Alawites fear being blamed for Assad's crimes because they were both oppressed by his regime and unfairly associated with it due to his Alawite background. They worry about retaliation from other Syrians despite being victims themselves.
Alawites faced poverty, lack of jobs, and forced military conscription. The regime burned their agriculture and forests, forcing them into the army while denying them basic resources.
The civil war pitted the Sunni Arab majority against Alawites and other minorities, exacerbating sectarian tensions. Alawites, despite being a poor community, were seen as dominating the military and intelligence sectors.
Many Alawites evaded military service to avoid fighting against fellow Syrians and risking their lives on the front lines for minimal pay. Conscription also disrupted their education and future prospects.
Sectarian tensions have seeped into everyday disputes, such as plumbing issues between neighbors. Alawites often hide their identity at checkpoints to avoid potential harm.
Alawites have removed banners and signs associated with Assad's government and the military, including tributes to fallen soldiers, to avoid drawing attention or reprisals from new authorities.
Alawites fear being targeted for retaliation despite promises of amnesty. Online threats and past bombings of their neighborhoods by extremists have heightened their anxiety about their safety and future.
Alawites are skeptical of the call for amnesty, viewing it as insincere. They believe that promises of protection and pardon are empty, given the ongoing threats and historical animosities.
Today on State of the World, will sectarian groups get along in a new Syria?
You're listening to State of the World from NPR, the day's most vital international stories up close where they're happening. It's Monday, December 16th. I'm Greg Dixon. Syria is made up of a variety of groups or sects within the country. As NPR's Leila Fadl tells us from Damascus, one minority sect feels they were both treated poorly under the now-deposed regime of Bashar al-Assad and also unfairly tied to his legacy.
Syrian dictator Bashar al-Assad was cruel to those he leaned on the most for support.
That's evident as soon as you pull into the Meza 86 neighborhood in the shadow of Esed's palace. Cinderblock homes, unfinished. There are no roofs on some of the homes. And the people in the area say, they say about us that we got rich from the Esed regime. They say about us that we were with him. Look at our situation. We're the poorest. It's a largely Alawite neighborhood, the religious sect of the Esed family. And many here have someone who served in the military, but also who fought with the rebels.
Now, with Assad gone, they fear that they'll be blamed for the crimes he and his top loyalists committed against Syrians, even though they say they were victims of the same oppressions. As soon as I start to ask questions, a crowd gathers around me. Ibrahim Issa emerges to explain why so many Alawites stay in military service. You're poor, you're hungry.
The regime would make us poor. They wouldn't give us food or drink or jobs. They would make us poor by burning our agriculture, our forests, so we wouldn't work in agriculture, forcing us into the army.
When Syria's peaceful uprising began in 2011, it was met with violence from the regime and turned into a civil war that pitted the country's sects against each other. The Sunni Arab majority against the Alawites and other minorities. Alawites are an offshoot of Shia Islam that make up about 10% of the country but dominate the military's top ranks and intelligence. But those elite are a tiny sliver of this largely poor community.
Today, Issa is excited. His blue eyes twinkling and his face lit up with what seems like an incurable smile. With Esad gone, the 27-year-old can finally leave his neighborhood. He was evading mandatory military service. If Esad was still in power, could you be in the street right now? I can't go down there.
He can stay in his neighborhood, but he can't go there. If there's an army car, they would take me, so I wouldn't go down there to the street. He points to the end of the road, a couple blocks from where we stand. We walk down the road to open his family's perfume shop for the day as we continue the conversation. He didn't want to serve in the army because he didn't want to fight against other Syrians.
but also because conscripts were forced to risk their lives on the front lines while being paid next to nothing. If I went to the army, my education wouldn't be enough for me.
If I went to the army, I can't study, and you'll spend eight years getting $17,000 per month, which is the price of these two coffee packets. It's about a dollar on this day. He uses those packets to make us coffee. La'eh Ahmed, a local taxi driver, walks in to join the conversation. Have the rebels come here to talk to the people? No, no. They come here every day.
So they came here, and anybody who's a soldier, they took their military ID and told them, you're a civilian now, and they took away the weapons, and they were very polite. They didn't harm anyone. But Ahmed's starting to sense a shift, even among the people closest to him. His fiancée is Sunni, and before Assad fled, her family all loved him. Now, with Assad gone, some of the uncles have turned. Exactly. They don't want Alawis in their family.
Ghazi Mohammed swings by with a stack of fresh bread. Outside of the neighborhood, of this neighborhood, are you all afraid to say that you're Alawi or it feels safe? No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
They lie at checkpoints and tell rebel soldiers they're Sunni and from Sunni areas just in case. The three men offer to take us around the neighborhood. A woman in a hot pink nightgown and slippers walks up. She's been arguing with the Sunni neighbors because the pipes have been leaking for months into her home. She takes us inside to show us.
We're talking to our neighbors to fix their pipes. They're not agreeing to. They're coming out of the window and saying, where are the Alawis? The sectarianism is seeping into regular neighborhood disputes.
When I ask her name, she asks if I think Abu Muhammad al-Jolani, Syria's new leader who now goes by his real name, Ahmed al-Shar'a, will hurt her for what she's saying. That's the level of fear right now among Alawites, even as Hayat al-Shar'ir al-Sham, or HTS, Shar'a's group that oversees the transitional government, says Alawites will be protected and part of a new free Syria under some sort of Islamic rule.
This week, Alawite clerics put out a call for general amnesty for every segment of the Syrian population. Everyone, they said, lost lives in the painful events of this war. It is now time to heal.
But back in the neighborhood, none of this feels reassuring. When HTS says anybody with no blood on their hands will be pardoned, nothing will happen, do you believe them? No, no, no. All lies. Now, Mohamed holds up a screenshot of a post he saw on Facebook from a different group. He's saying we're not going to forgive anyone and we will kill the entire Al-Iwisak community.
The threats they're seeing online, combined with the targeted bombings of their neighborhoods by extremists during the civil war, including this neighborhood, is why they're so afraid. They spent the past few days getting rid of any signs of Esset's government and his army, even signs of their own dead. So there is a banner that used to hang right on the middle of this sort of main street of the neighborhood. They removed it because they were scared. There were three soldiers that were killed from the old army.
Two more banners that hung above the narrow roads and alleys further down are also gone. Lamhamed takes us to a truck and points to the hood. It's one of the few tributes left to fallen soldiers still visible. Three men. These are your children? Yes, yes, yes. Tell me who they are. Ishtashir Mikael Ghadir. Ishtashir Mikael Ghadir.
These are your sons? I'm going to paint it to hide their faces. Because it's forbidden to have them now. Is that hard to do? Of course. I'm a father, he says. He puts his hand on the images of his sons. They are my heart. They are my blood.
As we walked back to our car, in the short time we'd been away on our tour, someone had hung a string of Syria's new flags above the garbage-strewn street. A man holds one of them up. It's very, very free. Syria is free. Almost like he feels he has to prove his loyalty to the new men in charge at a time their fate feels so uncertain. That's NPR's Leila Fadl. And that's the state of the world from NPR. Thanks for listening.
This is Eric Glass. On This American Life, we like stories that surprise you. For instance, imagine finding a new hobby and realizing... To do this hobby right, according to the ways of the masters, there's a pretty good chance that you're going to have to bend the law to get the materials that you need. If not break it. Yeah.
to break international laws. Your life stories, really good ones. This American life. This message comes from Mint Mobile. From the gas pump to the grocery store, inflation is everywhere. So Mint Mobile is offering premium wireless starting at just $15 a month. To get your new phone plan for just $15, go to mintmobile.com slash switch.
This message comes from Bombas. Their socks are super plush, designed to support your arches and support people in need. One purchase equals one donated to those experiencing homelessness. Go to bombas.com slash NPR and use code NPR for 20% off your first order.