The false saviour

On 29 March, I sat in my small flat, where there is no room for me, let alone for my thoughts, and followed the ceremony of the formation of the new Syrian transitional government under the leadership of Ahmed al-Sharaa on social media. I didn't have the opportunity to watch the whole thing on television because there are constant power cuts in our neighbourhood.

What I saw seemed strangely familiar. It was hardly any different from the political rituals we Syrians have known for decades: forced smiles, hackneyed slogans, pre-programmed applause. What was being performed here was supposed to be a new beginning, but it reminded me of the dark era that had just passed, a time I would really like to forget. 

The leading actor in this political theatre was Ahmed al-Sharaa, a man who until recently had been on international terror lists and was now suddenly deemed to be a guardian of security and order. Before appearing here today as part of the theatre of new Syria, he had fought jihad, holy war, in Iraq under his nom de guerre Abu Muhammad al-Jolani and under the banner of Al-Qaeda. 

After the outbreak of the Syrian revolution, he returned to his homeland to rebuild Syria according to his ideas with the Al-Nusra Front, later renamed Hay'at Tahrir al-Sham. The terrorist became a statesman. The metamorphosis from militia leader al-Jolani to President al-Sharaa was complete.

The formation of the government, which I had expected to be a political turning point, took place without any public debate or any democratically legitimised election. It was simply announced, implemented and cheered. A new authority took the place of the old one. It now communicates its decisions in a very progressive manner, via the Telegram messenger app. What shocked me most personally was the reaction of the public, who glorified the new president and celebrated him as a saviour. 

This is an old pattern in Syria. Political leaders here are almost always portrayed as messengers of fate, not as competent or trustworthy. A collective, emotional affect plays a role here, which in our society, characterised by repression, lack of alternatives and fear of the unknown, stems from psychological distress.

This is a long-standing pattern in Syria. Political leaders are rarely seen as competent or trustworthy, but rather as messengers of fate. The collective emotional response to them—in a society shaped by repression, the absence of alternatives and fear of the unknown—stems from deep psychological distress.

The enthusiasm for al-Sharaa can be understood as an expression of what I call "president issues": the deep-seated need for stability in a traumatised society. But this is precisely what repeatedly leads to completely unsuitable people coming to power, figures who seem to be the lesser evil in a political and moral vacuum. 

This frenzy, amplified by digital media, is of course not an exclusively Arab phenomenon. Donald Trump's rise to power was largely fuelled by his appearances on social media, first on Twitter, then on his own platform Truth Social. He, too, was increasingly celebrated by his supporters not only as a strong leader, but also as a national saviour. His controversial career was almost entirely overlooked.

It seems that social media favours the rise of people who disruptively undermine political and moral standards. In Al-Sharaa's case, however, these shortcomings are arguably even more serious than in Trump's. 

In 2013, massacres took place in the Syrian coastal region of Latakia. Armed opposition groups attacked Alawite villages and murdered numerous people, including many women and children. According to observers such as Human Rights Watch, Al-Nusra was directly involved, and the current president was the militia's absolute leader at the time.

He also repeatedly ordered attacks on villages belonging to the Druze community. In one such attack in Suwayda in 2018, an estimated 250 people were killed. Abu Muhammad al-Jolani, or al-Sharaa, was also at least indirectly responsible for this. 

The fact that these atrocities are hardly ever discussed in public discourse today cannot be solely explained by fear of repression. According to functionalist theory, which was founded and further developed by sociologists Émile Durkheim and Talcott Parsons, collective silence can be interpreted as a reaction by a society in crisis.

Protest is perceived as a threat to stability and social equilibrium. This does not necessarily mean that a society truly supports the actions of those in power. The fear of renewed chaos alone weighs more heavily. Sociologist Pierre Bourdieu, on the other hand, speaks of so-called symbolic violence, which is not exercised by the police or the military, but is subtle, invisible and often goes unnoticed—for example, via generally accepted language rules, social norms or cultural codes.

The oppressed submit themselves, as it were, to an authority that is perceived as a guarantor of security and stability. In this context, it can already be perceived as a violation of the social consensus when someone demands accountability from those in power or asks about the victims of their policies. In this theoretical sense, the Syrian reality can be explained as a kind of cycle or constant reproduction of oppression and subjugation. 

The phenomenon referred to here as "president issues" is similar to that of "daddy issues", i.e. a so-called father complex. The deep-rooted longing for security and fair politics leads many Syrians to idealise authoritarian figures, overlook their mistakes and give them unconditional loyalty, even though their promises are empty and their leadership style is immoral. There is an increased risk of another dictator when people take the line: "Whoever liberates us gets to decide."

After the government was formed, this feeling was confirmed by what I saw on social media feeds. There was a mix of applause, cheering and digital fanaticism, with a lack of critical reflection, let alone public dissent. It seemed to me that people were politically, socially and economically overwhelmed and exhausted. Among parts of the Sunni Islamic population in particular, Ahmed al-Sharaa's rise was celebrated as "Sunni salvation" after years of political and social marginalisation. 

A feeling of sectarian superiority is now fuelling a new generation of "Shabiha" militias, a gang of violent thugs who use social media to employ the same brutal methods as the old regime, which is why the revolution began in the first place. Their methods are hardly any different from Assad's: slander, intimidation, incitement. 

Anyone who criticises the increasing Islamisation of state institutions or demands justice as a prerequisite for social peace is immediately defamed as an enemy of the revolution or a remnant of the regime. Such voices jeopardise the idealised image of the new saviour.

This supposed salvation was and is an illusion, and therein lies the real tragedy. The problem in Syria was never the ruler's religious denomination, but a lack of justice and equality. Al-Sharaa actively contributes to deepening social division by promoting polarisation without offering a genuine vision for an inclusive national project or improving the standard of living for Syrians. 

But it is not only influencers on social media who promote this narrative of division. Larger media outlets in the country also contribute to exacerbating the collective psychosis. They support the new incarnation of Abu Muhammad al-Jolani with emotional video series. Here are just a few examples of titles: "One Hundred Characteristics of Sharaa", "Sharaa Behind the Scenes" and "Why Women Love Sharaa."

Such contributions complete the miraculous metamorphosis of the militia leader into a heroic saviour. They have created a dangerous fascination for an extremely violent man who can now present himself as a leader close to the people.

In Syria, where the sadistic Assad regime has caused national trauma, there is now something akin to a political "Stockholm syndrome", or "Damascus syndrome": emotional identification with the new regime and its leader is unconditional.

History is repeating itself, this time as farce. If we do not recognise this soon, and if we continue to regard any fundamental rights promised to us as the gracious gifts of a paternal leader, then we ourselves will produce a new tyrant. He will hardly be any less brutal than the previous one.

I, too, was not immune to the promise of order and stability. I cannot deny that I allowed myself to be blinded for a few days, simply because words like "freedom of the press", "reconstruction" and "rule of law" were being bandied about. 

But now I know that until such terms are truly filled with meaning, I must continue to write under a pseudonym while struggling with the last gasp of electricity in my small flat. I persevere in the hope that we, who are collectively mentally ill, will one day recover and be truly free.

This text is an edited version of the Arabic original. Translated from German by Jess Smee.

This text appears in a joint edition of Qantara and Kulturaustausch magazine. Find more stories, interviews and analyses in our Syria focus section.