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Syria’s Alawites: From Serving Assad to Becoming Orphans of the New State

Published on 09.01.2025
Reading time: 14 minutes

One might argue that the Alawites have no choice but to cling to the Syrian state and were perhaps more invested in the nascent Syrian entity than other communities. This is not necessarily due to individual preferences but rather to circumstantial realities. These realities suggest that most Syrian groups have cross-border extensions beyond the Syrian state, unlike the Alawites, who lack such extensions either in their collective imagination or in their symbolic heritage.


Despite the extensive writing about the Alawites and attempts to understand their relationship with the Assad regime, there have been fewer efforts to examine their relationship with Syria itself. Common clichés in this regard, often accusatory, reference a petition signed by Alawite notables requesting France to maintain its mandate over Syria. This petition became infamous due to claims that Bashar al-Assad’s grandfather signed it, even though it is well-known that the family did not belong to the notable class. It is likely that someone else signed the statement, with confusion arising from similarities in names.

Another cliché, from the same critical perspective, involves the “Army of the East” created during the French mandate, which relied on minorities and later became the official Syrian army. According to this narrative, France booby-trapped the nascent Syrian state with a military alliance of minorities, which eventually led to the Ba’ath coup and then the absolute domination of the Alawites under Assad. This narrative, which seems to complete the first, says little about the 1950s—a period treated as a mere temporal gap—and reinforces the notion that the Alawites are inherently opposed to the Syrian state, from rejecting independence from France to dominating it under Assad.

Contrary to this simplistic view, one might argue that the Alawites have no choice but to cling to the Syrian state and were perhaps more invested in the nascent Syrian entity than other communities. This is not necessarily due to individual preferences but rather to circumstantial realities. These realities suggest that most Syrian groups have cross-border extensions beyond the Syrian state, unlike the Alawites, who lack such extensions either in their collective imagination or in their symbolic heritage.

The Arab Sunni community, for instance, is not only the overwhelming majority in Syria but also has a broad geographic expanse that extends across Sunni Arab regions, providing it with a sense of local majority security.

In contrast, the second half of the 19th century saw significant European intervention in the Levant to protect Christian sects in light of the sectarian conflicts and massacres of the time. Without oversimplifying, this afforded Christian communities reassurance through the backing of a powerful West, reinforced by religious affinity. This dual affiliation with both East and West finds an explicit symbolic heritage in Lebanese, especially Christian, literature.

Although the Kurds were late in forming political organizations, it is fair to say that they are generally dissatisfied with the regional division that led to the creation of the Syrian state. Their dissatisfaction stems from the international division that neglected to establish a Kurdish state, leaving the Kurds dispersed across four countries in the region. For Syrian Kurds, there has always been a sense of being outside the Syrian state’s boundaries, with early influences from Iraqi Kurdish movements like the Barzani Revolution and later connections with Turkish Kurds through the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK).

Similarly, the Druze have an external connection extending beyond Syria into Lebanon and Palestine. Syrian Druze gained significant symbolic recognition when Sultan Pasha al-Atrash was named the General Commander of the Great Syrian Revolution, giving them a sense of national prominence. Additionally, the Druze have been granted legal recognition as a distinct sect through personal status laws, which are critical for maintaining their relatively small community.

In contrast, the Alawites lack an external depth similar to other Syrian communities, apart from a segment of the population in the Hatay region (Iskenderun), which was ceded to Turkey in 1939. However, the Alawite presence in Turkey does not constitute a meaningful depth due to religious and linguistic differences, as well as the Alawites’ historical grievances against the Ottoman state, which makes them entirely distant from any “Turkish embrace.”

One profound indicator that Syria represents both the realistic and symbolic depth of the Alawites is their historically low levels of migration. This cannot simply be attributed to their political power since the 1960s, as it applies even to the impoverished among them who did not migrate for economic reasons, unlike other Syrians in similar circumstances. Today, one of the hopes for the Syrian homeland is to ensure that the Alawites do not feel that their Syrian depth is under threat, forcing them to seek an alternative external depth. This is not exclusive to the Alawites but extends to all Syrian communities, which are expected to find their depth and dispel their anxieties within a state of equal citizenship.

The Cult of Assad

Three days after Assad’s fall, the BBC conducted an interview with Hafiz Mundhir al-Assad, the grandson of Jamil al-Assad, Hafiz al-Assad’s brother. Hafiz the younger, described by the BBC as the ruler of Latakia, stands accused of numerous crimes, including involvement in the captagon trade—allegations he denies. He also denies any role in violence against dissidents or participation in captagon manufacturing and trafficking.

What stands out in this context, however, is his invocation of “the state” to justify the few acts he admits to. While his use of the term is an attempt to manipulate and shield himself behind it, its frequent recurrence warrants attention to what the state represents in the collective imagination of his community.

“We are not guilty; we were operating under the umbrella of the state,” Hafiz al-Assad says, adding that he is prepared to face justice and engage in dialogue, provided there is a “legitimate state.” He cites Rami Makhlouf as an example, asserting that the challenges faced by his family were far greater than those faced by outsiders. Hafiz goes on to claim that his military role was limited to recruiting individuals and sending them to security branches like Military Intelligence or the Fourth Division, insisting that these activities were conducted under the aegis of the state and at its request.

He sees no contradiction between these actions and his claim: “I’m just like anyone else; I didn’t get involved in politics or religion, and I have no knowledge about detainees.” Regarding accusations of using violence against protesters, he denies them entirely, stating: “Not true. I was merely a businessman and a financier under the state’s framework and had no military or security position!”

From his statements, it becomes clear that Hafiz separates his actions from personal responsibility, framing them as state-mandated. In this narrative, the state appears as an omnipotent specter, unbound by levels of authority or accountability. It is an idol to be worshiped, obeyed unquestioningly, without scrutiny of its essence or the nature of servitude to it.

Shockingly, Hafiz’s rhetoric does not merely conceal lies but draws upon a symbolic collective heritage. The Ottoman state looms large as a historic specter—perceived as one that killed based on identity and geographically, politically, and economically excluded the Alawite community. Hafiz al-Assad’s seizure of power did little to alter this perception, even among those who gained a share of power or developed an illusion of possessing it.

It is commonly noted that in the early days of his coup, Assad courted the remnants of the Sunni urban bourgeoisie. However, this honeymoon period ended at the latest in 1976, with the deployment of his forces to Lebanon. This move, which followed the popularity he gained after the 1973 October War, allowed him to begin solidifying his state. Once again, the idol of the state was required, as was the creation of its servants. Not coincidentally, the same year marked the rise of Rifaat al-Assad, with deliberate sectarian undertones and an excessive display of force through his leadership of the “Defense Brigades” militia and his status as the president’s brother.

It can be argued that the beast created by Assad aligns with the Alawite collective imagination of the Ottoman era, marked by displacement, the killing of males, and the gutting of pregnant women. Regardless of the historical accuracy of these accounts, this alignment reinforces the notion of the “state as a beast.” This does not make Assad’s beast a revenge tool against the past but rather strengthens the belief that the state has always been, and will always be, a monstrous entity. Within this logic, it becomes preferable to control the beast rather than fall victim to it, or to develop an illusion of control as an alternative to fearing it.

Hafiz al-Assad himself would become the iconic embodiment of the state beast—both metaphorically and literally. Through his state’s brutal displays, from arrests and torture to smaller massacres culminating in the Hama massacre, his statues began to invade every corner of Syria. Municipalities, large and small, were compelled to place his likeness at major entrances and central squares.

These statues, replicated across the country, symbolized the mythical entity of the state, towering above its “subjects,” revered for its elevated stature. Servitude to Assad was not sustained by force alone. A slave’s loyalty is secured through violence when necessary and by preserving their survival and loyalty when violence is unnecessary. Hafiz drew inspiration from ready-made models, from the Soviet archetype to North Korea and Ceaușescu’s Romania.

It is impossible to discuss servitude to Assad without acknowledging servitude to the state he established—a state not merely defined by intelligence agencies and the military, or even party organizations and their civilian auxiliaries. The Assad state represents a model initiated with the Ba’ath coup, marked by adopting a socialist framework, issuing nationalization decrees, and implementing land reforms. This intensified in the 1970s with the expansion of the public sector, encompassing bureaucracy, public service companies, and certain industries, including previously nationalized ones.

This phenomenon cannot be classified as “state capitalism,” often used to describe other nations’ public sector experiments. The Assad state did not establish notable industries; its dominant characteristic was a dysfunctional public sector, sustained by a bloated workforce reliant on a rentier economy. A portion of this rent was provided by Gulf aid, which ceased only briefly, while another portion depended on public resources. Tax collection held little importance since private economic activity was not officially recognized.

The Assad regime inherited vocational training institutes from its predecessors, but they became functionally obsolete as the economy moved away from capitalist production. Similarly, vocational high schools, established during Assad’s tenure, failed to prepare skilled labor for the job market. Ultimately, the majority of Syrians found employment within the “state,” often in what amounted to disguised unemployment, with incomes steadily declining. Their situation could best be described as servitude to the state.

This dynamic particularly affected rural populations, a significant proportion of whom joined the public sector after receiving inadequate education through deteriorating government schools. Urban populations, by contrast, placed less value on public-sector jobs, instead prioritizing crafts and industries with long-standing traditions.

What applies to rural Syria in general also applies to the Alawites, with the notable distinction that the percentage of rural inhabitants among them is higher compared to other Syrian communities. This reality is compounded by the fact that cities historically served as centers of power, often closely aligned with religious authority. Thus, the concept of servitude to the Assad state, which broadly characterizes Syrian communities, is even more pronounced among the Alawites.

The Alawites have suffered disproportionately under the Assad regime’s economic model, as it replaced more promising pathways—such as state investment in skill development, support for crafts, and empowerment of small-scale projects—with a system of dependence and servitude.

As an expression of the weight of what has transpired over decades, many on social media mocked the idea of Alawites demanding—or even questioning—payment of their salaries after Assad’s fall. The irony, which appears quite logical to some, lies in the fact that some of these individuals were employed within structures complicit in the killing of Syrians during the revolution. According to this view, such individuals should be seeking amnesty or forgiveness rather than salaries. However, this reasoning is countered by another perspective, equally valid: these individuals have a legitimate right to their salaries unless they are formally detained or convicted of a crime. For many, detention might even be seen as a mercy for their families, as it would at least ensure that the state provides basic sustenance for their children, rather than leaving them free but without any income to survive.

Although Hafez al-Assad faced early opposition from within the Alawite community, the convergence of servitude to his regime with the image of the state as a monstrous entity (or idol) made the idea of opposing the state almost inconceivable on a broad scale. This was especially evident when contrasted with urban, predominantly Sunni circles, which were generally more detached from the state’s economic grip. Among the wealthy in those circles, the focus was often on taming the “monster” rather than submitting to it.

For large segments of society, particularly those entrenched in the Assad regime’s version of the state, opposition was not only discouraged but also culturally stigmatized. Many accepted the brutal nature of the Assad state as a natural characteristic of governance, embracing their subservience as an unchangeable aspect of reality.

In one incident, Alawites compiled lists of “traitors” among their community after the revolution. This act of defamation left those named vulnerable to attack by regime loyalists. When one such “traitor” confronted a nurse involved in compiling the list, she expressed genuine astonishment upon meeting him, exclaiming, “You’re the dissident A.H. in person?” He wryly replied, “How about we take a photo together to commemorate the moment?”

The Alawites and the New Syrian State

With Assad’s fall, the trajectory of Syria and the nascent Syrian state remains uncertain after more than half a century under Assad’s rule. What is clear, however, is that all potential paths are fraught with challenges, laden with sectarian divisions and the deep rifts left in the wake of the 2011 revolution. The immediate focus will likely be on fostering national reconciliation in the most direct sense of the term, as any breakdown in control could lead to chaos that would be both difficult to manage and costly in the short and long term.

If widespread chaos can be avoided, Syria will likely see the emergence of a completely new state. The early days following Assad’s fall already revealed a forced rupture between the Alawites and the regime, a separation unlikely to revert to its previous form. However, there is a looming fear that this rupture might not remain peaceful. Assad’s militias, facing potential prosecution for their crimes, and factions hungry for vengeance on the other side create the risk of a wave of violence.

In the worst-case scenario—one of vengeance—the new state could take on the role of the monstrous state described earlier. This would undoubtedly deepen the Alawite community’s estrangement from Syria as a whole, even as the country remains their only viable homeland with no external ties or depth beyond its borders. Even in the absence of overt violence, marginalization and soft exclusion could yield similar outcomes, albeit without replicating the historic Alawite retreat to mountain strongholds after the Ottoman conquest.

If the specter of the monstrous state does not re-emerge, it becomes crucial to address the legacy of servitude to Assad’s regime and how the new state will navigate this issue. It is certain that the new Syrian state, regardless of who governs it, will not replicate the public-sector system that symbolized the old servitude. That era has passed, as even the “best” examples of such models have become outdated globally. Moreover, the current global trend favors reducing the social role of the state in all its forms.

The transition away from a public-sector-driven economy has not been easy in any known example, even in countries far less devastated than Syria, which will require hundreds of billions of dollars for reconstruction. This shift will have a disproportionate impact on the Alawite community, given the state of Syrian regions post-revolution and war. In Idlib, governed by Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham, the public sector as it once existed is gone. The same applies to northern areas under Turkish influence and even the Kurdish self-administration zones, despite their reliance on oil revenue.

In the areas Assad controlled prior to his fall, it is likely that public-sector employment was less prevalent among urban populations in Aleppo and Damascus than among Alawites. This stems from the cities’ historical inclination toward independent trades and crafts and the earlier flight of significant industrial capital. Consequently, a significant proportion of those orphaned by the state’s economic transition will likely belong to the Alawite community, potentially introducing an unintended sectarian dimension to the process.

The shift from a public-sector economy will also coincide with a surge in economic activity due to reconstruction, potentially leading to significant economic growth. However, this growth will likely be accompanied by inflation, disproportionately affecting the poorest and most vulnerable groups. For those who depended on the state, this transition will be particularly harsh. The new state will be expected to provide social safety nets for these individuals, akin to how even aggressive capitalist systems respond during crises, rather than adopting the more robust social safety roles seen in other forms of capitalism.

This transition represents a costly challenge that affects not just the Alawites but also other communities. A best-case scenario would involve the state working on two fronts: retraining its workforce for integration into both public and private sectors and offering adequate pensions for those rendered redundant or forced into early retirement. Given Syria’s dire economic situation, the government must present this issue to international donors, as it surpasses its domestic capabilities and requires financial and technical assistance from nations with successful labor market retraining programs.

For the transition to occur with minimal hardship and cost to the country as a whole, the state must provide social support to its citizens during this period of “weaning.” If managed well, this transition could also liberate the Alawites from their dependency on the state, rather than “liberating” the state from them, as some sectarian revanchists suggest. More broadly, this would free millions of Syrians from economic dependence on the regime, breaking their servitude to it. Politically, such a shift would have profound long-term effects, as economic independence would enable citizens to engage more freely with the state and play an active role in taming the monstrous state that will not disappear overnight.

Finally, it is worth noting that the term “community” has been used here as a technical necessity and does not imply the homogeneity of any Syrian group. We have avoided using the term “sect” except when referring to groups that define themselves as such, often based solely on distinctive personal status laws.