On the international highway leading to Jordan, about 35 kilometers south of Damascus, lies the small town of Mankat al-Hatab in Daraa province. In recent years, the town has been known for a massive military checkpoint established by Assad’s forces, separating northern Daraa’s countryside from the southern suburbs and neighborhoods of Damascus. This checkpoint resembled a miniature military base, remnants of which are still visible today. Around twenty abandoned tanks, armored vehicles, and personnel carriers are scattered haphazardly in the area, along with sand barriers rising several meters, military equipment, barrels, concrete blocks, and prefabricated rooms once used as makeshift prisons or interrogation and torture sites
“This checkpoint used to separate two worlds,” says the young man sitting next to me in the minibus. A native of the town of Al-Yadoudeh, he describes crossing it as a “nightmare.”
Even today, this former military point remains a symbolic divider between Damascus and Daraa, at least visually. As one moves deeper into Daraa province, sprawling wheat and olive fields dominate both sides of the road, marking the expanse of Hauran’s fertile plains. However, in a striking paradox, the presence of the Syrian revolution’s flag diminishes. Despite Daraa’s early support for the revolution and widespread adoption of the flag, its residents seem to feel no need to make statements or announce a new reality after Assad’s fall. Meanwhile, the “green flag,” as Syrians often call it, has become omnipresent in Damascus.
“Entering” Daraa
As the minibus approached the entrance to Daraa, a simple military checkpoint instructed the passengers to separate by gender, with women sitting in the front and men moving to the back seats. A gunman claimed this was a directive from Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), although no such order had been enforced when the bus left the capital and passed through HTS’s military checkpoint.
Quiet objections from the passengers failed to prevent the absurd demand from being carried out, as the journey was nearing its end. A veiled young mother voiced her frustration, wondering whether the future would bring similar orders or stricter enforcements. A man in his thirties asked if traveling with his wife in the future would mean sitting in separate seats.
Interestingly, this policy is not applied in Damascus, a city with greater religious diversity and more media and activist surveillance than peripheral areas.
Damascus and Daraa: Maps of Destruction
The most striking visual difference between the two cities lies in the massive destruction of some central neighborhoods and markets in Daraa. While central Damascus escaped artillery shelling and airstrikes, large areas of Daraa’s main market, as well as the neighborhoods of Tariq al-Sad and the refugee camp, remain in ruins, uninhabitable, and devoid of services. This is also true for parts of Daraa al-Balad, especially the Manshiya neighborhood. Meanwhile, signs of destruction in Damascus are confined to some informal settlements around the city and its neighboring countryside, leaving the city center largely untouched.
Despite this, living conditions in Daraa appear relatively better than in Damascus. This may be attributed to stronger social cohesion in the southern province, the resilience of its vast agricultural sector, and the significant number of its expatriates and exiles living in the Gulf and Western countries. These individuals regularly send financial and other forms of support to their families back in Syria. However, this does not mean the absence of poverty, suffering, or improved basic services.
A less visible but significant contradiction between the capital and the southern province lies in the status of active factions and military groups in Daraa. These factions have not yet come under the control of HTS, which dominates decision-making in Damascus. The strength of the “Fifth Corps,” led by Ahmed al-Awda, and the presence of local factions could pose a challenge to HTS if it seeks to absorb Daraa’s military forces.
Although the security situation has improved compared to the period before Assad’s fall—when Hauran witnessed daily assassinations and kidnappings that affected hundreds—the risks of traveling outside the province, venturing into remote areas, and the possibility of kidnappings have not disappeared entirely.
From Al-Rasoul Al-Azam to Omar Al-Farouq
While Shiite places of worship in Damascus have not seen significant incidents since Bashar al-Assad’s escape, the main mosque of the Shiite sect in Daraa has been renamed in an apparent act of retaliation. Formerly known as “Al-Rasoul Al-Azam” (The Greatest Messenger) Mosque, it is now called “Omar Al-Farouq” Mosque. However, a marble plaque at the mosque’s entrance still bears the original name, noting that it was built under the guidance and support of the late Lebanese cleric Mohammad Hussein Fadlallah.
A lawyer residing in the same neighborhood believes this change is temporary and merely a “rash reaction.” He adds that the mosque’s construction was widely perceived in the province as part of Iranian influence expansion under Assad’s direct supervision and support, rather than the “natural demographic growth” of the small Shiite minority in the city. The lawyer hopes the mosque will revert to its original name once “things settle down and emotions calm.”
From Revolution Square to March 18 Square
At the Martyrs’ Square facing the governor’s palace, where massive protests erupted at the start of the revolution in 2011, a large banner now declares the site’s new name: “March 18 Square.” While there is a general Syrian consensus that Daraa is the birthplace of the revolution, a significant divide remains over its exact start date. Residents of the southern province consider the revolution to have begun with the first demonstration in Daraa al-Balad on March 18, 2011, which sparked a series of events leading to nationwide protests. However, other Syrians, particularly activists from Damascus and its surroundings, argue that the revolution started with a small protest in Damascus’s Old City three days earlier.
The adoption of March 15 as the official date of the revolution by major media institutions has led to widespread disappointment, resentment, and a sense of injustice among Hauran’s residents.