Syria: Alawites between fear and hope after Assad’s fall

As the dust settles on Bashar al-Assad’s overthrow, his own religious sect faces an uncertain future in a changing Syria, writes the Libyan Express’s Middle East Analyst, Ahmed Keshada.

The morning after President Bashar al-Assad’s fall from power, an Alawite university student in Syria’s coastal city of Latakia watched as her social media feeds filled with messages of unity from Sunni friends – and death threats from others.

“I see comments saying ‘Your turn is coming and we will kill you’,” says the student, who asked not to be named for fear of reprisals. Her sister and brother-in-law have already fled the country.

Such is the precarious position of Syria’s Alawite minority – roughly 10 per cent of the population – in the wake of opposition forces’ dramatic capture of Damascus on 8 December.

The fall of the Assad family, themselves Alawites who ruled Syria for five decades, has left their co-religionists caught between hope for change and fear of retribution.

‘Not all of us supported Assad’

In the Assad family’s traditional strongholds along Syria’s Mediterranean coast, the dictator’s fall triggered scenes of celebration, with crowds toppling statues of his father Hafez in both Latakia and Tartus.

“Most of my Alawite friends don’t support the Assad family,” says the Latakia student. “They were stealing from us, literally all the country’s resources were going to them. They forced us to live in poverty, without electricity or water, whilst prices rose dramatically.”

But such expressions of relief are tempered by deep anxiety about what comes next. The opposition coalition now controlling Damascus is led by Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), an Islamist group with a complex history. Before splitting from Al-Qaeda in 2016, HTS – then known as Jabhat al-Nusra – carried out bloody attacks targeting Alawite communities.

A Heavy Price Already Paid

The Assad regime’s decades-long practice of elevating Alawites to key military and security positions has created a complicated legacy for the community.

“Alawites were very close to Bashar’s regime” and served as “regime protectors”, explains Fabrice Balanche, a French researcher specialising in Syrian politics. But this association came at a devastating cost – Balanche estimates that “one in every three Alawite men between 20 and 45 years old was killed during the war”.

Registration Centres Open Their Doors

In a sign of the transitional government’s attempts to stabilise the situation, registration centres have opened nationwide for former regime personnel to declare themselves and surrender weapons.

At one such centre in Latakia, hundreds queue daily in an orderly line stretching more than 200 metres. Inside, former soldiers and police officers hand over weapons ranging from pistols to rocket-propelled grenade launchers.

“We expect at least 10,000 people, maybe more – 20 or 30 thousand,” says Mohammed Mustafa, 26, who runs the centre. A former opposition fighter from Idlib wearing military fatigues and a black face mask, he explains: “We give them a three-month permit for protection, and time for investigation. Those who committed serious crimes will face the judiciary.”

Three Possible Futures

Analysts see three potential scenarios for Syria’s Alawite community: revenge, marginalisation, or reintegration into a new Syrian society.

David Adesnik, vice-president of research at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies in Washington, suggests HTS’s view of Assad’s sectarian identity will be crucial. “The key question is whether HTS considers Assad’s Alawite identity as the reason for his extreme brutality. If not, there’s little reason to blame the Alawite community and seek revenge.”

‘We’re All Human’

Among those queueing at the registration centre is Mohammed Fayoub, 37, a police officer who worked for a decade in Hama before recently returning to his coastal hometown. After surrendering his pistol and receiving a pink receipt, he expresses cautious optimism.

“They’re behaving well, trying to be polite,” he says of the new authorities. “I want to be ready when they call for me… we’re all human and all Syrians.”

Others share his desire to move forward. Ahmad Shamraj, 24, spent four years in the army after being conscripted at 20. Now he hopes to resume his interrupted English studies in Aleppo. “We were forced, there was a war,” he says. “It’s over. I think everything will be alright.”

But the situation remains fragile. The Syrian Observatory for Human Rights has documented violations by rebel factions in the coastal region since Assad’s fall. Alawite spiritual leaders have called for a general amnesty and guarantees for the safe return of displaced people.

A young Alawite man at the registration centre, speaking in hushed tones, perhaps best captures the community’s cautious hopes: “We’re tired of war. We want to live in a peaceful and civilised country. We need security, just security.”