Syria's new leaders endorse the same repressive tools against women as the Assad regime

In March 2011, young Syrian women marched to the Al-Hamidiyeh Souq, the symbolic heart of Damascus, and raised a banner which read: "Stop the killing… we want to build a homeland for all Syrians".

Among the women that day was Dima Bali. She was beaten, cursed, and dragged along the ground by her hair in the market as her female companions screamed and passerby looked on in fear. 

Today, Zeina Shahla has been verbally and physically attacked in front of the People's Assembly, simply because she stood up with others to state: "Syrian blood is sacred to Syrians."

The coincidence is deadly, and the irony is painful: from repression perpetrated by the government, to repression perpetrated by "the community"; from Assad's Shabiha (gangs of thugs affiliated to the former regime) to the thugs of the current regime.

In 2011, the oppressor was clear - the security-military regime run by Assad's intelligence agencies. Their methods were known, and they didn't apologise for their crimes. In 2025, the oppressor is more obscure. "Activists", "new parties", and "community forces", carry out repression against Syrian women in the name of the "homeland", "religion", or even "civil society" - with all of them drawing on the same authoritarian, patriarchal narratives.

Bashar's Shabiha would beat people in the name of the leader. Today's thugs beat people in the name of "truth", "the alternative homeland", "decency", or "the collective consciousness" but they use the same tools: humiliation, smears, insults, and silencing.

Political repression in Syria has always had a heavily gendered aspect to it. Women were never just incidental victims – they were systematically targeted. Dima Bali was dragged along by her hair in 2011. Zeina Shahla was called a "whore" and a "mercenary" in 2025. They use the same insults, and the same language, though the slogan changed from "Who are you?" to "You have no right to speak for us".

When a woman threatens to fall out of line with the "leader" or the "tribe", those in positions of power, whether Ba'athist, religious, or even "civil" immediately resort to physical and sexual humiliation to force her back to her supposed box.

What is even more chilling is not just that this violence is recurring, but that it is being reproduced by the very opposition – the so-called "alternative" forces - that claim to represent "the people". Zeina wasn't assaulted by Assad's intelligence apparatus, but by a movement claiming to represent Syria's burgeoning "new consciousness".

Perhaps the most dangerous aspect of the transition underway is that the repressive tools of the Assad era are being incorporated into the revolutionary lexicon - the periphery is transforming into a distorted version of the centre. The tools of thuggery are shifting from the sphere of the military to those who brandish political banners and chant slogans.

Elsewhere in this recurrent Syrian scene, Dr. Sima Abdel Rabbo, a senior advisor to the Minister of Economy, was subjected to a barrage of online harassment, including smears and accusations of treason, after calling for intervention from the UN and Jordan - as two neutral parties - to assess the situation in Suweida.

The abusive campaign against her in response to her statement on Suweida led to her resignation in late July, which adds another layer to a seemingly structural incapacity to accommodate the voices of women.

She resigned not just because of her political stance, but because of the impossibility of continuing to work within institutions which were whitewashing the new regime. She couldn't bear to be just another female name on a male-dominated list dictated by loyalties and the need to strike the right balance, rather than by principles. Like Dima and Zeina, she chose not to be silent, though her protest took a different form - withdrawal. Withdrawal as refusal, as a stifled cry.

Between 2011 and 2025, the faces of the rulers have changed, but the patriarchal structures of authority in Syria have remained. Oppression is no longer the monopoly of the Assad regime, but has been shared out among multiple groups: military, religious, even "civilian".

In the midst of this darkness, Syrian women's voices continue shouting for the truth and declaring their rejection of killing. The questions we need to ask today have gone beyond how to bring about the fall of the dictator; they are now about how to bring down an entire system of oppression. Is it possible for Syria to build a future in which women are not beaten and abused for speaking the truth?

Despite the brutality of the oppression against them, Syrian women remain symbols of resistance and defiance. Dima, Zeina, and Sima aren't isolated names – they are links in a long chain of women who refused to be silenced.

From Razan Zaitouneh, who was kidnapped for defending human rights, to the female activists in Suweida who organise protests despite daily threats, Syrian women continue to confront patriarchal authority and domination in all its forms. But the question remains: When will Syrian women be treated as political and intellectual individuals, not as bodies to be humiliated for their differences?

Can Syrian women dream of a political system that will criminalise attacks on their dignity and reputations? A system that protects them from the vicious smears that surge their way as soon as they express a "different opinion", instead of one that forces them to withdraw from public life, as has happened to so many?

Despite the savagery and continuity of the repression, the resistance shown by these women remains a beacon of hope that reinforces the necessity that a system premised on female subjugation be dismantled, and a future built in which the truth is not silenced.

Maha Hassan is a Syrian writer and novelist based in Paris. Her novels include Aleppo Metro and Drums of Love, among others. Writes for Al-Araby Al-Jadeed, The New Arab's Arabic-language sister edition.

Translated by Rose Chacko.

Have questions or comments? Email us at: editorial-english@newarab.com

Opinions expressed in this article remain those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of The New Arab, its editorial board or its staff.