4 hours ago
3
JARAMANA, Syria -- Syria’s Druze minority has a long history of cutting their own path to survive among the country’s powerhouses. They are now trying again to navigate a new, uncertain Syria since the fall of longtime autocrat Bashar Assad.
Members of the small religious sect find themselves caught between two forces that many of them distrust: the new, Islamist-led government in Damascus and Syria’s hostile neighbor, Israel, which has used the plight of the Druze as a pretext to intervene in the country.
Syria’s many religious and ethnic communities are worried over their place in the new system. The transitional government has promised to include them, but has so far kept authority in the hands of the Islamist former insurgents who toppled Assad in December -- Hayat Tahrir al-Sham, or HTS. That and HTS’s past affiliation with Sunni Muslim extremist al-Qaida, has minorities suspicious.
The most explosive hostilities have been with the Alawite religious minority, to which Assad’s family belongs. Heavy clashes erupted this week between armed Assad loyalists and government forces, killing at least 70, in the coastal regions that are the Alawites’ heartland.
In contrast, the Druze -- largely centered in southern Syria -- have kept up quiet contacts with the government. Still, tensions have broken out.
Last week in Jaramana, a suburb of Damascus with a large Druze population, unknown gunmen killed a member of the government’s security forces, which responded with a wave of arrests in the district.
Israel’s Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and military officials weighed in by threatening to send forces to Jaramana to protect the Druze. Druze leaders quickly disavowed the offer. But soon after, someone hung an Israeli flag in Sweida, an overwhelmingly Druze region in southern Syria, prompting residents to quickly tear it down and burn it.
Many fear another flare-up is only a matter of time.
Multiple Druze armed militias have existed for years, originally set up to protect their communities against Islamic State group fighters and drug smugglers coming in from the eastern desert. They have been reluctant to set down their arms. Recently a new faction, the Sweida Military Council, proclaimed itself, grouping several smaller Druze militias.
The result is a cycle of mistrust, where government supporters paint Druze factions as potential separatists or tools of Israel, while government hostility only deepens Druze worries.
On the outskirts of Sweida, a commander in Liwa al-Jabal, a Druze militia, stood on a rooftop and scanned the hills with binoculars. He spoke by walkie-talkie with a militiaman with an assault rifle below. They were watching for any movement by militants or gangs.
“Our arms are not for expansionist purposes. They're for self-defense and protection,” said the commander, who asked to be identified only by his nickname Abu Ali for security reasons. “We have no enemies except those who attack us.”
Abu Ali, who is a metal worker as his day job, said most Druze militiamen would merge with a new Syrian army if it’s one that “protects all Syrians rather than crushes them like the previous regime.”
The Druze religious sect began as a 10th-century offshoot of Ismailism, a branch of Shiite Islam. Over half of the roughly 1 million Druze worldwide live in Syria. Most other Druze live in Lebanon and Israel, including in the Golan Heights, which Israel captured from Syria in the 1967 Mideast War and annexed in 1981.
In Syria, the Druze take pride in their fierce independence. They were heavily involved in revolts against Ottoman and French colonial rule to establish the modern Syrian state.
During Syria’s civil war that began in 2011, the Druze were split between supporters of Assad and the opposition. The Sweida region stayed quiet for much of the war, though it erupted with anti-government protests in 2023.
Assad reluctantly gave Druze a degree of autonomy, as they wanted to avoid being involved on the frontlines. The Druze were exempted from conscription into the Syrian army and instead set up local armed factions made of workers and farmers to patrol their areas.
Druze say they want Syria’s new authorities to include them in a political process to create a secular and democratic state.
“Religion is for God and the state is for all” proclaimed a slogan written on the hood of a vehicle belonging to the Men of Dignity, another Druze militia patrolling the outskirts of Sweida.
Many Druze quickly rejected Israel’s claims to protect the minority. Hundreds took to the streets in Sweida to protest Netanyahu’s comments.
“We are Arabs, whether he or whether the Lord that created him likes it or not. Syria is free,” said Nabih al-Halabi, a 60-year-old resident of Jaramana.
He and others reject accusations that the Druze want partition from Syria.
But patience is wearing thin over what many see as arbitrary layoffs of public sector workers, shortage of economic opportunities, and the new authorities’ lack of more than token inclusion of Syrians from minority communities. For the first time, a protest took place in Sweida on Thursday against Damascus' new authorities.
Interim President Ahmad al-Sharaa has promised to create an inclusive system, but the government is made up mostly of his confidantes. The authorities convened a national dialogue conference last week, inviting Syrians from different communities, but many criticized it as rushed and not really inclusive.
“What we are seeing from the state today, in our opinion, does not achieve the interests of all Syrians,” said retired nurse Nasser Abou-Halam, discussing local politics with other residents in Sweida's public square where near-daily protests took place. “It’s a one-color government, with leadership appointed through factions rather than through elections.”
Al-Sharaa “has a big opportunity to be accepted just to be Syrian first and not Islamist first. Being inclusive will not hurt him,” said Bassam Barabandi, a former Syrian diplomat currently based in Washington. “On the contrary, it will give him more power.”
Syria’s new leaders have struggled to convince the United States and its allies to lift Assad-era sanctions. Without the lifting of sanctions, it will be impossible for the government to rebuild Syria’s battered infrastructure or win over minority communities, analysts say.
“I’m scared sanctions won’t be lifted and Syria won’t be given the chance,” said Rayyan Maarouf, who heads the activist media collective Suwayda 24. He has just returned to Sweida after fleeing to Europe over a year ago because of his activism.
“Syria could go back to a civil war, and it would be worse than before,” he said.
Outside Sweida, Abu Ali was helping train new volunteers for the militia. Still, he said he hopes to be able to lay down his weapons.
“There is no difference between the son of Sweida or Jaramana and those of Homs and Lattakia,” he said. “People are tired of war and bloodshed … weapons don’t bring modernism.”
___
Chehayeb reported from Beirut.
