-OpEd-
DAMAS — After years of revolution for freedom in Syria — met with brutal repression by Bashar al-Assad’s regime that led to a 14-year-long violent conflict — the moment of Assad’s fall and escape marked a pivotal turning point in the country’s modern history. Yet what followed that fall was not the freedom Syrians had longed for in all its meanings, nor the hopes they expected to realize after the collapse, but rather a new form of control with different names and appearances.
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On my first visit to my city, Tartous, after 27 years of forced absence, I decided to dedicate my first tour to the Political Security Branch, where the intelligence services of Dictator Hafez al-Assad had imprisoned me for several years. As I approached the gate, which had changed from red to green, a guard came out and said, “No approaching allowed.” When I explained the purpose of my visit, he asked me to wait until he called “the Emir.” I thought about the word: “The Emir?” “Branch Emir?” It seemed there was an Emir, a Sheikh who appeared to be in charge of the branch. When he arrived, he, too, turned me away with some “gentle” threats.
As I withdrew, I asked a friend who was with me: “Branch Emir?” We laughed, but I thought: what if the Emir actually carried out his threat and arrested me to revisit my old cell? It would be a tragicomic irony.
New titles, same authoritarianism
On the night of the June 22 attack on the Greek Orthodox Mar Elias Church in Damascus, a gunman approached a journalist broadcasting a video report from the site and told him to stop filming. When the journalist objected, the gunman replied, “Go into the church and ask permission from the Sheikh.” The journalist complied with the Emir’s orders, perhaps fearing a “stray or random” bullet from someone who was supposed to protect the stricken site.
The first thing Syrians noticed after the fall of the Assad regime was the change in the language of authority: “Branch Secretary,” a title associated for decades with the Baath Party’s security grip on the country, disappeared and was replaced by “Emir,” “Branch Emir” or “Sheikh of the group.”
Despite this bleak reality, seeds of genuine change still exist in Syria.
These new titles emerged in the context of a religious discourse attempting to impose itself as a replacement for the Baathist regime. But they preserved its authoritarian essence and tools, now characterizing the new power structure. So these titles were not merely cosmetic changes but reflected a shift in the nature of authority.
There was also a shift from a central authority raising the slogan “Unity, Freedom and Socialism,” to local powers ruled by religious allegiance and often tied to closed ideological currents. But what qualifications do these Emirs hold? So far, the Syrian people know little about these commanding Emirs.
From dream to nightmare
The dream Syrians had at the start of the revolution – of dignity and freedom – faded under the weight of “the rule of banners,” and the emergence of powers practicing repression, killing and chaos in the name of religion, not in the name of “national security” this time. The charges that might be leveled against a journalist or activist also changed. One could now be accused of “spreading sedition,” instead of “weakening national sentiment” and “undermining the prestige of the state.”
Many cases of arrest have been documented on this basis. Notably, the charge of “undermining the prestige of the state” — invented by the Assad regime — is still used, as in the recent charge against a Damascus-based lawyer who openly criticized certain practices of the new ruling authorities and their followers.
In the post-Assad phase, no unified authority emerged; instead, power centers multiplied: an Emir here and a Sheikh there, one armed faction in this city and another with different loyalties in another. This fragmentation weakened the concept of the state and deepened social divisions. In addition, some areas are now subject to laws unrelated to the country’s legal system or constitutional declaration, but to imported systems and constraints imposed by force of arms.
Despite this bleak reality, seeds of genuine change still exist in Syria. Civil society organizations strive to continue their work promoting citizenship values. Syrians who have suffered under the regime’s repression and militant groups’ dominance are increasingly aware that freedom does not come through changing names, but by building a state of law and institutions that respects the human being as a human being — not as a “follower” of any Emir or Sheikh.
Forced adaptation
At first, the new terms sounded strange to Syrians’ ears. As “Branch Secretary” turned into “Emir,” and “official” into “Sheikh,” it seemed to many that the country had simply exchanged a strict Baathist cloak for an ideological one disguised in religious garb. Thus, dealing with “the Emir” became a necessity for conducting affairs in state-affiliated institutions — as he was now the highest authority in the department, the checkpoint or the government buildings. In this way, the Sheikh became a ruler in his own right, and the people had no choice but obedience.
Over time, forced adaptation crept into the details of daily life. People exhausted from war, poverty and fear were forced to accept these terms, first as mere words, then as concepts that began to influence their thinking and behavior. In the absence of strong civil institutions and the continued absence of national curricula and schools, the language of “obedience,” “allegiance” and “Sharia” replaced what should be the vocabulary of “state,” “law” and “citizenship.”
The terms evolved from strange titles to tools reshaping collective consciousness.
This linguistic shift was neither arbitrary nor superficial — it gradually altered the cultural identity in some regions. Concepts like justice, freedom and dignity began to be redefined, not based on humanitarian or legal reference points, but through narrow religious interpretations presented by “the Emir” or “the Sheikh.” Religion — which should be a personal and diverse space in understanding and practice — became a tool of authority used to justify punishments, excommunicate dissenters and control people’s intimate lives.
Thus, the terms evolved from strange titles to tools reshaping collective consciousness and infiltrating Syrian culture, turning it from a culture aiming to build a state and institutions to one that normalizes the rule of “banners,” “allegiance” and “spoils.”
From darkness to light
What happened in Syria after the fall of the Assad dictatorship was not just a change in titles or faces; it was a betrayal of the core demands for which Syrians rose up: freedom, dignity and justice. People moved from the tyranny of the security state to the tyranny of ideologized religious groups — from “Branch Secretary” to “Branch Emir” — but the same chains still shackle their lives, even if their language and appearance have changed.
Yet hope is not extinguished. Small civil communities still struggle in the shadows, and brave voices continue to reject these new terms just as they once rejected the old ones. Escaping this reality begins with reclaiming language — restoring the true meaning of concepts and rejecting the fusion of religion and authority, of faith and repression.
True change begins when we stop using the terms that entrench tyranny, whatever form it takes, and rebuild a discourse rooted in the soil of Syria — not imported from fatwas of the ages or imposed by iron and fire.
Syria will not be rebuilt by “Emirs” or “Sheikhs” but by free citizens governed by a just and inclusive law, with no sword above their heads and no banner above their dignity.
