Weeks have passed since the massacre perpetrated by Turkish-affiliated forces on the Syrian coast. Writing this article now might seem out of place, as if reopening a wound that was beginning to heal. However, justice has not been served, and it will not be until we confront the truth with courage and address it with wisdom.
At a moment that was supposed to mark the beginning of emerging from the long tunnel of tyranny, fire erupted on the Syrian coast, and blood was shed once again—this time under the banner of the new authority, not the fallen regime.
It can certainly be argued that the responsibility lies with the previous regime, and we would not be wrong in saying so. Fifty-four barren years, filled with oppression, corruption, and discrimination, must be accountable for all aspects: political, economic, social, and ethical. The remnants of the regime, driven by Iran—politically and militarily defeated in Syria—were undoubtedly responsible for inciting the massacre.
The regime’s responsibility also extends to its desperate attempts to divide Syrians along sectarian lines and to strip Syria of a unifying national identity and sense of citizenship, defining citizens solely by their Syrianness, not by any other affiliation. The Assads, along with their acolytes, endeavored to instill fear among Syrian Alawites of the Sunni majority, portraying this majority as a monolithic bloc lying in wait to devour minorities the moment Assad falls.
For over half a century under the Assad family’s rule, Syrian Alawites lived on the margins of the national dream, ensnared by a dense web of illusions and fears crafted by the regime around and for them. The regime exploited their blood and sought to determine their fate in its open-ended battles for survival.
Perhaps the Alawite tragedy, as manifested during the years of the Syrian revolution and before, is but an intensified image of a long history of marginalization, followed by systematic political exploitation, where the oppressed of yesterday became pliant tools in the tyrant’s hands, driven by fanaticism and fear of the unknown.
The Tragedy of the Syrian Alawite
Hafez al-Assad had no difficulty accurately reading the scene of the Syrian countryside. He knew that the Alawites, like other rural groups, came from a harsh history of poverty and deprivation, and that their chronic sense of social and economic injustice made them easy targets for rhetoric that traded on “restoring their usurped rights.”
However, Assad the father, who overthrew his Alawite and other comrades in the “Corrective Movement,” was not genuinely concerned with developing the countryside or uplifting the Alawites from the bottom of society. His project was more akin to redistributing poverty rather than achieving prosperity. Instead of economically or culturally empowering the Alawites or building genuine infrastructure in their areas, he thrust their sons into the military and security institutions, transforming them into tools in his power struggle, until they later became the backbone of the oppressive apparatuses his regime constructed.
This forced integration into the state’s security institutions did not alleviate the Alawites’ poverty; rather, it confined them to slums, enabling them to earn meager salaries that ensured mere survival, not a dignified life. As exploitation expanded, the rural Alawite moved to the city’s margins, not its heart. Damascus, for example, was unwelcoming to those coming from their villages, pushing them into informal neighborhoods like “86,” where they crowded into makeshift homes, stealing electricity and water, coexisting with state institutions they saw only as a means to get through their day. They lived on the edge of the city and the dream—no longer villagers after severing ties with their countryside, nor city dwellers recognized by the city, which knew them only as low-level employees or soldiers who intimidated people, earning their resentment.
This individual tragedy accumulated into a collective one when the Alawites found themselves trapped in a closed loop: a job in security, the military, the broadcasting building, “Thawra” – the newspaper, customs, or other government interests; an illegal house in a slum; modest culture; and a fragile awareness that this life is a “gain” not to be forfeited. Those who tried to break out of this equation, like the hundreds of my comrades with whom I shared beds, meals, and dreams in the prisons of Tadmor and Saydnaya and the basements of the Military Investigation Branch and Branch 235 (Palestine Branch), were quickly besieged by their own community before the regime, considered traitors “bringing the house down on its inhabitants,” because fear had become the firm bond that united the sect behind the regime.
Assad did not stop at exploitation; he infused their minds with narratives of the Sunni threat and fueled their fears of extermination. With the onset of the Syrian revolution, the regime found its golden opportunity to cement this narrative: here are the “Sunni terrorists” threatening you, and without “your” army, you will be slaughtered, expelled from your homes, and dismissed from your jobs. In the absence of a realistic opposition discourse offering a clear alternative to reassure the fearful, the result was that the sect, or most of it, aligned behind the regime—not out of love, but fear of an unknown fate.
Thus, the Assad regime established a dreadful equation: if you are with me, you are safe; if you are against me, you are an enemy and will perish. This equation stifled every dissenting voice within the sect, to the point where the majority became captive to the rhetoric of fear, and participation in killing and defending the regime—even at the expense of ethics and the nation—became a “existential necessity.”
The Alawite Tragedy
On the other side of this narrative lies a harsh reality: the death toll among Alawite youth numbers in the tens of thousands, whether they fought in the National Defense Forces or served in security branches. Both were driven to the regime’s fronts, killed, and mourned in sorrowful rituals devoid of genuine awareness of the catastrophe’s causes. All of this transpires while the prevailing belief remains that “sedition” is the source of the calamity, not the regime.
Delving deeper into Alawite sociology, we observe that their homes and properties in their ancestral villages have fragmented due to inheritance divisions or have been confiscated under various pretexts. Their lands no longer yield sufficient sustenance, and the city has embraced them only as strangers, leaving them suspended between the lost paradise of their village and an unwelcoming city. Consequently, their need for illusion grows, and they seek reassurance that they are “enduring,” even under the collapsing roof of Assad’s regime.
This fate, from which individuals cannot escape, reminds us of the Greek tragedies that predetermined one’s destiny even before birth. Consider how the fatal prophecy governed Oedipus’s life. Alawites in Syria are bound by a destiny drawn by Assad: subjugation and fear, or death. But until when? And what fate awaits them when the regime that has long tied their destiny to its own falls?
In truth, this tragedy will persist unless a new discourse emerges—a national, sincere, and non-sloganistic dialogue that offers Alawites genuine security, not the promise of annihilation. A discourse that invites them to a new social contract based on equality, dignity, and citizenship, not on revenge, quotas, or exclusion. However, such a discourse is absent today. The opposition has failed to approach the Alawite issue with a conscious vision, and the regime continues to exploit the sect to the last drop of blood.
Alawites are not a monolithic bloc; among them are intellectuals and soldiers, perpetrators and victims, supporters and opponents. Yet, all of them, to varying degrees, are captives of the regime’s narrative that has stifled their dreams, besieged their consciousness, and made them tools in a battle that offers them no stake. The moment the ordinary Alawite realizes that they are not bound by Assad’s choices but possess the right to an alternative path—that moment marks the beginning of liberation from a tragedy that has lasted far too long and extended beyond all bounds.
On Exploiting the Concept of Transitional Justice
Despite interim President Ahmad Al-Shara’s speech addressing these atrocities, he neither named the perpetrators nor specified mechanisms for holding them accountable, reminiscent of previous crimes in Homs and elsewhere that were buried without trial. This absence of accountability paves the way for a form of justice based on revenge rather than punishment, fueling public fear of repeating the former regime’s practices under a new guise. These crimes have led to widespread societal fragmentation, increased displacement from the coast, and a growing despair fed by a loss of trust in the new authority and its choices, as well as by the fragility of political and administrative performance.
The problem lies not only in the horror of what occurred but also in the emerging authority’s failure to build national and civil state institutions. It faces increasing criticism for excluding broad segments of Syrians and being dominated by a Salafist mentality that ignores principles of partnership and citizenship. All of this unfolds in a country still fragmented: the north controlled by factions loyal to Turkey, the northeast by the Kurds, the southeast by the Americans, the south by local militias, and the desert not devoid of ISIS remnants. The army remains ununified, experienced defected officers have not been involved in its restructuring, and several factions retain their weapons outside the state’s umbrella, with some committing documented crimes now being included in human rights reports.
In this climate, the concept of transitional justice spreads like wildfire among government representatives, human rights organizations, opposition figures, columnists, and YouTube personalities. However, these parties do not agree on its content. Some believe that transitional justice is what they personally achieve for themselves by eliminating their adversaries who previously harmed them.
In reality, transitional justice, as defined by the International Center for Transitional Justice, is societies’ response to the legacy of gross and blatant human rights violations. Its primary focus is on victims above all else, concentrating on their rights and dignity as citizens and individuals alike. It seeks accountability for the harms they have suffered, acknowledgment of these harms, and the achievement of redress. In doing so, it points the way toward establishing a new social contract that includes all citizens and safeguards each one’s rights.
There are five pillars of transitional justice, with accountability being one of them: truth, accountability, reparations, memorialization, and societal reconciliation to ensure non-repetition. These responses, whether implemented individually or collectively, support society’s transition from conflict to sustainable peace, from authoritarian rule to democracy, from enduring a legacy of collective human rights violations to respecting human rights, and from a culture of impunity to one that treats citizens with dignity.
Malik Dagestani recently wrote a highly significant article warning against reproducing Assad regime’s criminal practices under the banner of the revolution. He called for rejecting any justification for crimes committed against innocent Alawite civilians after the regime’s fall. Dagestani emphasized that justice is indivisible and that protecting the new Syria begins with a frank acknowledgment of violations and holding perpetrators accountable without evasion, justification, or denial. Overlooking or denying these violations threatens to undermine the foundations of the desired state and grants remnants of the regime and their ilk an opportunity to disrupt the transitional process.
He concluded his poignant article with words I wish I had written: “We must feel ashamed and stop this farce; otherwise, how will we sever, once and for all, with Assad’s regime, one of whose traits was its foolish denial of its crimes that affected the entire country? You must stop immediately, for neither in the name of the revolution nor even in the name of the new Syria can you draw those superficial comparisons between what you are doing today and what Assad’s media figures did, those who lacked sufficient conscience, causing them not to see the dead among your people! Do you want to be like them, without conscience?”