism and socialism as connected with the ancient regime and/or a western import to discredit them. 

 Indeed, this connects to the second part of the article. Again, if groups of individuals of the ancient regime are a threat to the country’s stability, a great threat for a democratic and progressive Syria lies in the consolidation of power of HTS and its affiliates of the SNA, supported by Turkey and Qatar. 

HTS’s consolidation of power,  or a threat to a future democratic and progressive Syria

The leading role of HTS in the military offensive resulting in the fall of the Assad regime in December 2024 has brought huge popularity to the organisation and its leader Ahmed al-Sharaa (Al-Julani). They benefit since then from a form of “revolutionary” legitimacy, which is being used to consolidate its rule politically and militarily in the regions under HTS’ domination.  

While the group has evolved politically and ideologically, abandoning its transnational jihadist objectives to become an actor seeking to operate within the Syrian national framework, this does not mean that HTS has become an actor supporting a democratic society and promoting equality and social justice, quite the opposite. 

In this perspective, it is important to analyse how they are seeking to consolidate their power on society and establish a new authoritarian order. 

After the fall of the regime, Ahmed al-Sharaa initially met with former Prime Minister Mohammed al-Jalali to coordinate the transition of power, before appointing Mohammad al-Bashir as head of the transitional government responsible for handling current affairs. Al-Bashir had previously headed the Salvation Government (SG). He will hold office in any case until 1 March 2025. The new government is composed solely of individuals from the ranks of HTS or close to it.

Ahmed al-Sharaa has also appointed new ministers, security figures and governors for various regions affiliated with HTS or armed groups of the SNA close to it. For example, Anas Khattab (also known as Abu Ahmad Houdoud) was appointed head of the intelligence services. He is a founding member of Jabhat al-Nusra and was the jihadist group’s number one security referent. As of 2017, he governed HTS’s internal affairs and security policy. Following his appointment, he announced the restructuring of the security services under his authority.

Similarly, the establishment of the new Syrian army is made by Ahmed al-Sharaa and his affiliates in power. They appointed HTS commanders in the highest-ranking officers, such as the newly Minister of Defense and a long-time top commander of HTS, Mourhaf Abou Qasra, who was appointed General.

In the recomposition of the Syrian army, the HTS government also seeks to consolidate its control and dominance over the country’s fragmented armed groups by justifying their measures and this process by prohibiting any other actor from carrying weapons outside of state control, and that the Syrian Defense and Interior Ministries are the only two parties that are allowed to possess weapons. While the unification of all armed groups into a new Syrian army is not opposed per se, there is still however opposition from large sectors of the Druze community in Suwayda and the Kurds in the North East, without some guarantees, such as decentralization and a real democratic process of transition. 

In one of his recent interviews, Ahmed al-Sharaa also declared that the organization of future elections could take as long as four years and the drafting of a new constitution up to three years. At the same time, a “Syrian National Dialogue Conference”, gathering 1,200 figures was initially planned for the 4 and 5 January 2025 but was delayed to an unknown future date. No information has been given on how these personalities have been selected, except that each governorate will be represented by between 70 and 100 figures, taking into account all segments from different social and scientific classes with representatives of youth and women. 

Syrian lawyers recently launched a petition calling for free union elections after the new authorities appointed an unelected union council.

HTS seeks to consolidate its power while carrying out a controlled transition by also seeking to allay foreign fears, establish contacts with regional and international powers, and be recognized as a legitimate force with which it is possible to negotiate. One obstacle to such normalization is the fact that HTS is still considered a terrorist organization by the United States, Turkey, the United Nations, while Syria is still under sanctions. Moreover, as part of the National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2025, US President Joe Biden signed on 23 December the extension of the application of the Caesar Act until 31 December 2029, despite the fall of the Bashar al-Assad regime. Signed into law five years earlier by former President Donald Trump, this text provides for sanctions on all actors – including foreigners – who help the Syrian regime acquire resources or technologies that strengthen its military activities or contribute to the reconstruction of Syria.

While the group has evolved politically and ideologically, abandoning its transnational jihadist objectives to become an actor seeking to operate within the Syrian national framework, this does not mean that HTS has become an actor supporting a democratic society and promoting equality and social justice, quite the opposite.

But elements in favor of a change in the orientation of regional and international capitals towards HTS are already visible. Clearly, Ankara is the main political and military supporter of the new Syria, while Qatar will play a major role as an economic pillar. At the same time, al-Sharaa is working to build relationships with other Arab states, regional and international actors. For example, the HTS leader met with a Saudi delegation in Damascus and praised the Saudi kingdom’s ambitious development plans, in reference to its Vision 2030 project, and expressed optimism about future collaboration between Damascus and Riyadh. For Saudi Arabia, and the other Gulf monarchies, the evolution of relations with the new Syrian leaders will depend on their ability to address their concerns about the political nature of the country and prevent Syria from becoming another source of regional instability. A Syrian delegation visited the Saudi Kingdom, composed notably of the Foreign Minister, Defence Minister, and head of the intelligence services.

Even at the level of Western powers, a change of direction is noticeable, including from the United States. The head of the Middle East in American diplomacy, Barbara Leaf, after meeting with Ahmed al-Sharaa in Damascus in late December 2024, said they had a “good, very productive and detailed meeting” on the future of the political transition in this country. She also called Ahmed al-Sharaa “a pragmatic man,” announcing that Washington was withdrawing the $10 million bounty on his head that had been on the books since 2013 for his role in Jabhat al-Nusra.

The recent statements made by al-Sharaa of a dissolution of HTS could also resolve some of these problems. 

Israel is still however a threat to the stability of Syria, and especially is not keen to see a democratization process. Following the overthrow of the Assad regime, which has guaranteed stability to Israel at its borders, the Israeli occupation army expanded its occupation of Syrian lands by invading the Syrian part of Mount Hermon, in the Golan Heights and carried out over 480 strikes on anti-aircraft batteries, military airfields, weapons production sites, combat aircraft and missiles. Missile vessels struck the Syrian naval facilities of Al-Bayda port and Latakia port where 15 Syrian naval vessels were docked. These raids aim to destroy Syria’s military capabilities to prevent them being used against Israel. It is also sending the message that the Israeli occupation army can cause political instability at any time, should the future government adopt a hostile position that doesn’t serve Israel’s interests.

Islamic Neoliberalism

Following the fall of Assad’s regime, Syria’s future is filled with many challenges, particularly regarding its economic recovery and re-development. Already, the cost of reconstruction is estimated to range between $250 billion and $400 billion, and sanctions still constitute an obstacle to things improving any time soon.

The absence of a secure and stable economic situation in Syria is a severe obstacle to boosting local and foreign investment. Foreign direct investment (FDI) has indeed remained limited and mostly restricted to Iran and Russia since 2011. Whilst the Gulf could be interested in making some investments in the country to increase its influence, the role that HTS is currently playing may be an obstacle to this as it is perceived negatively by numerous regional states.

The UAE diplomatic adviser to president Sheikh Mohamed, Anwar Gargash, for instance stated that “the nature of the new forces in power and their affiliations with the Muslim Brotherhood and Al-Qaeda are quite worrying indicators”.

 Furthermore, the instability of the Syrian pound is a significant issue. While in the aftermath of the fall of the regime its value on the black market massively increased, before stabilising at 15,000 SYP for a USD, there is a long way to go. The lack of stability of the SYP erodes the attractiveness of potential rapid and medium-term returns and profits on investments in the country.

Moreover, there are questions regarding the regions in the northwest that have been using the Turkish lira for several years now, in order to stabilise markets damaged by the severe depreciation of the SYP. To reinstate the Syrian pound as the main currency in those areas could be problematic if no stability is achieved.

At the same time, infrastructures and transport networks are severely damaged. The high cost of production, shortages of key commodities and energy resources (particularly fuel oil and electricity) are additional problems. Syria also suffers from a shortage of qualified manpower, and it is not yet clear whether those who hold the skills will return.

 Even the private sector, which is mostly composed of small and medium scale enterprises with limited capacities, still requires much modernisation and rebuilding after more than 13 years of war. State resources are also severely restricted which also limits investments in the economy, particularly in the productive sectors.

Additionally, 90% of the population is living under the poverty line, which makes their purchasing power very weak, and therefore negatively impacts internal consumption. Because whilst Syria is not short of jobs, people are not paid enough to meet their daily needs. In this context, Syrians have been depending more and more on remittances to survive.

Some officials of the new government, like Ahmed al-Sharaa himself, announced that they would be working to raise workers’ wages by 400% in the coming days, making the minimum salary SYP 1,123560 (approximately $75). While this is a step in the right direction, this wouldn’t be adequate for people to cover their needs during the continuing cost of living crisis. Indeed, media outlet Kassioun estimated in October 2024 that the average cost of living for a Syrian family consisting of five individuals in Damascus reached SYP 13.6 million (approximately $ 1,077). The minimum reached SYP 8.5 million (approximately $673).

On top of all of this, the influence of foreign powers in Syria is still a source of threat and instability, as Israel’s latest invasion and continuous destruction of military infrastructures has demonstrated. Not forgetting Turkey’s constant attacks and threats to the north east of Syria, particularly in Kurdish majority inhabited areas.

One of the biggest issues amidst the sea of uncertainty in the country, is the lack of an alternative political economic program amongst the majority of leading political actors, including HTS.

HTS has no alternative to the neoliberal economic system, and similar to the dynamics and forms of crony capitalism that existed under the previous regime, the group is lively to develop these practices amongst business networks (comprising old and new figures). In previous years, the SG, has favoured the development of the private sector, and close business associates to HTS and al-Julani.

Meanwhile, most of the social services – particularly health and education – were provided by NGOs and INGOs.

Bassel Hamwi, the president of the Damascus Chamber of Commerce, said that after the fall of the regime the new Syrian government appointed by HTS told business leaders that they would adopt a free-market model and integrate the country into the global economy. Hamwi was “elected” to his current position in November 2024, a few weeks before the fall of Assad. He is also the president of the Federation of Syrian Chambers of Commerce.

HTS has no alternative to the neoliberal economic system, and similar to the dynamics and forms of crony capitalism that existed under the previous regime, the group is lively to develop these practices amongst business networks.

Leader al-Sharaa and his Minister of Economy have also held numerous meetings with representatives of these economic chambers and businessmen from different regions to explain their economic visions and listen to their grievances in order to satisfy their interests. The large majority of the representatives of various economic chambers of the old regime still occupy their positions. 

Ultimately, this neoliberal economic system mixed with HTS’ authoritarianism will likely lead to socio-economic inequalities and continued impoverishment of the Syrian population, which were some of the main reasons for the 2011 uprising.

The new Minister of Economy affiliated with HTS reiterated this neoliberal orientation a few days after saying that “we will move from a socialist economy…to a free market economy respecting Islamic laws”. Regardless of the complete fallacy of describing the previous regime as socialist, the class orientation of the minister was clearly reflected in the emphasis that “the private sector… will be an effective partner and contributor to building the Syrian economy”. 

No mention was made of workers, peasants, public state employees, or of any trade unions and professional associations in the country’s future economy.

Ultimately, the process of reconstruction is connected to the social and political forces that will participate in the future of the country, and the balance of power between them. In this context, the construction of autonomous and mass trade union organisations will be essential to improve the living and working conditions of the population and more generally to fight for democratic rights and an economic system based on social justice and equality.

Reactionary ideology

Similarly, HTS has made several statements and decisions confirming its reactionary ideology.

 Statements of HTS officials regarding women’s role in society have for instance been made, including regarding their ability to work in some sectors. For instance, in an interview on 16 December, Obeida Arnaout, HTS member and spokesman for Political Affairs of Command of Military Operations (CMO), stated that women’s “roles must align with what women can perform. For instance, if we say that a woman should be Minister of Defence, does this align with her nature and biological makeup? Undoubtedly, it does not”.

A few days later, Aisha al-Dibs, Syria’s newly appointed head of Women’s Affairs and the only woman so far in Syria’s transitional government, responded to a question about the “space” that would be given to feminist organisations in the country that if the “actions of such organisations support the model that we are going to build, then they will be welcome“, adding: “I am not going to open the path for those who don’t agree with my thinking.” She continued the interview developing a reactionary vision of the role of women in society by urging women “not to go beyond the priorities of their God-given nature” and to know “their educational role in the family”.

In addition to this, Syrian Ministry of Education has made changes to the school curriculum towards a more Islamic conservative vision, including the removal of the theory of evolution from the science curriculum, Jews and Christians are now referred as those who have “gone astray” from the true path or references to “defending the nation” have been replaced with “defending Allah.” After much criticism of these changes, the Minister of Education announced the next day that “the curricula in all Syrian schools remain as they are until specialized committees are formed to review and audit the curricula. We have only directed the deletion of what glorifies the defunct Assad regime, and we have adopted images of the Syrian revolution flag instead of the flag of the defunct regime in all school books…” Thus, some of the changes that had been made were cancelled. 

It is therefore not enough to make unclear statements on the tolerance of religious or ethnic minorities or on respect of women’s rights. The key issue is recognizing their rights as equal citizens participating in deciding the future of the country. More generally, HTS officials have clearly stated their preference for an Islamic governance and the implementation of the Sharia Law.

No solution for the Kurdish issue

At the same time, it is unlikely that HTS is willing to support the demands of the SDF and AANES, particularly concerning Kurdish national rights. After all, the northeastern regions are rich in natural resources, particularly oil and agriculture, and so are strategically and symbolically important. Ultimately, HTS is no different to the Syrian National Council and the National Coalition of Opposition and Revolutionary Forces – opposition actors in exile who are hostile to Kurdish national rights.

Turkey has become the most important regional actor in the country, following the fall of the Assad regime. By providing support for Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), Ankara is been consolidating its power over Syria. Turkey’s main objective, other than carrying out forced returns of Syrian refugees and benefiting from future economic opportunities during the reconstruction phase, is to deny Kurdish aspirations for autonomy, and more specifically undermine the AANES. This would set a precedent for Kurdish self-determination in Turkey.

Turkey’s main objective, other than carrying out forced returns of Syrian refugees and benefiting from future economic opportunities during the reconstruction phase, is to deny Kurdish aspirations for autonomy, and more specifically undermine the AANES.

Turkey’s Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan declared during a joint press conference with HTS leader Ahmed al-Sharaa, that the territorial integrity of Syria is “non-negotiable” and that the PKK “has no place” in the country. A few days later, president Erdogan declared that the SDF “will either bid farewell to their weapons, or they will be buried in Syrian lands”. The Turkish army has also continuously bombed civilians and critical infrastructures of the north east of Syria since the end of 2023.

 While HTS hasn’t participated in any military confrontations against the SDF in recent weeks, the organisation hasn’t vocalised opposition to the Turkey-led attacks, quite the opposite.  Murhaf Abu Qasra, a top commander of the HTS and the newly nominated Defence Minister of the transitional government, stated that “Syria will not be divided and there will be no federalism inshallah. God willing, all these areas will be under Syria[n authority]”. Similarly, al-Sharaa opposes federalism.

Moreover, al-Sharaa told a Turkish newspaper that Syria would develop a strategic relationship with Turkey going forward, and added that: “We do not accept that Syrian lands threaten and destabilise Turkey or other places”. He also stated that all weapons must come under state control, including those in the SDF-held areas.

This is all despite SDF officials making statements seeking negotiations with HTS. SDF Commander Mazloum Abdi declared they’re in favour of state decentralisation and self-administration, but not federalism, whilst being open to being part of a future Syrian national army (with guaranties). He declared that the SDF are not an extension of the PKK and are ready to expel non-Syrian fighters immediately after reaching a truce.

Al-Sharaa stated in the past few days that they were negotiating with the SDF to resolve the crisis in northeastern Syria and that the Syrian Ministry of Defence will integrate Kurdish forces into its ranks. But it remains to be seen how and in which conditions.

A race against time to defend a democratic space

The vast majority of democratic social organizations and forces that were at the origin of the Syrian popular uprising in March 2011 were bloodily repressed. First and foremost by the Syrian regime, but also by various armed Islamic fundamentalist organizations. The same was true for local alternative political institutions or entities set up by the demonstrators, such as coordination committees and local councils that provided services to the local population. There are nevertheless some civil groups and networks, although mostly linked to NGO-type organizations throughout Syrian territory, and particularly in northwestern Syria, but which had different dynamics from those at the beginning of the uprising.

There are nevertheless some civil groups and networks, although mostly linked to NGO-type organizations throughout Syrian territory, and particularly in northwestern Syria, but which had different dynamics from those at the beginning of the uprising.

At the same time, other experiences of struggle have developed, even if of lesser intensity. For example, popular protests and strikes have been ongoing in Suwayda governorate, populated mainly by the Druze minority, since mid-August 2023. More broadly, the protest movement has continually stressed the importance of Syrian unity, the release of political prisoners, and social justice, while demanding the implementation of UN Resolution 2254, which calls for a political transition. It is actually the local networks and groups that selected recently long time activist Muhsina al-Mahithawi to be the governor of the Suwayda province.

Other cities and regions under the control of the Syrian regime, notably the governorates of Daraa and to a lesser extent the suburbs of Damascus, have also been the site of occasional protests, although on a much smaller scale. 

These forms of dissent partly laid the foundation for their uprising in the days before the fall of the Assad dynasty.

More generally, the experience accumulated during the early years of the beginning of the popular uprising, which was the most dynamic in terms of popular civil resistance, has been preserved by the transmission of the activists who lived these experiences and by the unprecedented documentation of the uprising, including writings, video recordings, testimonies and other evidence. This vast documentary archive on the civil resistance movement can be transmitted to popular memory and build a crucial resource for those who resist in the future. 

Following the end of the Assad regime, local initiatives have been multiplying to establish forms of local committees or networks of activists throughout different regions to encourage self-organisation, participation from below and guarantee civil peace.  Demonstrations have already occurred, notably to denounce particular reactionary statements made against women. 

This said, we have to face the hard fact that there is a glaring absence of an independent democratic and progressive bloc that is able to organize and clearly oppose the new ruling actor. Building this bloc will take time. It will have to combine struggles against autocracy, exploitation, and all forms of oppression. It will need to raise demands for democracy, equality, Kurdish self-determination, and women’s liberation in order to build solidarity among the country’s exploited and oppressed.

To advance such demands, that progressive bloc will have to build and rebuild popular organizations from unions to feminist organizations, community organizations, and national structures to bring them together. That will require collaboration between democratic and progressive actors throughout society.

In addition to this, one of the key tasks will be to tackle the country’s central ethnic division, the one between Arab and Kurds. Progressive forces must wage a clear struggle against Arab chauvinism to overcome this division and forge solidarity between these populations. This has been a challenge from the start of the Syrian revolution in 2011 and will have to be confronted and resolved in a progressive manner in order for the country’s people to be truly liberated.

Building a counter-power

It is important to remember that HTS is more the result of the counter-revolution led by the Syrian regime, which bloodily suppressed the popular uprising and its democratic organizations, and has increasingly militarized itself. The rise of this type of Islamic fundamentalist movements is the result of various reasons, including the initial facilitation of their expansion by the regime, the repression of the protest movement leading to the radicalization of some elements, better organization and discipline of its groups, and finally the support of foreign countries.

Subsequently, HTS, like other armed Islamic fundamentalist organizations, has in many ways constituted the second wing of the counter-revolution after the Assad regime. Their vision of society and the future of Syria is in opposition to the initial objectives of the uprising and its inclusive message of democracy, social justice and equality. Their ideology, political program and practices have proven violent not only against regime forces, but also against democratic and progressive groups, both civilian and armed, ethnic and religious minorities and women.

In conclusion, to preserve and struggle for a democratic and progressive society is not through trusting the current HTS authorities or giving them good grades or satisfactions on its governance and the management of its transitional phase, but building an independent counter-power gathering democratic and progressive networks and associations. The timeframe to organise elections and write a new constitution, or the selection of figures in “a national dialogue conference”,  can be subjects for debates and criticisms, but the core issue is the absence of participation from below in the process of such decision making and the inability to pressure HTS to make concessions. The decision making is only in the hands of HTS. This process is also supported by its main backers Turkey and Qatar, but more generally the large majority of regional and international powers. More generally, they have a common objective in (re-)imposing a form of authoritarian stability in Syria and the region. That, of course, does not mean unity between the regional and imperial powers. They each have their own, and often antagonistic, interests, but they do not want the destabilization of the Middle East and North Africa.

The hope for a better future is in the air following Assad’s downfall. This is all connected to Syrians’ ability to rebuild struggles from below. Currently, HTS power and control over society is still not complete, as their human and military capacities are still limited to rule fully over the whole of Syria, and therefore some space exists to organize. This needs to be exploited.

In the end, only the self-organisation of popular classes fighting for democratic and progressive demands will pave the path towards actual liberation and emancipation. 

At least now, the opportunity for this exists but we are in a race and Syrian popular classes have to organize to defend all the sacrifices made to achieve the initial aspirations of the Revolution for democracy, social justice and equality. 

The post Understanding the threats ahead of a democratic and progressive Syria appeared first on Untold.

Syrians had barely emerged from the “intoxication” of their global celebrations over the fall of a regime that had displaced them to various countries. On the morning of 9 December, they were abruptly confronted with a startling decision: several European countries, including Germany, announced they would halt the processing of Syrian asylum applications. This development placed an uncomfortable and premature question squarely on the table: What does this mean for me? Will I have to return?

German Interior Minister Nancy Faeser acknowledged the uncertainty surrounding the evolving situation in Syria, stating that it would be unwise to speculate about the possibility of Syrians returning under such volatile circumstances. However, she defended the decision to suspend consideration of approximately 47 Syrian asylum applications, arguing that it was the correct course of action until the situation becomes clearer (previous asylum decisions would remain unaffected).

Instead of sharing in their Syrian compatriots’ joy, politicians from the far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) party and the Christian Democratic Union (CDU)—a leading contender to head the next government in the upcoming elections this February—have rushed to capitalize on the moment by envisioning mass deportations of hundreds of thousands of Syrians. Former Health Minister Jens Spahn proposed chartering planes to send Syrians back to their homeland, even suggesting a €1,000 incentive for those willing to leave voluntarily. In a follow-up proposal, Spahn recommended that Germany, Austria, Turkey, and Jordan convene a conference on return and reconstruction by next spring. Meanwhile, Jürgen Hardt, the CDU’s foreign policy spokesperson, urged Chancellor Olaf Scholz to quickly engage Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan for cooperation on this matter. Andrea Lindholz, deputy chair of the Union bloc, called for an immediate cessation of Syrian admissions altogether.

The German Green Party politician of Syrian origin, Lamia Kadour, condemned these “extremely shameful” proposals, questioning how they align with the “Christian values” that Christian Union politicians often invoke. She argued that, for these politicians, the issue is not about people or their plight but rather an election campaign tactic. Kadour emphasized that “the situation in Syria is still very unstable and unsafe,” adding that more time is needed before serious discussions about returning Syrians can take place.

Leila Al-Zubaidi from the German Heinrich Böll Foundation criticized these calls as disrespectful, pointing out that “Syrians all over the world are still afraid for their missing loved ones, and efforts to rescue survivors on the ground are ongoing without any external assistance.” Hiba Zayadin, a Syria investigator at Human Rights Watch, described the decisions by France, Germany, and Austria to halt temporary protection for Syrians as premature and irresponsible. “Syria is still in a fragile transitional phase, and the future of governance, safety, and stability are far from guaranteed,” she noted. Foreign Minister Annalena Baerbock urged caution against rushing to conclusions. She argued that those exploiting the current situation in Syria for partisan purposes have lost touch with the complexities of Middle Eastern realities, which remain subject to change.

The number of Syrians residing in Germany is estimated at around one million people, of whom approximately 5,000 have been granted political asylum, around 321,000 have been granted refugee status, and around 330,000 have been granted so-called temporary subsidiary protection. Syrians were the largest group among asylum seekers this year, numbering around 72,000. Those who have obtained German citizenship remain a minority, totaling around 175,000 since 2010.

The scenes of queues of cars returning Syrians from neighboring countries to Syria seem to make Western politicians salivate. They appear not to take into account that this return is not solely driven by passionate feelings, rightly so, about returning to their homeland. Instead, it is also influenced by the disastrous living conditions Syrians face abroad. Living under a roof and four walls, without fear of destruction by missiles, is considered acceptable compared to a tent that offers no protection from the cold or heat. Furthermore, blatant racism, which has sometimes escalated into frightening persecution campaigns in Turkey and Lebanon, pushes many Syrians to prefer returning to a homeland with dire economic conditions. 

Anyone familiar with the decision-making process for granting asylum or extending the residency status of hundreds of thousands of Syrians—decisions that will necessarily hinge on a new assessment by the German Foreign Ministry of the security situation in Syria—understands that this will involve a long waiting period.

Anyone familiar with the decision-making process for granting asylum or extending the residency status of hundreds of thousands of Syrians—decisions that will necessarily hinge on a new assessment by the German Foreign Ministry of the security situation in Syria—understands that this will involve a long waiting period. The German Foreign Ministry cannot base its assessment on the events of a single week in a country where the future behavior of the next government and its treatment of religious and ethnic minorities remain uncertain. This is especially true amid early expectations in Germany of a potential wave of migration from Syria’s coastal regions.

A spokesman for the German Interior Ministry stated that revoking the protection granted to Syrians would only be possible if the situation in their homeland improves “permanently,” clarifying that short-term changes would not suffice. “We must be able to rely on these changes being permanent,” he explained.

However, no matter how much this discussion is postponed, more than a million Syrians in Western Europe, particularly in Germany, will eventually face a new reality in which politicians strip them of the freedom to decide whether to stay in Germany or return. In the years following the revolution, the fallen Assad regime forced them to flee the country and press the “restart” button on their lives, which meant changing their professions and spending years trying to adapt to a country whose language and lifestyle they did not know. The question now postponed is: Is there room for another “restart” at this stage—starting over and attempting to adapt to Syria, a country they haven’t set foot in for more than a decade? How will their children cope with the removal of the German state from their lives and their relocation to a country they only know through pictures and their parents’ stories? And, if this German government insists on such a move, should it negotiate with Turkey regarding the Syrians?

However, no matter how much this discussion is postponed, more than a million Syrians in Western Europe, particularly in Germany, will eventually face a new reality in which politicians strip them of the freedom to decide whether to stay in Germany or return.

If the Syrians have truly brought down the regime, they must feel the consequences of this in their lives; otherwise, the scenes of toppling the statues of the Assad father and son will lose their significance. If the Syrians have really overthrown the regime, they must experience, perhaps for the first time, that their government prioritizes their interests over pleasing donor countries.

The “former” opposition must be bold enough to take the initiative, step out from under the shadow of supporting countries, and, from this moment on, ensure that any return of Syrians is decent and safe. They should start by directing the Syrian Foreign Ministry and the embassies that are still operating as usual to support Syrians rightfully.

Syrians have the right to expect that the former Foreign Minister, Ghassan Sabbagh, who is still in office and was, until a few weeks ago, trying to save Assad’s position, will first direct the ambassadors to issue Syrians passports free of charge for at least a year, as compensation for the astronomical sums of money they were robbed of by his former president, Bashar al-Assad.

Syrians have the right to expect that this interim authority, until the transfer of power, will work to communicate with European governments and European Union institutions, providing an updated picture of the situation on the ground: the destroyed homes that are simply uninhabitable, the need to establish a fund that offers reasonable grants to support reintegration into life in Syria, exceeding the ridiculous amounts that German politician Spahn is offering to Syrians. This fund should be part of several funds that any future government should establish, such as a fund to compensate detainees and displaced persons.

If the Syrian state is truly a state, it must compensate its citizens for the crimes of one of its former dictators. The German state compensates prisoners for every day they spent unjustly behind bars if they are proven innocent.

The “former” opposition must be bold enough to take the initiative, step out from under the shadow of supporting countries, and, from this moment on, ensure that any return of Syrians is decent and safe. They should start by directing the Syrian Foreign Ministry and the embassies that are still operating as usual to support Syrians rightfully.

What Syrians in Germany and the rest of Western Europe will also need is greater activity from civil society organizations and human rights activists, offering a different, clearer vision of Syria than the one presented by the country’s populist politicians in the media. There is also a need for activists to engage with European politicians on this matter, an effort that should be supported by any future interim Syrian government.

It was striking that former Green Party politician Tariq Al-Aous, who works for the refugee rights organization Pro Asyl, appeared on Germany’s second channel, expressing his shock, like many Syrians, at the fall of the regime. He also explained that a worrying future is emerging, with a religious leader, formerly linked to Al-Qaeda, now dominating the scene, and voiced his recent lack of confidence in his open and measured speech. Can one trust him in the long term? Can a broad spectrum of people living an open life in Europe imagine themselves living in a religiously strict country? Al-Aous also explained in a radio interview with the public broadcaster NDR that, in this German political debate about the urgent return of Syrians, there is a risk of exposing the Syrian community in Germany—who has already suffered from the security services—to new trauma, as they fear sudden deportation.

“It is ridiculous to ask people who have probably worked hard to build a home for themselves in Germany to simply disappear. Politicians who demand such a thing should go through the same situation themselves. Then they might just stay silent forever,” SPIEGEL says in its daily email.

Because we know that German politicians will never imagine themselves in the place of Syrians, we need a future Syrian government that is truly supportive of its citizens, and efforts by Syrians in Germany like Tarek to make the decision to return or stay as safe and dignified as possible.

The post European politicians rush to expel Syrians appeared first on Untold.

As preparations unfolded according to plan, a trace of (perhaps healthy!) concern appeared on the face of Elaf Badr al-Din, assistant professor of Arabic studies at Davidson University and a Syrian researcher. He had embarked years ago on a journey to unearth a supposed prison song in Syria and wrote a related study that is expected to come to light soon.

Around the hall, makeshift musical instruments lay scattered, faithfully reconstructed in the style of Sednaya Prison: here, the bowl oud; there, the dried bread oud.

“Resistance with Soft Power”

“Recovering the music you played in prison is beautiful, but doesn’t your preoccupation with it somehow bring you back to prison?”

My question momentarily pulled teacher Asaad away from crafting the flute. “I studied at the Institute of Music before my arrest, and I was detained just a month after graduating,” he explained. “The abundant time in prison became an opportunity to strengthen my abilities, though there were no references. I believe that music, in general, and singing, help maintain balance. After my release, my relationship with music remained strong, as a member of my family.”

He paused before adding, “But it does, of course, evoke memories—memories filled with pain but also with beauty… even pleasure. It reminds you that the pain didn’t destroy you; instead, you were able to transform it into something beautiful. I’ve always called it resistance with soft power.”

Kasra, who spent eight years in prison and learned to play with Asaad’s guidance, reflects on how detention reshaped his relationship with music. He describes the stages a prisoner undergoes in the search for balance—finding ways to fill the void of free time imposed by detention. Each prisoner explores different fields of art, knowledge, formation, languages, and music. Dozens began learning music, but only six continued.

“You find your balance and create your own world in prison, through which you discover yourself,” Kasra reflects, referencing the term “detention” coined by writer Yassin al-Haj Saleh, which emphasizes adapting to and relying on the prison environment. Despite the many opportunities for other pursuits after his release, Kasra remained deeply connected to music. Whenever he played, he would recall the prison—where and how he learned music.

Haitham Al-Qatrib, a singing teacher from Salamiyah, who was detained in 1982 for ten years, offers a contrasting perspective. He says he never remembers the prison after his release, nor does he dream about it, describing it as “the place I despised the most (…). There is something burned inside us there that cannot be replaced.”

He recounts learning music before his arrest but forgetting everything during his imprisonment, as he was placed in a different wing from the musicians. Yet, he rediscovered music using a radio he had, through which he followed music programs and relearned the basics of solfège. “After seven months, I organized a party for them, performing songs I had composed,” he recalls. “After my release, I stayed away from music for a year, but then I returned to teaching.I became the first professor in Salamiyah to help students gain acceptance into the Higher Institute of Music.”

“Elaf narrates in his research how Badr Zakaria would transform critical situations into humorous ones, such as laughing out loud when a torturer banged his head and the heads of other detainees against the wall in the interrogation room. Different groans emanated from them, and he imagined someone playing the piano with their heads, which led to him being beaten again.”

“Elaf narrates in his research how Badr Zakaria would transform critical situations into humorous ones, such as laughing out loud when a torturer banged his head and the heads of other detainees against the wall in the interrogation room. Different groans emanated from them, and he imagined someone playing the piano with their heads, which led to him being beaten again.”

As we continue our conversation, Asaad Shalash steps into the next room. From there, we can hear him testing the flute (Ney), ensuring its sound is just right.

The challenge of squeezing memory and recalling the musical aspects of their prison lives becomes apparent when we ask about their experience during a pivotal moment: the death of the dictator’s son, Basil al-Assad, in a car accident in 1994. Did they stop playing music during those days when the regime imposed national mourning on the population? Kasra recalls how terror permeated the prison at the time, leaving no space for music. They feared potential retaliatory measures from the prison administration for reasons that often defied logic. Ibrahim Bayrakdar recalls the punishment inflicted on Adnan Qassar, a horseman and fellow prisoner, although he was detained like them and certainly did not cause Basil’s death, nor had he ever committed a fault by surpassing him in horsemanship, he ended up spending 21 years behind bars.

“Symphony of Howling”

When asked about the Symphony of Howling mentioned in Elaf’s research, their memories seemed insufficient to fully reconstruct the details of what their theater friend, Badr Zakaria, once did. It is said that he vented his anguish by howling under the prison door, and gradually, others joined in. The collective howling reportedly frightened the jailers.

Discussing music as a form of soul practice and resistance, Elaf narrates in his research how Badr Zakaria would transform critical situations into humorous ones, such as laughing out loud when a torturer banged his head and the heads of other detainees against the wall in the interrogation room. Different groans emanated from them, and he imagined someone playing the piano with their heads, which led to him being beaten again.

Regarding their most cherished musical memories in prison, Kasra recalls how irritating his music training was for the other detainees, prompting him to practice at the end of the wing to avoid disturbing them. One day, however, remains etched in his memory—when their friend Badr Zakaria expressed admiration for his playing, a moment that has stayed with him to this day. Ibrahim also remembers how annoying his training sessions were to the others and how, after a year of practice, he was selected among the beginners to perform in a concert. He says, “We sang songs like Laylat Yabareh and Sho Qoulak. That was the first time I felt a true sense of my own presence.”

Ibrahim also recalls a group memorial concert in which he, Asaad, and others participated on the day the “Prince of the Bouzouki,” Mohammed Abdel Karim, passed away. During this tribute, they sang Raqqat Hasanak Wa Samarak (The Softness of your Beauty and Brown Skin).

Elaf categorizes this event under the heading “eulogies” in his research, a copy of which I had the opportunity to review. This research began with a grant from the Ettijahat Foundation and continued at the University of Marburg in Germany, later receiving support from other institutions, such as the Umam Foundation.

Melodies Drenched in Fear

But not all memories tied to music were rosy; they were melodies drenched in fear, deeply intertwined with deprivation and punishment. Ibrahim Bayrakdar, from Homs, who spent nearly nine years in detention, recalls a celebration they held for a friend’s daughter’s birthday. Their friend Al-Raqawi, whose voice was beautifully resonant, was singing to the tune of his oud when “the most despicable disciplinary assistant suddenly burst into the room. We fell silent, and he spotted the oud in my lap. He asked, ‘Are you the one singing?’ I said yes—I thought it was better for only one of us to be punished rather than both.

He took me down to the cell, located four floors below ground. I stayed there for a month and five days. My smell became unbearable, indescribable. The fur I was wearing had completely disintegrated from the high humidity—it was as if a hyena had devoured it. No matter how much you knocked on the door, they wouldn’t answer. Hassan Azzou, one of our friends, kept knocking repeatedly, but no one came. He died in that cell.” Ibrahim adds, “The jailers were infuriated whenever they heard us play music. They would think, ‘These are prisoners, and they’re happy? How? They don’t want us to be normal human beings.’”

The jailers were infuriated whenever they heard us play music. They would think, ‘These are prisoners, and they’re happy? How? They don’t want us to be normal human beings.’

However, family visits and the rampant corruption inside and outside the prison played a role in improving their musical conditions, as Ibrahim points out that corruption allowed for the smuggling of many “contrabands”, including real oud strings that they bought from the prison guards, while the families brought some strings with them during visits.

The development of the musical instrument craftsmanship… and a “historic ceremony”

Ibrahim recalls how the musical instrument industry developed in prison, “The first to make instruments was Asaad, he made Oud al-Qas’a (The Bowl Oud) in the Palestine Branch (…) When we moved to Sednaya, we used to take advantage of the eggplant and tomato boxes, and use glass to cut them, and we suffered a lot in that, and we used sock threads to make strings, until real strings arrived through visits and were purchased from the censors. There were experiments in other wings, ouds made from cardboard, then techniques developed, and elaborate ouds were made, they cut the wood and soak it in water and curved it, there were engineers who were experts in manufacturing.” He remembers that when he came out of the underground cell and returned to the wing, with a broken oud and soul, one of them promised them, “Don’t worry about Barhoum, today there will be an oud ready for you,” Ibrahim says with a smile.

At the highly anticipated detainees’ concert, we heard them perform nine prison songs, one of which they had composed themselves. The lyrics to some of these songs were written in prison by the poet Faraj Bayrakdar.

The event was part of a program titled “Towards a Deeper Understanding of Prisons” organized by HAU Theater in collaboration with several human rights organizations. It also included a dialogue session moderated by Bente Schiller from the German Heinrich Böll Foundation, featuring writer Yassin al-Haj Saleh, Lynn Maalouf from the Office of the UN Envoy to Syria, and human rights activist Jumana Seif.

The audience at the concert felt a remarkable harmony in the band members’ playing and singing, despite their decades-long separation after their release and having only spent a few days rehearsing together before the event. A representative of the German Theater described the concert as historic—not only because it marked the first-ever performance by these musicians post-release, but also because it was their debut in Berlin.

Hassan Abdul Rahman, a musician from Damascus now residing in France, who had begun learning music before his arrest and continued his studies while detained, held up a musical instrument during the performance to introduce the audience to a unique oud design. It mimicked the ones they used to craft in prison using cardboard and fruit boxes, reinforced with a mixture of soaked bread, sugar, and jam.

Later, during a seminar organized by the Tafakur Forum for Dialogue and Culture, Hassan recalled how someone from the audience at one of his concerts told him, after many years, that they had “eaten” his oud in Sednaya prison after Hassan and his companions were released. He explained that when a standoff occurred in the prison after several years, at the beginning of the third millennium, food supplies were cut off, and they were forced to break the stale bread into pieces, soak it in water, and eat it.

When a standoff occurred in the prison after several years, at the beginning of the third millennium, food supplies were cut off, and they were forced to break the stale bread into pieces, soak it in water, and eat it.

The musicians were joined on stage by Adnan Hassan, a doctor with a degree in English literature now living in France. Adnan, who spent 12 years and 16 days in the regime’s detention centers, had further developed his oud-playing skills during his imprisonment.

Asaad Shalash also introduced the audience to primitive instruments he made, the ney he made during his conversation with us, the bowl oud, to which he attached strings made from threads taken from socks, and a rectangular oud that imitated one they made in Sednaya from fruit boxes, which he played and sang with his companions the traditional song “Ammi Ya Baya’ al-Ward” (My Uncle, the Rose Seller).

He also introduced the audience to the so-called “morning” ritual, which are songs, most of which are from “Fayrouz classics”, that he played for the detainees, so that they could start their day in the nicest way possible, and to the ritual of “eulogies”, talking about a song they sang in detention about a detained officer who was released by the regime so that he could die outside of it.

Meanwhile, Kasra Kurdi sang with Hassan and the band’s guest, the former detainee, artist Khuder Abdul Karim, the traditional Kurdish song “Yek Momek” which was also sung in the prison. The detainees also sang the song “Atab” which they composed collectively and whose lyrics were written by the poet Faraj Bayrakdar, who the research indicates participated in writing “Eight Prisoners”. Researcher Elaf explains that this song is the only one of those restored that has been documented and reproduced.

During the concert, Asaad Shalash announced the formation of a group they called “Strings Behind Bars” to be a destination for everyone who resisted the harshness of detention through art and music, and to try to revive those experiences, according to his description. “Strings Behind Bars” is also the title of a novel written by Asaad about their musical experience in the prison.

After the event concluded, the former detainees left the HAU Theater, walking under a light rain toward a nearby hotel where they were staying. Their shared moment together felt like a scene from the many years they had spent bound by fate, sharing food, drink, and experiences.

Prison Song or Political Song?

The following evening, the Tafakur Forum symposium (which can be viewed here) became a public space for discussing the existence of a Syrian “prison song” in the first place. Researcher Elaf engaged in an open discussion not only with some participants from his study who were present on the panel but also with many of the former detainees in the audience about whether there could even be such a thing as a “prison song.”

Concerning the classification of the series songs as prison songs, Elaf explained that he referred to Ibrahim Berqdar’s rendition of the song “Yamo,” originally performed by Duraid Lahham in the series. This, he noted, illustrated the extent to which detainees were impacted by cultural products they encountered prior to their arrests. While acknowledging that detainees experience fatigue from their past trauma, he emphasized that he always ensured a female psychiatrist was present to help mitigate these effects as much as possible. The emotional fatigue felt by the detainees ultimately prevented them from performing any prison songs during the second evening.

One contributor suggested that the more accurate term might be “political song.” He argued, “If we call every song sung by a criminal detainee a ‘prison song,’ would it be correct?” He also warned against labeling songs from the Duraid Lahham and Nihad Qala’i duo series as prison songs, pointing out that these songs were professionally created and filmed solely to serve the series.

In his research, Elaf classified the songs sung by the detainees during that period into three categories: complete prison songs, which were composed and arranged in prison; modified prison songs, which were songs performed outside before entering prison; and musical prison songs, which do not contain lyrics. During his research, Elaf was able to identify 34 songs and recover 14 of them. He hopes that at least the fourteen songs will be recorded today.

Elaf covers the prison song in Sednaya between 1987 (the year it was opened) and 1996, a different, certainly horrific period, but one that is distinct from the time in 2017 when Amnesty International described the prison as a “human slaughterhouse.” He says that he conducted nearly 100 hours of interviews with detainees who were members of the Communist Workers’ Party, active in the 1970s and 1980s. His reading of an article by the writer and former detainee Malik Daghistani on the Al-Jumhuriyah website motivated him to research further into this field, which had been absent from the research radar.

In his research, he mentions three teachers in Sednaya: Asaad Shalash, Samir Abdo (Abu al-Nada), and Haitham Qatrib, along with amusing competitive cases between Asaad and Abu al-Nada, who was nicknamed Sheikh Al Kar (The Master of the profession).

Elaf traces the stages of the spread of prison music, starting with the early days when teacher Asaad Shalash would run his hands over a piece of wood in the Palestine Branch to maintain the flexibility of his fingers. Then comes the fermentation and maturation phase in the late 1980s, in Sednaya prison, which witnessed the crafting and development of instruments, as well as other branches like the Palestine Branch. This is followed by a phase of decline and halting, though not entirely, in the early 1990s, due to various circumstances, including the release of musicians, their transfer, the destruction of their instruments, and the separation from their personal belongings.

Elaf’s study also explores prison music experiences in both European and Arab countries. He examines the reasons behind the absence and concealment of prison songs and the creation of prison musical instruments in the Syrian context. He notes that this research would not have come to fruition without the contributions of the detainees in exile, as it was impossible to carry out such work within Syria.

During both events in Berlin, a key point of discussion was how to address this musical phenomenon and its potential negative effects on detainees. Speakers and presenters questioned whether celebrating this phenomenon and the happy moments associated with it might inadvertently diminish the suffering that detainees experienced at the time.

Elaf hopes that this research will serve as a starting point for future studies on the subject of prison songs. Personally, he plans to embark on related research focusing on women’s prison songs. In addition, he envisions an “American tour,” where prisoners will hold a concert similar to the one held in Berlin. Furthermore, Elaf is working on a prison music museum project, which will feature instruments made in prison.

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On Saturday evening, agitated youths tore down the statue of Hafez al-Assad in President’s Square in Jaramana, the town where I live. Around 4:30 p.m., as soon as I heard the news, I quickly got dressed and asked my neighbor if I could leave my little puppy, Mishmish, with him. He said he would come with me too. I dashed down the stairs at full speed and waited at the corner of the street for over five minutes, feeling time slip away. Impatient, I called him urgently, and he finally came down. My strides were long, and he had to run to keep up with me. When we reached the square, a large crowd of youths had gathered. Hafez al-Assad’s head lay toppled, thrown to the right side of the square. The youths had climbed onto several pictures of Bashar al-Assad, ripping them apart with their hands and feet. Their chants echoed in the air: “Syria belongs to us, not to the Assad family!”

I felt a mixture of overwhelming happiness, tinged with fear and tension. Jaramana is not my hometown, and I didn’t see any friends or acquaintances, so I chose not to join the movement, instead observing the unfolding events with caution. Hundreds of people stood along the sidewalks, their faces reflecting a blend of joy, fear, and anticipation as they witnessed an unprecedented moment in the town.

As time went on, it became clear that the fear of the regime and its oppressive machinery was beginning to dissipate among the people. Information spread, confirming the withdrawal of security detachments and police forces. This fueled a sense of liberation, as people celebrated their freedom from captivity.

The entry of troops into the vicinity of Damascus signaled that the regime’s collapse was inevitable. Yet, the delay in its fall since 2013 had left me hesitant to fully embrace this belief. 

The rapid flow of news about the withdrawal from the southern cities and Quneitra was enough to confirm that I was witnessing a scenario beyond imagination, surpassing even my wildest expectations: Assad was on his way to leave Syria for the last time, perhaps heading to another country.

Since 2011, I have been living in a constant state of fear. I hadn’t left the country, and I was deeply worried about the possibility of foreign intervention, the defeat of the factions before reaching Hama, and losing the opportunity for change in Syria. Without change, I feared the multiplication of crises: division, sectarian conflict, poverty, and more.

What I feared most began to materialize in 2013, with the widespread militarization, followed by America and its international coalition’s intervention to fight terrorism in 2014. Then, in 2015, Russia entered the war to help the regime reclaim towns, working in coordination with Turkey and Iran. The entry of troops into the vicinity of Damascus signaled that the regime’s collapse was inevitable. Yet, the delay in its fall since 2013 had left me hesitant to fully embrace this belief. I feared the regime might once again find a way to survive, with regional or international backing. Perhaps it could secure new alliances, trade critical intelligence about jihadist organizations, or benefit from some unexpected event that would delay its collapse once more.

Despite my intense fear, I wrote articles for newspapers without making any concessions to the regime. I believed that its departure was the key to opening the door for profound change in Syria. However, I carefully crafted my texts with phrases that would avoid provoking the security services, hoping to minimize the risk of being arrested and dying for nothing. I would routinely delete messages exchanged with friends on social media or WhatsApp, and I urged others to do the same, fearing that my mobile phone might fall into the hands of the security apparatus.

When I posted content containing radical criticism or direct language, many friends, both inside and outside the country, would urge me to delete it. They believed it was better to wait rather than risk being arrested. These warnings would terrify me temporarily, but I always returned to writing. This was the life I led from 2011 until the moment the regime finally fell, at dawn on Saturday 8 December 2024.

An hour after the fall, I received a phone call from my friend, telling me I had only a few minutes to come down so we could go together to Umayyad Square. Half asleep, I don’t even remember how I got dressed. I tried to call my neighbor to leave Mishmish with him, but he was already awake—no one in Syria was asleep.

I had gone to bed around three, only to wake up around six. The darkness of the night still lingered. I left Mishmish and rushed down the stairs, practically leaping. In front of my house, I met my friend, and we ran toward the cars. I shouted, “We are done, guys, freedom for Syria!”

While we were at the peak of joy, one of the young men told us that Israel had advanced in Quneitra and occupied Mount Hermon. It was a sad blow, almost killing the joy inside me. But I thought that the fall of the tyrant would help reclaim the land, and the most important thing now was to end this nightmare.

We piled into the cars, which were packed so tightly that we could barely find a spot for ourselves. As we drove, we listened to Sarout’s songs and other revolutionary anthems from 2011 and 2012, while discussing the long-awaited fall of the regime, cursing the president and his father for what they had done to the country—handing it over to foreign powers, bringing occupations, all to hold onto power forever.

There were three cars in total: two from Sweida and one from Damascus. Among us were young men wanted by the regime since 2011, who hadn’t set foot in Damascus since, despite living no more than 100 kilometers away. I, too, had not visited my city, Homs, since 2012, and had not seen my nephews, now aged eleven, nine, and four.

The cars kept pouring in, one after the other, from Jaramana, then Bab Touma, then Baghdad Street, and other areas, until we finally reached Umayyad Square. We were among the first to arrive. The sun was just beginning to rise. The joy, laughter, photos, and celebratory gunfire grew louder. Groups of people were steadily increasing, but not in large numbers. The square wasn’t full, and there was no public speech. As more cars carrying fighters from Sweida, Daraa, and Western Ghouta arrived, they fired even more bullets into the air, celebrating the fall of the tyrant and his family’s rule.

We circled the square, taking photos, broadcasting live, sending victory signs, and singing, “Syria is ours, not for the Assad family,” “Long live Syria, down with Assad.” I corrected someone, saying, “Long live Syria, Assad is down.”

While we were at the peak of joy, one of the young men told us that Israel had advanced in Quneitra and occupied Mount Hermon. It was a sad blow, almost killing the joy inside me. But I thought that the fall of the tyrant would help reclaim the land, and the most important thing now was to end this nightmare.

It soon became clear that we were facing significant problems. The signs appeared immediately, as we began to notice thefts from the military buildings surrounding the square, from the Opera House, and reports of Israel occupying new areas. When we decided to leave around ten in the morning, we discovered that someone had stolen many items and around two million Syrian pounds from a friend’s car. It was deeply disturbing.

We were then told that the detainees would be released at Abbasid Square, so we went there immediately, hoping to witness this historic moment. After waiting for about half an hour, we received the news that the detainees had been released randomly from the security branches and Sednaya prison, but we didn’t see any of them. We then got into the cars and headed back to Jaramana, on a day filled with pure happiness.

My friend, Rania Mustafa, the leftist political writer, who had been in Damascus since 2012, would have made it a million times harder for me to stay if she hadn’t been there. Even though several days had passed, she still looked at me with anger. How could I not have told her to go with me to Umayyad Square, a place Syrians had longed to reach since 2011, where hundreds of martyrs had fallen trying to make it possible? I feel like I “betrayed” her, even though it was merely a coincidence and a result of my haste, as these were my last moments under the family’s rule.

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