Syria Still Needs an Opposition

At the heart of everything unfolding in Syria today lies a deeper, more existential crisis. The fall of the Assad regime has exposed a long-standing void: the absence of a shared, inclusive, and coherent sense of what it means to be Syrian.

This crisis is not new, nor is it entirely of our own making. For over half a century, and even before, the people of Syria have been denied any real opportunity to define themselves outside the frameworks imposed upon them. 

Under the Assad regime, identity was reduced to loyalty. That is, loyalty to the regime, to the personality cult surrounding it, and to the survivalist demands it made of its citizens. Before that, the authoritarian rule of the Ba'ath party and the United Arab Republic attempted to dissolve Syrian identity altogether into an abstract, often incoherent pan-Arabism. And even decades and centuries prior, during both the French Mandate and Ottoman rule, Syrians were treated as subjects, not citizens.

There has never been the political, social, or psychological space for Syrians to construct a shared identity that could bridge differences, foster belonging, and provide the moral glue necessary for a diverse society to survive and thrive. In that vacuum, now laid bare in the aftermath of regime collapse, we are witnessing the long-term damage cemented by the Assad regime. 

One incident in the recent clashes that took place in Suwayda captures this with chilling clarity. A video circulated showing fighters allegedly affiliated with the Ministry of Defence pointing a rifle at a man seated on the roadside. They ask him if he is Muslim or Druze. 

The man, clearly in a state of fear, responds: "What do you mean? I'm Syrian." 

One fighter, rifle in hand, yells: "What do you mean by Syrian? Are you Muslim or Druze?". A second fighter identifies him as Druze and says: "Kill him." The man is then shot and executed on camera while the soldiers are heard celebrating. In that brief exchange, something deeply troubling that we all know but seldom discuss bubbles to the surface. “What do you mean by Syrian?” 

The man's assertion of his Syrianness is not only rejected, it is rendered meaningless. It does not protect him. That one moment, brutal as it is, encapsulates the depth of the crisis Syrians are now facing. This identity crisis makes the current moment both fragile and crucial because Syrians are not simply rebuilding a state. They are attempting to construct something that has never existed: a truly inclusive Syrian identity that can serve as the foundation for that rebuilding. 

The choices made in these formative months will determine whether Syria succeeds in building an inclusive Syrian identity or if it replicates the same patterns that have defined it for generations. 

What I am about to describe are the dangerous patterns already emerging in support of the latter. They are not just state failures, but warning signs of a society choosing the familiar path over the difficult work. If these patterns are not confronted, Syrians in 10 years will find that they have not built the country they once fought for, but have sleepwalked into another state of nature where "What do you mean by Syrian?" remains an unanswered source of trauma. Re-visiting the basics In revolutions, dissent is valorised. People are unified by what they oppose. 

But once a regime collapses, and especially when a new order begins to consolidate, the priorities shift from tearing something down to preserving what has been built. Taken to its extreme, this can mean that criticism, once vital, becomes suspect. 

This is especially dangerous when the new authority defines itself primarily in opposition to the past, rather than around a vision of a future. If not being the former regime is the new state's main credential, then criticism can easily become conflated with sabotage.

Unfortunately, criticism of Syria’s new administration, however measured or constructive, is increasingly being met with suspicion by Syrian society. Even individuals who were deeply embedded in the revolution are now being treated as outsiders if they voice concern or disapproval that goes above the bare minimum. The bar for what constitutes acceptable criticism has become extraordinarily low, and the prevailing sentiment is that criticisms, however well-intentioned, are perceived as threats to the stability of the new state. Examples of this are manifesting in the most gut-wrenching ways, as was the case with the peaceful protests in Damascus that were attacked by armed thugs in late July. The same folks who employ this emotional blackmail and warn that the state is too fragile to withstand criticism also, without a hint of contradiction, insist in separate discussions that it is only natural to defer to the government’s judgment because it brought down the Assad regime. There is also a growing tendency to justify apathy and disengagement by insisting that those in power are still new and that they therefore should be given time and space without excessive scrutiny.

Criticism is a civic responsibility, especially in a nascent state, because power requires scrutiny rather than celebration when it is young and untested. Silence in such circumstances is not stability, but the prelude to rot. If the only feedback a nascent state receives is applause, then mistakes (and there will be mistakes) are likely to calcify into policy and abuses into norms. 

This new administration is just months into power, and much of this formative period will shape its governance for years, if not generations. Sustained, principled critique is protective, not destabilising. It guards against blind spots and allows for course correction. The absence of criticism creates a vacuum in which impunity grows. And impunity, once embedded, is incredibly difficult to uproot. 

The consequences of this dangerous shift are already becoming clear, including a growing and deeply troubling sense in public spaces that Syrians are being forced to revisit and re-explain foundational principles that were once considered settled. These are not complex political theories but rather the most basic ethical and civic ideas that shaped the revolution from its earliest days. Concepts that, for the past 14 years, have felt so fundamental to the Syrian experience that no further explanation seemed necessary. And yet, Syrians now have to go back and re-articulate these very basics, as though they are once again up for debate.

One example is the idea that no one should be arbitrarily arrested. After 14 years of struggle, one would assume this belief would be universally held across Syrian society. But that assumption seems to be in question, or up for debate. The arrest of journalist Noor Suleiman illustrates this sad reality. 

Noor was detained without a warrant by Syrian security forces. The reasons for her arrest were not initially disclosed, and news of her arrest went viral. The Minister of Information later took to Twitter and described having intervened in her case, bypassing the legal system entirely by contacting the Minister of the Interior to appeal for her release. However, his tweet, along with the announcement of her release, was met with widespread anger. 

There are already concerns here about the role of the Minister of Information, particularly around the circumvention of legal processes. However, the public anger that followed against him was in response to Noor’s release, owing to sectarian Facebook posts she had previously shared. People began retroactively justifying her arrest and condemning her release, not because they knew the reason for it either, but because they believed her speech made her deserving of detention. In doing so, they adopted a mentality in which arrest comes first, and justification is found or invented after the fact. The core question of why she was arrested without a warrant was largely absent from the conversation. It was later confirmed by the Attorney General in Damascus that despite her release and the wrongful nature of her arbitrary detention by security forces, she is still facing charges related to her Facebook posts.

If the state intends to arrest someone for sectarian incitement, it must do so transparently and consistently, clearly stating the reasons at the time of arrest to avoid any appearance of arbitrariness. Unfortunately, both transparency and consistency in the administration of justice are glaringly absent today. Sectarian incitement on social media, from all sides, has become widespread and normalised, yet the state rarely takes action.

By continuing to selectively enforce accountability, the state is creating conditions in which the principles of the rule of law appear expendable. Visibility as a precondition for accountability   Perhaps more troublingly, another two recent examples illustrate the troubling contrast between what happens when violations gain public attention and when they do not.

In the first case is Abdalrazzaq Thalji, who returned to Syria after thirteen years of exile in Germany. Shortly after his return, he was arrested without a warrant following a complaint from a neighbor with ties to the security forces. This neighbor led a patrol that stormed Thalji’s house, assaulted both him and his father, and took him into custody without any legal basis. Thalji’s wife filmed the incident and posted the video online, which quickly went viral, generating widespread outrage across the country. 

Public demands poured in, calling for the release of Thalji and the prosecution of the officers involved.

In response to this collective pressure, the state acted swiftly. The officers were detained, Thalji was released, and the Minister of Interior even met with his family to apologise and promise justice. In another post, Thalji’s wife thanked the authorities for their response.

In stark contrast, a separate incident reported by various individuals from Homs received barely any media attention. During an altercation between a group of men, security forces arrived and arrested a young man named Nabeel, who had no involvement in the situation. He was taken to the police station and brutally beaten. Photographs show visible injuries on his back.

Unlike Thalji's case, Nabeel’s assault did not go viral, nor did it attract significant public attention. As a result, no investigation has been announced, and no public response has been issued.

These two incidents that people may wish to paint as isolated reveal a deeply troubling pattern: that accountability is contingent on visibility. If a violation gains traction online, the state may take action, but if it does not, the violation is likely to go unnoticed. 

This reveals the urgency of public engagement. It shows why people must speak out and demand better. But it also reveals that unless structural change takes place, and unless the state itself adopts a principled approach to justice, the current trajectory will not self-correct. Impunity will become the norm, rather than the exception. The absence of a state mentality 

To be clear, the challenges facing Syria's new government are extraordinary and unprecedented. The country emerges from over a decade of devastating war with decimated institutions, a fractured society, armed groups still operating across the territory, and the massive task of rebuilding state capacity from scratch. I want to go further and emphasise that any analysis which ignores the last 14 years and examines today’s events in isolation is operating in bad faith. I say this because such bad-faith analysis tends to thrive in the silence left by those who do not feel comfortable voicing their concerns and who, under different circumstances, would have provided thoughtful and good-faith perspectives without ulterior motives.

The security environment remains volatile, with external actors pursuing their agendas within Syrian borders. These are not normal circumstances for any authority. Yet, none of these abnormal conditions excuse human rights violations or patterns of impunity. It is precisely because of these extraordinary challenges that principled governance is more urgent, not less. Decisions made under pressure reveal character far more than those made in comfort. In that spirit, another dimension that cannot be ignored when assessing the current conduct of the Syrian state is the continuation of sectarian crimes, which have influenced many of the violations in recent months.

What is particularly concerning is that these violations are taking place in the context of active armed conflict. To be clear, armed conflict does not suspend a state's obligations, but rather intensifies them. And yet, the public conversation often fails to make this distinction. There is a reluctance to hold the Syrian state to account during wartime, and a tendency to blur moral lines under the guise of necessity. 

This avoidance of moral clarity leads to an even more dangerous normalisation: the Syrian state is not being held to the standards of a state by the public. Instead, it is being judged against the standards of the militias it is fighting. That distinction matters. Comparisons between the state and other armed actors are not meaningful in any context because the Syrian state is not an armed faction but a sovereign authority with responsibilities and obligations that come with its role. A clear example is the murder of Mohammed Rafiq Bahhas, who was executed in cold blood by Syrian government forces after they stormed the National Suwayda Hospital. For hours, many rushed to justify this killing with excuses such as Bahhas being a secret armed fighter, or that as an engineering graduate, he could not have been a volunteer medical worker. Others justified the murder by claiming he attacked the security forces, who were heavily armed and stood behind the shooter, while medical personnel sat terrified on the floor. Eventually, the Ministry of Interior issued a statement condemning the murder and promising accountability.

Aside from exposing how misguided those who justified Bahhas’s murder were, the statement in the aftermath of these reactions revealed the troubling willingness of some sections of the public to simply accept whatever they are given regarding the state’s conduct compared to militias. That is, they are surrendering their expectations and handing over their affairs without demanding more, despite the state being willing to offer them more (even as lip service). The weaponisation of revolutionary credentials 

There is another pattern emerging in public discourse that has become both exhausting and destructive. Whenever someone speaks about violations committed by the new authorities, they are immediately met with predictable responses: "Where were you when the Druze militias killed and displaced our Bedouin brothers?" or "Why didn't you speak out about the security officers who were martyred by remnants of the fallen regime?". 

This reaction is always the same. It’s no longer enough for Syrians to speak out about one violation at any given time. You are expected in that moment to have spoken out about everything and to recount everything. You are not allowed to highlight one specific injustice unless you've first publicly condemned every other injustice in perfect balance. You must have a complete, flawless, and documented record of prior criticism before you are granted the right to criticise today's violations.

And, above all, there is the ultimate question that silences all others: "Where were you during the last 14 years? "And at the risk of going on a tangent, I must reveal a painful reality that exposes the perverse nature of today's discourse. 

It is not uncommon for people who were Assad supporters until December 8th, 2024, and overnight transformed themselves into revolutionaries once the regime collapsed, to now attack former detainees and long-time dissidents with this very line of questioning in online spaces. The bitter irony is that those who practiced takwee' (political opportunism/switching sides when convenient) are now demanding revolutionary purity from those who paid the price for their principles.

All that to one side, the implication behind this question is deadly serious, because by simply criticising the new authorities, you are guilty until proven innocent. 

As a result, we are no longer evaluating ideas or moral arguments based on their merit, but instead we are scanning people's revolutionary resumes, looking for gaps, inconsistencies, or anything that would disqualify them from having an opinion. 

This way of thinking does more than just stifle public conversation. It stigmatises dissent in a way that state repression can never achieve on its own, through communal distrust, and in doing so, it undermines any real chance of holding the new authorities accountable.

In many ways, this insistence on defending the state no matter what, and the refusal to acknowledge its mistakes without mincing our words or sugarcoating, closely mirrors the mindset we once associated with supporters of the Assad regime. It's the desire to only hear narratives that validate one side’s suffering. It's the belief that admitting wrongdoing by the state is somehow a personal defeat, and that the state’s guilt is somehow linked to your self-worth.

What is tragic is that many people genuinely have not moved beyond this mindset, and to some extent, they are not to blame. The state has done almost nothing to help them move forward. There has been no meaningful transitional justice, no public reckoning, and no effort to hold perpetrators accountable. With a general amnesty that allows Assad-era war criminals to live freely in society, there can be no acknowledgment of the pain that so many Syrians carry.

In the absence of justice, many turn to identity and state power, even if that state is failing them, because it offers a kind of emotional anchor. It becomes easier to defend the state blindly than to confront the weight of what has not been addressed. 

Pain that isn't acknowledged becomes weaponised, often redirected at critics, dissenters, and those who are simply trying to speak hard truths. And until that cycle is broken, Syrian society will keep repeating the same defensive patterns, no matter who is in power. The myth of autocorrection

Right now, we are witnessing a dangerous dynamic where the voices of well-meaning Syrians who stood against the Assad regime and sacrificed over 14 years are being drowned out by loyalists. 

Meanwhile, a vacuum has formed. And in that vacuum, the voices of bad actors are growing louder. 

These are the very people who supported the Assad regime and justified the killing of Syrians, who rationalised our suffering, and now they are shaping the discourse around this new government using an insane network of disinformation. So are Iran and Israel, along with their supporters and proxies, all of whom have everything to gain from a divided and broken Syria. We cannot allow our silence to give them the space to dominate the conversation, to hijack the narrative, to continue poisoning the future of this country.

Those of us who believed in dignity, who gave everything for justice and freedom, must be the ones at the forefront of criticism, not out of bitterness, but out of responsibility. We must speak clearly, firmly, and without compromise because this is our country, and we know what we fought for. Yes, a new government will make mistakes, but what matters is whether those mistakes are being acknowledged, corrected, and learned from in the long run. At the moment, this is largely not happening. Distrust between huge segments of Syrian society continues to grow because of what some keep insisting are “isolated incidents”, and the path towards a national reconciliation becomes much more difficult to envision with each passing day.

What the excuse of "give them time" ends up doing is outsourcing responsibility to an imagined future. "They'll improve eventually. They'll figure it out." But if there is no challenge to the status quo now, then what exactly is going to force that improvement to happen? Without transitional justice, an inclusive identity, and putting an end to collective punishment, Syria will remain trapped in its crises. 

A people that stops asking questions stops participating in its future. It becomes a spectator to its own story. We cannot allow that to happen. Not after everything we've sacrificed. Not after everything we've endured. 

A new Syria is still possible, but only if we refuse to stay silent.