Social media platforms—and some TV channels—buzzed with the announcement of a lecture by former Syrian officer Manaf Tlass, who defected from the Assad regime, to be delivered at Sciences Po in Paris, organized by the French–Lebanese Circle.
The venue is prestigious, with history, aura, and “prestige,” and the ticket price is five euros, money that goes to the organizers, not to Tlass, since entry is free for students. That’s why the announcement was surprising: first because of the venue, and second because Tlass has been absent from the public scene since his defection and arrival in France, working away from the spotlight.
It’s worth noting that the organizers previously hosted, in the very same venue, Syrian economist Samir Aita, General Cédric de Jardin, a former UNIFIL commander, and Joseph Sadi, the current Minister of Energy and Water in Nawaf Salam’s government.
With the fall of the regime—or more precisely, during its fall—speculation began about the role Manaf might play in a “new Syria.” Analyses, guesses, and conspiracy theories proliferated around his “reappearance,” which coincided with the recirculation of leaked photos from Assad’s personal album showing him vacationing with Bashar and Bassel al-Assad.
Manaf Tlass does not live secretly in Paris. Many people visit him and know the cafés he frequents; he is friends with a great many, both privately and openly. Each time, however, conversation about him, or with him, comes tinged with questions and a certain caution.
Manaf is the son of Mustafa Tlass, Hafez al-Assad’s defense minister, and the brother of Firas Tlass, a co-founder of the “Free Promise” current and a businessman accused of facilitating ISIS financing, wanted internationally. He shares the surname with Abdel-Razzaq Tlass, the defected officer from Rastan. More important than these family ties is that Manaf—commander of the Republican Guard—was a close friend of both Bassel and Bashar al-Assad. His sister is married to Akram Ajjeh, a well-known arms dealer.
Manaf Tlass is the scion of a family from the very core of the former Syrian regime. Journalist Sam Dagher describes his presence among artists and intellectuals in Damascus, in his 2019 book Assad or We Burn the Country, as: “He was charming and handsome, with a boyish look, casual clothes, broad shoulders, and hair flecked with gray… Manaf seemed more like a movie star than an army general.”
Today Manaf is gray-haired. The details of his life in Syria, the attempt on his life, his help to many officers in defecting, and his flight to Turkey and then France are all documented in Dagher’s book. The question before the lecture was: What does Manaf want now, after the regime’s fall, from his Parisian exile—especially with the men of his family surrounded by political suspicions, corruption charges, profiteering off the Assad system, and sex scandals following the leak of compromising videos of some relatives?
Manaf is now preparing to receive the “crowds” in his first public appearance since 2012. Those registered to attend received an email confirming that mobile phones, cameras, and recording devices are prohibited in the hall, and that all press activity is forbidden: no interviews, photos, recordings, or publication. When this message spread on social media it provoked mockery and debate about what would actually be said in the “lecture.” The “general” was causing controversy even before showing up—enough that the Syrian Observatory for Human Rights and the “Ta’akkad” platform intervened to debunk rumors.
En Route to Meet the General
I woke up on the day of the lecture, Saturday. I took out a white Pierre Cardin shirt and ironed it well, put on shiny black shoes and a black leather jacket—it looked like it might rain, and one can never trust Paris or its clouds—and headed to the Sciences Po. Paris looked the same, but the atmosphere felt charged—not because of Manaf, of course. The French capital had seen clashes under the slogan “Shut Down Paris!” in protest at Emmanuel Macron’s policies; it has become hard to count the uprisings against him.
In front of the school doors, an hour before the “lecture,” there was no unusual movement: there were two clearly Syrian men talking—or rather, an older gray-haired man giving a younger Syrian a lecture. They were the first to arrive. French students went in and out, then Syrians began to gather and line up to enter.
Caution prevailed. Some faces were familiar, others new—a broad spectrum of Syrian men and women waiting to go in: journalists, activists, the merely curious, students, former shabbiha (troublemakers) and new shabbiha, revolutionaries and watchers, content creators and jokers. One wore the eagle symbol of the new authorities as a lapel pin; others traded jokes about that very eagle. The alignments and little clusters were clear; everyone greeted everyone else. Above all, everyone had come for one reason: What will the general say?
People entered one by one, the organizers checking the list of registrants, as no entry is allowed without prior registration. On the sixth floor, where the lecture was held, the names were checked again. In the medium-sized auditorium, “Tlass’s men” appeared—the common expression for those close to, or “working with,” the Tlass family, whether with Firas in the past or with Manaf now.
The crowd spread across the rows such that rivals sat next to each other in wary proximity—wariness that later turned into laughter, whispers, and quick asides—until the general was announced. He took the stage, cheerful, waving to some he recognized in the audience and smiling at others, while the introduction was read.
Tlass spoke in Arabic, noting that the French translation would not be literal but rather condensed, something that caused confusion at times, especially when he spoke about “Ash‘ari Islam” and Sufism in answering a question on political Islam. Why, from among all the schools of ‘ilm al-kalām (Islamic theology), was that current chosen? Why not promote the Mu‘tazilites, or the Jahmiyya, or the Mushabbiha, or the Maturidiyya? This caution in handling and classifying the Syrian Sunni bloc may be an attempt to avoid confronting the thorny question of Islam and cultural Islam in Syria, and the role many clerics and religious organizations played in supporting Assad. Thus, the Ash‘ari choice is the safe one.
What Does the General Want?
The questions posed to Manaf were written in advance, and it was clear he had prepared talking points ahead of time, expanding on them as he went. Manaf’s vision is about the shape of the “state,” not power itself. He emphasized the need to move toward “the state” and for everyone to participate in it. This, he claimed, has been his goal since 2011. He stressed the importance of stripping the president of wide powers and transferring them to a “military council” to oversee the transitional phase. He mentioned this council repeatedly—without providing details—but described it as one that would include everyone’s “rifles”: the SDF, Suwayda, and those in the coastal region. He claimed to be in contact with 10,000 officers, a number that raised eyebrows, and highlighted a close relationship with the Kurds, calling them “the pulse.” But the question remains: Do we need rule by factions and military once again? And what guarantees does Tlass have to control “everyone’s” weapons?
He went on about the necessity of building a “secular army,” unlike the current one. He added that safety and justice would attract investment, saying that Syria is fertile ground for business. At this, some laughed. After all, the Tlass family, especially Firas, knows all too well how “fertile” Syria is for investment!
One person raised their voice, objecting to Manaf referring to Ahmad al-Sharaa as Syria’s president. But Manaf did not present himself as an “opponent” of Sharaa’s government. He indicated openness to cooperating with the new authorities in Damascus as a “military leader” to rebuild the army and “unify the rifle” on a national basis, a phrase he repeated several times. He implied that the army, whether under Assad or now, has been beholden to external agendas. He claimed he had tried to “preserve the Syrian army” and keep it out of the conflict, but failed.
Manaf’s speech carried a Baathist, pan-Arab tone, waxing on about Syria’s depth in history, that Syria is a “logic of life,” and that no one thinks in sectarian terms there. He insisted he had “refused to take up arms” against the Syrian people—then and now. He praised Louay Hussein’s experience as founder of the “Building the State” current, though, he said, Hussein had no peers and limited power. There was also an unmistakable self-importance that Manaf could not conceal—he is, after all, the general who never fought a war.
It was evident that Tlass is seeking a role in the “new Syria,” sensing a “historic opening” that all Syrians must seize to recover Syria and overcome international contradictions. He insisted Syria needs “justice, not committees,” and emphasized the importance of UN Resolution 2245 and the necessity of a military council. When asked about a constitution, he answered, “Napoleon said the constitution is just a scrap of paper, and it changes.”
On peace or normalization with Israel, Tlass was diplomatic, saying that such decisions are sovereign. He pointed to Israel’s repeated bombings.
A stir arose in the hall when the topic of Lebanese–Syrian relations came up. They were summed up simply as “Syria’s occupation of Lebanon” and the release of Lebanese detainees from Syrian prisons. I shouted: And what about Hezbollah?
Manaf replied: “The question is incomplete,” and said nothing further. Yet the striking part was his statement: “Syria is expandable!” Many laughed, and jokes flew about Lebanon as Syria’s fifteenth governorate, along with mock calls to annex Tripoli to Syria or hand over Sheikh Ahmad al-Assir from Roumieh prison to Syria as one of the “prisoners of the Syrian revolution.”
One of the most pressing questions concerned Manaf Tlass’s whereabouts and role during the fall of the regime. He replied that he was in Turkey at the time, insisting the decision to topple the regime was made by Turkey, fearful of the SDF and possible separatism. About his own role, he said, “Not all truths are spoken,” and claimed he was “not seeking power.” I asked him about well-known Syrians like Khaled al-Ahmad, said to have played roles in coordinating between the regime and opposition figures. Tlass dismissed this: “That’s all Facebook talk.”
In truth, it remains unclear what Manaf Tlass wanted from this event. Perhaps a podcast format would have reached a wider audience than a closed lecture attended by no major Syrian or French political figures. It was uncertain who exactly the “general” was addressing, given the Syrian attendees’ widely varied stances; some believed in his authority, others mocked him or were curious. It felt more like a “screen test,” before a sharply divided Syrian audience, at times openly hostile, with shouting, provocations, criticism of the organizers for controlling the microphone access, and some simply ignoring the rules to ask questions directly.
Manaf Tlass, who claims to work in the shadows, seemed to be looking for an audience. Yes, he helped many defect and contributed to saving lives at the start of the revolution, by many accounts. But today, according to prevailing opinion, he has no real weight on the ground: no faction, no loyalty.
His “Sunni identity” did not save him, and his family’s history and the benefits they reaped cannot be overlooked by many Syrians. Yet this also reflects the dire poverty of the current “opposition” to the regime in Damascus. The revolution has drained allegiances, foreign funding, and credible figures. Stories about the Syrian revolution and its shifts are numerous. No one can deny any Syrian the right to political action, but there are no strong rivals to Sharaa now. Tlass’s appearance carried more weight than it deserved, especially since he has not been entirely absent. A quick Facebook search of his name reveals a carnival of Syrian mockery.
But of Course, There Had to Be a Brawl!
I had avoided coffee before and during the conference, fearful of staining my white shirt—it wouldn’t be right to show up with a blotch before “the general with 10,000 officers,” the man of “historic openings” waiting for his chance to visit Syria, a country he left but still longs to return to.
We left the hall and gathered on the sidewalk, talking, joking, and speculating. Some had missed the lecture because they were late. Among them was a well-known figure, at least in Syrian circles in Paris: one of the infamous troublemakers who had assaulted Syrian protesters before the fall of the regime, organized pro-Assad rallies, and, after the fall, anti-Ahmad al-Sharaa rallies.
Suddenly, as people mingled, some avoiding old adversaries, shouts erupted. Insults were hurled at this man (I joined in), repeating the question: “Why are you here, you shabbih?” A fistfight broke out. Some of those present had been beaten by him in earlier protests. It was brief but bloody—he struck someone until they bled. Some rushed to break it up, others stood watching closely. The fighters soon disappeared, leaving us to share jokes and recount the clash for those who had missed it. The evening ended with a bloodstain on my white shirt, source unknown.
