Ahmed al-Sharaa risks repeating Assad’s mistakes as Syria’s fragile peace begins to fray
For a brief moment this year, it seemed as if Syria might finally be on the cusp of something resembling normality. The ruins of Aleppo echoed once more with commerce, Damascus cafés filled with chatter, and foreign investors — from Dubai, Doha and Istanbul — were arriving to scout opportunities in a country written off for more than a decade.
The optimism was built on two pillars: the end of Bashar al-Assad’s iron-fisted regime, and Washington’s sudden about-face. Donald Trump, who never concealed his disdain for “forever wars” or punitive sanctions, decided that Syria deserved another chance. His decision to lift sanctions opened doors that many Syrians thought permanently barred. For Ahmed al-Sharaa, Assad’s unlikely successor and a man whose personal history seemed destined to mark him forever as a militant, the first half of 2025 looked like a triumph.
Polling conducted by regional outfits suggested something extraordinary: after years of blood and rubble, most Syrians were, for the first time, genuinely optimistic about their future. That rare sentiment in a war-scarred land is now dissipating fast.
A presidency defined by contradiction
Al-Sharaa was, from the beginning, a paradox. A former jihadist commander who rejected the Taliban model, he brought a rare pragmatism to a broken country. He was not the austere ideologue many feared. He signalled to businessmen, to returning refugees, and even to cautious Western diplomats that Syria under his stewardship would not revert to the medieval darkness that swallowed Afghanistan after 2021.
And yet, the man who briefly appeared to represent a clean break with the Assad dynasty has already begun to echo its failings. His presidency, still in its infancy, is increasingly marked by sectarian bloodshed, creeping authoritarianism, and a wilful blindness to the very divisions that nearly tore Syria apart.
The result is growing frustration on the ground. Syrians, hardened by war but alive to opportunity, now wonder whether the promise of renewal will evaporate into just another chapter of disappointment.
Sectarian wounds reopened
Two episodes in particular have cast a long shadow. In March, militias tied to Sharaa’s Sunni allies swept into Latakia and slaughtered some 1,400 civilians. Latakia, long the stronghold of the Alawite sect from which Assad drew his core support, remains traumatised. Sharaa’s hesitation in responding — whether from calculation or cowardice — has never been adequately explained.
Four months later, in Suwayda, Druze communities faced a similar horror. Government troops were implicated in massacres there, even as local leaders pleaded for protection. Again, the president failed to intervene decisively. For Israel, which has its own Druze minority, the bloodshed provided a pretext to extend its strikes beyond border skirmishes and into the heart of Syrian territory. Damascus itself came under fire.
For many Syrians, these moments recalled Assad at his worst: aloof, indifferent, and unable to rise above the sectarian trap. What should have been the beginning of a new Syrian compact is instead becoming the old story told again.
The lure of centralisation
There is, of course, a logic to al-Sharaa’s consolidation of power. In Idlib, during the twilight of Assad’s rule, he showed he could deliver stability and even prosperity. But that success was underpinned by ruthless suppression of dissent. Critics were silenced, often in prison. Today, in Damascus, he has repeated the pattern. Power is held by a narrow Sunni circle, minorities are pushed to the margins, and the institutions of state bend increasingly to the will of one man.
His backers argue that Syria cannot afford pluralism in its current fragile state, that strong leadership is the only antidote to chaos. But centralisation is no substitute for reconciliation. A state ruled by one sect, however efficient in the short term, remains brittle at its foundations. It cannot command legitimacy across the fractured communities that still call Syria home.
A nascent opposition
The inevitable consequence of such narrow rule is resistance. In recent weeks, an eclectic coalition of activists, veterans of the anti-Assad struggle, academics, and civic leaders has begun to coalesce. Their demands are not radical. They call for the constitutional declaration hurriedly drafted in the aftermath of Assad’s fall to be rewritten, to allow the formation of political parties and to give civil society room to operate.
This is hardly the stuff of revolution. But in Syria, even such modest proposals represent a potential turning point. The opposition is, for now, tolerated. Al-Sharaa has not resorted to the mass round-ups that characterised Assad. Yet tolerance is not enough. If he wishes to avoid a spiral of confrontation, he must go further — he must open the tent.
Bringing his critics into government, negotiating seriously with the Kurds, widening the leadership of the security forces, and building a genuine electoral framework are not luxuries. They are necessities. Without them, the September interim parliament will be seen as nothing more than a Sunni rubber stamp, a body that entrenches divisions rather than bridges them.
Between pragmatism and paranoia
There is still time. Al-Sharaa has shown flashes of pragmatism that distinguish him from Assad’s dogmatic rule. He has not closed Syria off from foreign investment. He has not pushed women or minorities out of public life. He has, on occasion, signalled a willingness to compromise. But such instincts war against the authoritarian muscle memory of his past.
In Idlib, protesters eventually turned on him, chanting for his downfall. In Damascus today, the slogans have not yet returned, but the embers of discontent are visible. Syrians do not wish for another revolution. They are tired. They crave stability and prosperity. But they also know, from bitter experience, that unchecked power leads only to renewed conflict.
The perils of another vacuum
The tragedy of Syria is that there is no obvious successor waiting in the wings. Al-Sharaa may be deeply flawed, but a power vacuum in this fractured land could unleash horrors worse than those already endured. The opposition, if nurtured, could be stabilising rather than destructive. But if crushed, it risks driving Syria into another cycle of underground resistance, insurgency, and bloodletting.
The international community, too, has its role. Gulf investors who cheered Trump’s lifting of sanctions must recognise that money alone will not paper over political dysfunction. Turkey, so quick to extend its influence, must understand that stability requires inclusivity. And the West, if it is serious about preventing another descent into civil war, must hold al-Sharaa to his better instincts rather than turning a blind eye to his authoritarian impulses.
A fragile peace at risk
Syria stands at one of those moments when the course of history might yet bend towards recovery or relapse. The optimism that briefly shone earlier this year has dimmed, but it has not vanished entirely. Al-Sharaa still has the opportunity to prove he is more than a recycled warlord in a presidential palace.
That will require courage of a different kind from that which once defined him on the battlefield. It will demand the humility to share power, the vision to see Syria not as a Sunni state but as a pluralistic nation, and the resolve to stop sectarian killers in their tracks rather than turning away.
If he fails, the consequences are clear: another generation condemned to rubble, exile, and despair. If he succeeds, against all expectations, Syria might yet stumble into the light.
