In a country exhausted by war and fractured by political divisions, the legal system has not been spared this fragmentation. On the contrary, it has been among the sectors most deeply affected, as overlapping security, political, and economic factors have undermined the performance of justice institutions, weakening their ability to uphold the rule of law and protect rights.

The Ministry of Legal Affairs stands out as one of the key bodies tasked with reassessing the legislative framework reviewing existing laws and updating them to keep pace with rapid transformations, whether in the evolution of crime patterns or the social and economic changes imposed by years of conflict.

Between the need for structural reform, the pressures of reality, and limited resources, a central question persists: can trust in the law be rebuilt as a unifying umbrella?

In this interview with Yemen’s Minister of Legal Affairs, Judge Ishraq Fadl Abdullah Al-Maqtari, we explore a range of issues related to the current state of the legal system, the challenges of administering justice, as well as corruption, transitional justice, women’s rights, and the role of law in supporting paths toward stability.

Al-Maqtari is a well-known legal figure with extensive experience in the judiciary and human rights, having participated in several missions related to investigating violations and legal work at both the national and international levels, alongside a strong interest in justice and women’s rights.

In the following lines, the minister part of the government formed in February 2026 outlines her vision on these issues, reviewing existing challenges, priorities, and the limits of possible reform under current conditions.

Minister, how do you assess the current state of Yemen’s legal system amid political division and multiple authorities?

Frankly, Yemen’s legal system is in urgent need of modernization and development. The current situation cannot be separated from political fragmentation and the multiplicity of authorities. However, regarding the legislative branch, it remains unified in the parliament, most of whose members are based in areas under the internationally recognized government or aligned with it.

That said, the real challenge lies in the fact that many laws have become outdated and worn out, no longer aligned with current realities. This necessitates their urgent review and amendment, in addition to the need for new legislation that keeps pace with evolving crime patterns and changing economic and social conditions, and their impact on rights.

What are the Ministry of Legal Affairs’ priorities at this sensitive stage?

At this stage, the ministry has prioritized reviewing outdated and inadequate legislation and working to modernize it. We are also focused on drafting new laws that have become urgently necessary, particularly those addressing crimes that affect fundamental rights, including the right to life. Additionally, we are working on laws related to investment and private sector empowerment to support economic growth.

We have already launched a work program for 2026 aimed at identifying weaknesses in legislation through the formation of specialized legal teams.

Can we speak of the rule of law in Yemen today? What conditions are necessary to achieve it?

Yes, we can speak of the rule of law as long as there are clear national objectives within the government’s program, grounded in governance principles where all state institutions operate according to the law. The rule of law is achieved when decisions, contracts, and procedures are issued within clear legal frameworks, and when law enforcement and judicial bodies adhere strictly to the law without overreach. The presence of a government and a Presidential Leadership Council committed to this approach strengthens the prospects of achieving it.

What challenges currently face the implementation of justice?

The challenges are significant and multifaceted. Foremost among them is the security challenge, particularly the existence of armed groups operating outside state authority. There is also the issue of outdated laws that no longer keep pace with reality.

Moreover, there is an urgent need to train security and judicial personnel to align with international developments, especially in defining crimes and violations and how to handle them. Modern crimes particularly cybercrime pose a major challenge due to the absence of adequate legislation and technical tools. It must also be noted that the continuation of war across many governorates remains a major obstacle to the implementation of justice.

How does the ministry deal with human rights violations, especially in light of repeated international reports?

The ministry is not the primary body responsible for this file, but it plays an important legal role by working on national legislation that criminalizes such violations, prevents impunity, and guarantees victims’ rights.

There is also a renewed focus on revisiting the draft transitional justice law, which has been under discussion since 2013. We are currently reviewing it and listening to the views of civil society, victims, and organizations.

Are there concrete steps toward achieving transitional justice, or is this file still postponed?

The file is no longer entirely postponed. There is a clear direction to reintroduce and seriously examine it, especially in light of the push toward peace. Achieving comprehensive peace requires a legal framework that guarantees victims’ rights, making transitional justice a fundamental component of any peace process.

Which laws are you currently working to amend or introduce?

We are working on amending the Crimes and Penalties Law, given the emergence of new crimes that did not previously exist, such as cybercrime and racism. Current penalties are no longer sufficiently deterrent, and there are contradictions in some provisions. These amendments aim to keep pace with social developments and better protect rights.

To what extent do Yemeni laws keep pace with political and social transformations?

Current legislation does not adequately keep pace with these transformations, especially given the profound changes in social relations and the spread of social media. There is an urgent need to update laws to regulate these relationships and protect rights amid this social, economic, and intellectual diversity.

Is there a clear plan for judicial reform, or do current challenges hinder it?

Judicial reform begins with legislative reform, but that alone is insufficient. There is a need to train judges and update their knowledge, particularly in handling modern cases. Security challenges also hinder the judiciary’s work, in addition to the need to develop curricula at the Judicial Institute.

What role does your ministry play in combating corruption? Do you have effective legal tools?

The ministry plays an important legal and oversight role by ensuring the integrity of legal procedures within state institutions. We have already begun correcting some mechanisms, particularly those related to legal opinions, legislation, and decisions on appointments and promotions.

How do you respond to criticism that the legal system is sometimes used as a cover to justify corruption?

The problem does not lie in legal texts themselves, but in weak implementation and the absence of oversight in previous periods, which allowed corruption to spread. Procedural legal systems were not properly activated, particularly within oversight institutions.

Have any major corruption cases been recently pursued? What are the results so far?

This file is primarily handled by oversight bodies such as the Central Organization for Control and Auditing. I do not have precise details regarding major cases recently pursued.

To what extent does your ministry enjoy independence from the executive branch?

The ministry enjoys relative independence through its own laws and internal regulations, but it ultimately operates within an integrated government framework, requiring coordination with other ministries to achieve broader goals.

Do you face political pressure when dealing with sensitive issues? How can balance be achieved?

Political reality naturally imposes challenges and pressures, but balance can be achieved through adherence to the law, institutional work, and cooperation among various government bodies.

How do you assess the status of women within Yemen’s legal system?

There is a clear need for fundamental reforms, particularly in personal status and criminal laws. Despite the presence of some positive provisions, practical application still reflects discrimination due to the absence of clear strategies to address these issues.

Do current laws do justice to women, or are fundamental reforms needed?

Fundamental reforms are needed to ensure justice for women, both in legal texts and in their application.

What is your stance on issues such as child marriage and domestic violence?

Child marriage constitutes a serious violation of rights and must be criminalized through clear legal provisions that set a minimum age for marriage. Domestic violence, in all its forms, must also be explicitly criminalized due to its severe impact on women and society.

How has the war affected the structure of Yemen’s legal system?

The war has significantly impacted legal institutions, including the judiciary, prosecution, and security agencies, weakening their ability to perform their duties and halting modernization and development efforts.

Is there legal coordination among different parties, or does each region operate under a separate system?

There is coordination within state institutions in areas under government control, but political division limits the existence of a unified legal system nationwide.

What is the role of law in paving the way toward peace?

Law plays a central role in building peace by guaranteeing rights and establishing a legal framework for any peace agreement, thereby achieving justice and stability.

What challenges have you personally faced in this position?

The most prominent challenges are limited resources—both financial and human—alongside the heavy workload compared to available capacities, in addition to political and security challenges.

What have you not yet been able to achieve, and why?

We are still in the institutional-building phase and have not yet achieved our full ambitions due to limited resources and the complexity of the overall situation.

Do you feel you have the real ability to effect change, or does political reality impose constraints?

Change is possible, but it requires collective effort and cooperation among various state institutions, despite the challenges and pressures.

What message would you like to convey to Yemeni citizens who have lost faith in justice?

We understand the loss of trust, but there are genuine efforts underway to rebuild it. This will take time, along with societal cooperation to raise awareness and support reforms.

At a moment when legal language seems incapable of concealing the essence of what is unfolding, the Israeli Knesset has passed a law permitting the execution of Palestinian prisoners a move that redefines the relationship between law and power and pushes it toward a sharper and more perilous trajectory.

Legislative text is no longer merely an instrument for regulating punishment; it has become a framework through which the very meaning and limits of justice are reshaped, in a context charged with politics and conflict.

Within this context, Adalah – The Legal Center for Arab Minority Rights in Israel, in collaboration with human rights organizations and Knesset members, has filed an urgent petition before the Supreme Court in an effort to halt the law’s implementation.

These efforts are led by Suhad Bishara, Director of the Legal Department at the center, placing the issue at the heart of a legal debate that extends beyond the text itself to its implications for fundamental rights foremost among them the right to life and the right to a fair trial.

This interview seeks to unpack the dimensions and implications of the law, and to examine what it reveals about transformations within the structure of the legal system at a moment when legal considerations intersect with broader human questions.

As the petition proceeds and its outcome remains uncertain, an open legal battle is taking shape one that places this legislation under international scrutiny and ties its consequences to a broader context concerning the status of justice in a world facing mounting tests.

To what extent does the Supreme Court of Justice have real authority to overturn a law passed by the Knesset, especially if it is presented within a security framework?

Procedurally, the Supreme Court does have the authority to review the constitutionality of laws and potentially strike them down, as it is the highest judicial body in this domain. However, the exercise of this authority does not occur in a purely legal vacuum; political and security considerations often intersect with legal principles.

That said, we believe the petition rests on strong legal and constitutional foundations, reinforced by principles of international law. The law in question is exceptional, both within the domestic legal context and internationally.

Domestically, it is intended to be applied in the occupied Palestinian territories, which constitutes a dangerous precedent. We have previously seen legislation enacted to retroactively legalize certain settlements in the West Bank, only for the Court to later deem it unconstitutional and annul it.

This law represents a new attempt by the Knesset to directly impose its legislation on the West Bank and on Palestinians, raising a fundamental issue of jurisdiction. Under international law, Israel is not sovereign over the territories occupied since 1967, and therefore the Knesset lacks the authority to legislate for them.

This issue is further reinforced by the rules of international humanitarian law governing occupied territories, as well as by repeated resolutions from international bodies affirming the status of the West Bank as occupied territory and the inapplicability of Israeli law there. This constitutes one of the central grounds for challenging the law.

On the constitutional level, the law starkly contradicts the global trend rejecting the death penalty. For decades, most countries worldwide have moved toward abolition. United Nations recommendations affirm that capital punishment is inhumane and call for refraining from enacting new legislation that entrenches it.

The international human rights system, including European conventions, has solidified this direction, with most European states having fully abolished the death penalty.

Even countries that have not formally abolished it have refrained in practice from carrying out executions, rendering it effectively obsolete. In contrast, the number of countries that still implement it remains very limited, making them exceptions on the global stage.

At its core, this law constitutes a direct violation of the right to life a fundamental and absolute right that admits no derogation. This gives the law an exceptional and dangerous character, both judicially and within the broader human rights framework, strengthening the grounds for its challenge and annulment.

What is the strongest legal basis for challenging the law permitting the execution of prisoners?

The Supreme Court’s authority in this context lies in examining the constitutionality of the law under Israel’s Basic Laws, and it may ultimately determine that the law is unconstitutional. At a minimum, it could rule that the law does not apply to the occupied Palestinian territories due to the Knesset’s lack of jurisdiction.

Accordingly, several scenarios emerge: the Court could deem the law constitutional in principle but inapplicable in occupied territories; or it could rule the law entirely unconstitutional, both within Israel and in the West Bank, thereby annulling it altogether which is the desired outcome.

Does the Court have precedents in annulling or limiting laws of a similar security or punitive nature, and to what extent can these precedents be invoked?

Generally, the Court tends to refrain from intervening in decisions framed as security-related, as Israeli authorities often use this designation to advance certain policies. In such cases, the Court proceeds with caution. However, what is notable about this law is that its declared nature is not purely security-based.

This is fundamentally a criminal law. While the acts it addresses are classified under Israeli law as “terrorism,” giving it a security dimension, its core is punitive. It therefore falls outside the traditional scope of security measures in which the Court typically avoids intervention.

The Israeli legislator explicitly states that the law’s purpose is “deterrence.” Yet in our petition, we provided a thorough refutation of this claim, demonstrating that deterrence has not been substantiated neither before the Israeli legislator nor during any stage of the legislative process.

We included expert opinions and research indicating that the death penalty does not serve as an effective deterrent, whether for ordinary crimes or those driven by ideological motives.

Another fundamental flaw lies in the law’s discriminatory (apartheid-like) dimension. In practice, it applies almost exclusively to Palestinians, whether in the occupied territories or within Israel, reflecting a clear dual legal system.

This can be illustrated through three scenarios:

• A Palestinian in the West Bank convicted of premeditated killing classified as “terrorism” would be tried in a military court and could face the death penalty.

• An Israeli settler convicted of the same act under identical circumstances would not be tried in a military court, nor subjected to the same law or penalty.

• A Palestinian citizen of Israel, if convicted under the expanded definition of terrorism, could also face the death penalty under the proposed amendments.

This explicit disparity entrenches a dual legal regime based on nationality, raising serious constitutional concerns and clearly violating international law principles.

As for precedents, the Court has previously struck down laws, including the “Settlement Regulation Law,” on the basis of clear discrimination between settlers and Palestinians. This precedent is directly relevant. However, the current law is even more severe, as it directly infringes upon the right to life.

What legal scenarios are expected following the petition: annulment, suspension, or limitation of application? Which is most likely?

We are clearly seeking the full annulment of the law. At the initial stage, we requested a temporary injunction to freeze its implementation pending a final decision. The Court has not yet ruled on this request and has instead granted the Knesset and the Attorney General until the end of May to respond.

Following this, the Court may temporarily suspend the law, limit its application particularly by excluding the occupied territories or declare it entirely unconstitutional and annul it.

Does the judiciary constitute a real obstacle to implementing this law, or is its capacity limited?

Since the law does not apply retroactively, it is unlikely to have immediate direct consequences. However, we are closely monitoring developments. If there are indications of its application, we will return to the Court to seek an urgent injunction.

The judiciary remains a significant actor, but its impact depends on its willingness to intervene and the timing of such intervention.

Can European opposition to the death penalty translate into effective pressure?

Many European states have issued clear and explicit positions against the death penalty, reflecting a largely unified stance grounded in its abolition across Europe. This opposition is echoed by international institutions, including UN bodies.

These positions are undoubtedly important and exert political and moral pressure. However, whether they translate into tangible action depends on political will, diplomatic efforts, and broader regional and international dynamics.

What tools could the European Union realistically use to influence this law?

The EU possesses leverage through its bilateral agreements with Israel, which emphasize respect for democratic principles and human rights. However, there remains a gap between political statements and concrete measures, as action requires time, diplomatic effort, and internal consensus among member states.

Can international pressure influence the Court internally?

The Court does not operate in isolation. It is influenced by both domestic developments and international positions. The petition itself highlights international criticism, as the law clearly violates international legal standards.

Public opinion and international stances can therefore play a meaningful role in shaping the broader context within which the Court makes its decisions.

Do these factors collectively have real impact, or are they merely symbolic?

It is difficult to predict the final outcome. However, based on legal precedents and expert analyses particularly regarding the weakness of the deterrence argument there are real opportunities to influence the Court’s decision.

While not guaranteed, these possibilities remain significant. Ultimately, the judicial path remains the primary—and perhaps only—effective avenue to halt or overturn this law.

Since the outbreak of the Iranian-Israeli war, oil prices have experienced marked volatility, significantly affecting importing countries and reverberating across the economies of the Arab Gulf states despite their status as leading global energy suppliers.

Saudi Arabia produces around 10 million barrels per day, followed by the United Arab Emirates at nearly 4 million barrels, Kuwait at approximately 3 million barrels, Oman at about 1 million barrels, Qatar at roughly 600,000 barrels, and Bahrain at around 185,000 barrels per day.

Despite this substantial level of production which grants Gulf states considerable influence over the global economy they remain vulnerable to political and economic tensions that impact production and export levels, and consequently, price stability in international markets.

In this context, Noon Post spoke with Dr. Mamdouh Salameh, an international economic expert in oil and energy affairs. Salameh holds a PhD in economics, specializing in the geopolitics of oil and energy. He serves as a visiting professor of energy economics at ESCP Business School in London and has worked as a consultant to the World Bank on oil and energy issues.

Salameh has authored numerous books and specialized studies in this field, including The Oil Barrel War (in English), Is a Third Oil Crisis Inevitable?, Energy Prospects and Needs in Jordan Until 2010: The Economic Feasibility of Extracting Oil from Oil Shale, and The Causes of the Sharp Decline in Crude Oil Prices: Oversupply or International Politics?

Q: How are oil prices affected—rising and falling—as a result of war?

Oil prices are influenced by wars and economic developments, rising and falling in response to these variables.

For example, the closure of the Strait of Hormuz halted the export of around 20 million barrels of oil to the global market, driving prices sharply upward as an immediate reaction. This could trigger an oil crisis poised to become one of the largest since oil was first discovered.

Q: How do rising and falling oil prices affect the global market economy? Specifically, how do they impact Gulf economies in terms of goods and services prices?

Rising oil prices have a profound impact on the global economy, curbing growth and, in some cases, leading to contraction. When economies contract, unemployment rises and inflation increases, severely undermining global economic growth.

A significant increase in oil prices raises the cost of industrial and food production, as well as exports and imports, resulting in a higher cost of living across most countries except those with substantial oil reserves.

Q: Does the cost of Gulf oil production increase during war?

The Gulf states’ oil production capacity and infrastructure have been significantly affected by Iranian missile strikes. This means that even after peace returns to the region, Gulf countries will need time perhaps three months or more or substantial financial investment to restore production capacity to pre-war levels.

This implies that oil prices will remain high even after the Strait of Hormuz reopens lower than wartime levels, but still ranging between $85 and $90 per barrel for Brent crude, which is considered high for the global economy.

Q: Are Gulf oil-producing countries facing difficulties in meeting global demand due to the Iranian-Israeli war?

Certainly, Gulf countries are facing challenges in meeting global oil demand with the suspension of 20 million barrels per day that used to pass through the Strait of Hormuz. Damage to production capacity from Iranian strikes may further hinder supply. However, they are expected to recover once repairs are completed and the Strait reopens.

This recovery could take more than three months and require significant financial investment, but ultimately, production will rebound, and global economic growth will resume.

Q: Could oil derivative reserves in Arab countries that depend on imports be affected?

During the war with Iran, Gulf oil reserves will be used domestically, as production has been reduced and exports are impossible while the Strait of Hormuz remains closed. These countries are producing only what their economies require, consuming a significant portion of available reserves.

At the same time, they will store additional quantities of oil that cannot be exported, consuming part of existing reserves while stockpiling the rest awaiting the reopening of the Strait to resume exports.

Q: Which oil-producing countries benefit from the closure of the Strait of Hormuz? Has the war created an opportunity to increase profits?

In every war, there are winners and losers, and oil conflicts are no exception. Countries with vast oil reserves that do not rely on the Strait of Hormuz for exports stand to benefit significantly from rising prices.

The biggest winner is Russia, which can export its oil globally without needing to pass through the Strait.

The biggest loser is the United States. Despite producing large quantities of oil, it still imports around 8 million barrels per day. Rising prices will widen its budget deficit, potentially prompting the Federal Reserve to print more dollars to cover the gap pushing U.S. debt to $41 trillion by 2026. This is an enormous burden, with annual interest reaching $1.5 trillion exceeding the GDP of many countries.

Q: Can oil crises lead to shifts in political alliances?

Absolutely. Wars, major economic developments, or global recessions often lead countries to form alliances that serve their interests. For instance, many countries including India may be compelled to form strategic alliances with Russia to secure access to oil and gas. The United States may also be forced to ease sanctions to obtain Russian oil, while India is already strengthening ties with Moscow to ensure stable supplies.

This is the nature of global politics alliances shift in times of crisis to safeguard national interests.

Q: Could the impact of this war on the global economy resemble the oil crisis of the 1970s?

As I noted earlier, the closure of the Strait of Hormuz would represent the largest oil crisis in history. Its impact on the global economy would surpass that of the 1970s oil embargo against the United States and the Netherlands during the 1973 war, and even exceed the economic effects of the 2003 U.S. invasion of Iraq.

I estimate that the closure of the Strait and the resulting oil crisis combined with the war against Iran will lead to a global economic contraction, meaning either no growth or extremely weak growth.

Moreover, the rising cost of industrial and food production, along with the cost of living, could impose an additional burden exceeding $8 trillion on the global economy depending on how long the Strait remains closed. If the closure lasts two to three months or longer, it could trigger the worst oil crisis in history.

If it extends to six months or more, it may even lead to famine in some parts of the world and extreme poverty in countries unable to secure or finance food supplies for their populations.

Read the Interview in Arabic

After more than half a century of repression exercised by the Assad regime against Syrian society in all its components, Syria today is attempting to free itself from the harsh legacy of authoritarianism one weighed down by fear, division, and entrenched feelings of resentment that have seeped into the political and social fabric of the country.

In this context, the scenes witnessed across Syrian cities in recent days have carried contrasting meanings. On one hand, public celebrations of Nowruz, the lighting of the ceremonial flame atop Mount Qasioun, and cultural events hosted by official institutions in Damascus have emerged as indicators of a shifting public mood and a tangible implementation of Decree No. 13, issued in mid-January.

On the other hand, the incident involving the lowering of the Syrian flag in the city of Ain al-Arab/Kobani along with the actions that accompanied it and sparked widespread outrage has revealed underlying tensions and a fragility that still characterizes the relationship between some local actors and the idea of a unified state. Between these two contrasting scenes, debate is widening over the nature and limits of the transformations underway, and where they may ultimately lead.

In this exclusive interview with Noon Post, Syrian Kurdish novelist and journalist Jan Dost reflects on a range of issues occupying Syrians at this sensitive juncture from the contours of the country’s next phase to shifts related to freedoms and diversity, as well as the significance of this year’s Nowruz celebrations.

We also explore the meaning of the intellectual’s return to the public sphere after years of exile and fear, and examine the implications of his participation in the Damascus International Book Fair, which sparked mixed reactions. Ultimately, we approach his vision for the role of literature in rebuilding trust among Syrians in a country still attempting to redefine itself between a painful past and an open-ended future.

Jan Dost is a Syrian Kurdish novelist and journalist, born in the city of Ain al-Arab/Kobani in 1965. He is considered one of the most prominent contemporary Kurdish and Syrian literary voices, with a prolific body of work that includes A Green Bus Leaving Aleppo, The Petersburg Manuscript, Safe Passage, Blood on the Minaret, and The French Prisoner, which was longlisted for the International Prize for Arabic Fiction (Booker).

Q: How do you envision the contours of Syria’s next phase in light of the current political, security, and economic changes?

It is possible to anticipate Syria’s future based on current indicators, albeit not with complete precision. The dictatorial regime that weighed on Syrians since the Baathist coup of March 8, 1963, has now come to an end. It has left behind a complex web of issues, crises, and unresolved questions some of its own making, others intrinsic to Syria’s diverse social fabric.

How will the new era address these challenges? Can the Syria we dream of be built overnight? Will we witness an economic and social leap forward, or will the country remain in a prolonged gray phase of post-collapse? Personally, I am very optimistic, despite signs that may suggest otherwise.

We are entering a transitional phase, the defining feature of which I would call the “shock of freedom.” Syrians particularly my generation and the one that followed have lived under an oppressive dictatorship and emergency laws for so long that we came to believe this was simply how life is. The shock of freedom, to me, means that people may misunderstand freedom as chaos or lawlessness. As a result, every new law regulating society will likely be met with significant opposition.

I hope the government understands the public’s deep yearning for freedom and prioritizes individual liberties before political ones. Imposing certain dress codes, banning others, interfering in people’s beliefs, or regulating issues like alcohol consumption will delay the desired prosperity and may generate social tensions that the new leadership must carefully manage.

I hope that personal freedoms regarding food, clothing, and belief are protected everywhere within the framework of binding laws.

Q: How do you interpret the scenes of Nowruz celebrations across Syria this year, particularly the lighting of the flame on Mount Qasioun and events held at the Damascus Opera House? Can these be seen as indicators that Decree No. 13 is being implemented in practice?

What we witnessed is a remarkable development and a practical translation of Presidential Decree No. 13 of 2026. From a Nowruz celebration in Damascus in 1986 where the young man Suleiman Adi was killed and festivities were suppressed to the Nowruz flame illuminating Mount Qasioun today, forty years of repression and marginalization are beginning to recede.

This sends a clear message: Kurds are full citizens of this state. These changes represent some of the features of the new Syria you asked about earlier.

Through this decision, the new authorities have reinforced the concept of citizenship in its positive sense. Citizens are not a monolithic bloc; Syria’s defining characteristic is its ethnic, sectarian, and religious diversity, which must be reflected in both rights and responsibilities.

Personally, I was beaten by police in my hometown when we attempted to celebrate Nowruz more than forty years ago. I lived through oppression, fear, arrests of celebrants, and the smashing of musical instruments over the heads of performers during the former regime. That is why this year’s Nowruz carries a special significance—an official recognition that signals positive change, which we hope will extend to all Syrians.

Q: How do you view the incident of lowering the Syrian flag in Kobani, and the widespread backlash it provoked? What does this reveal about the relationship between some local forces and the idea of a unified Syrian state?

What happened is regrettable and condemnable. The Syrian flag that we raised in protests across Europe must be respected everywhere in Syria. It is not merely a flag it is a symbol of a revolution for which much blood was shed. Thousands of Syrian youth were imprisoned, tortured, disappeared, or killed for raising it.

I believe the incident reflects tensions stemming from recent military operations and the accompanying mutual nationalist rhetoric, in which the media has unfortunately played a role.

There is a feeding of the “monster of hatred,” amplified by social media platforms that highlight isolated incidents and frame them in ethnic terms. There are also forces that thrive on division and crises and have no interest in social peace.

Building a unified Syria where all citizens enjoy their constitutionally guaranteed rights will undermine these actors who seek to manipulate their supporters through fear of the “other.”

Many Kurds condemned these irresponsible actions, just as we saw troubling behavior from the other side. Such dynamics risk dragging the country into avoidable ethnic conflict. Wisdom and reason—especially from those in power—are essential, along with accountability for offenders regardless of their affiliation.

Q: Your participation in the Damascus International Book Fair after years of absence sparked mixed reactions. How do you interpret this division, and what message did you hope to convey?

My participation came after 25 years of absence and self-imposed exile. For all those years, I dreamed of returning to a new Syria free from repression and sectarian authoritarianism. When that became reality, I felt it was time to return.

Damascus was my first stop. I cannot describe my feelings when I set foot in the airport that once filled me with fear. I was fortunate that my return coincided with such an important cultural event.

I took part in two book signings one in the Kurdish pavilion and another at the Lebanese Publishing House stand. This participation reflects a cultural opening toward Kurdish literature. Books that we once hid underground for fear of arrest are now celebrated at Damascus’s most important cultural event.

My participation did spark controversy. Some extreme nationalist voices even burned my books and canceled related events. The timing amid military operations in Sheikh Maqsoud, Deir Hafer, and other regions was used by critics to question the legitimacy of my visit.

I chose not to engage with the incitement. I understand the anger, but I wanted to send a message: culture can repair what politics destroys. As intellectuals, we must come together to build a free and just nation. And to my fellow Kurds, I say: we are entering a new phase unlike the repression we endured.

Q: How have the transformations in Syria over the past decade shaped your literary voice and your concept of homeland?

Since the outbreak of the Syrian revolution in March 2011, Kurds inside Syria and in the diaspora have been actively engaged in the call for change. I was living in Germany at the time, in voluntary exile since 2000, and joined opposition activities alongside my family.

I observed events through a novelist’s lens. From Afrin to Derek (al-Malikiyah), I followed the repression of Kurdish youth and their participation in protests aligned with cities like Daraa, Homs, Idlib, and Ghouta.

This period deepened a sense of shared destiny and belonging. My novels Blood on the Minaret, Kobani: The Tragedy and the Quarter, A Green Bus Leaving Aleppo, and Safe Passage reflect these experiences.

Syria itself became the central character in these works. While some early revolutionary literature was emotionally driven and lacked artistic depth, it nevertheless documented a seismic historical moment.

Q: What role can literature and intellectuals play in rebuilding trust among Syria’s communities?

Literature does not possess a magic wand. It cannot transform a society shaped by decades of authoritarianism overnight. Its impact depends on the existence of a reading, culturally engaged public.

High illiteracy rates and the spread of destructive ideas limit literature’s influence. Without a strong reading culture, its role remains constrained.

Social media and media platforms must also be addressed. Unfortunately, they often amplify hatred and misinformation, threatening social cohesion.

Ultimately, the role of intellectuals and literature is tied to societal awareness. In the current environment saturated with negative imagery and narratives rebuilding trust remains a profound challenge. We are living in a new technological era, and new tools must be developed to promote stability and overcome the legacy of hatred left by war.

Read the Interview in Arabic

Amid rising regional tensions, the West Bank is increasingly turning into an open arena for the intensification of Israeli security and political measures. Palestinian communities face tightening restrictions, including closures, checkpoints, and arbitrary arrests, alongside an accelerated pace of settlement expansion and the displacement of some population clusters.

In this context, Noon Post conducted an interview with Nihad Abu Ghosh, a writer and specialist in Israeli and Palestinian affairs, who offered an in-depth reading of Israeli strategies and outlined potential security scenarios in the event of further regional escalation.

The interview reveals how the West Bank has become a space of daily tension and confrontation, where Israeli measures intersect with Palestinian responses, rendering the lives, security, and even the future of the region hostage to regional shifts and escalating Israeli policies.

To what extent do regional tensions or wars affect the level of Israeli security measures in the West Bank?

Undoubtedly, they have an impact on several levels. First, when regional conflicts flare up even if Israel is not directly involved, such as crises in Sudan or Syria this contributes to sidelining Palestinian affairs and marginalizing the Palestinian cause. For instance, when three citizens are killed by settlers’ gunfire in a Palestinian village like Abu Falah, al-Mughayyir, or Qaryut, such incidents would normally provoke strong international and regional reactions. However, when we hear daily about airstrikes killing hundreds, even severe Palestinian incidents become marginal events. That is one aspect.

Consequently, Israel has a clear program regarding the occupied Palestinian territories. This far-right government has an explicit, not hidden, agenda one that is openly stated in coalition agreements between the Likud party and its partners, as well as in the government’s general direction.

It is committed to intensifying and expanding settlement activity while simultaneously reducing the powers of the Palestinian Authority. Naturally, this leads to a plan of displacement and rendering Palestinian land unlivable.

Thus, regional escalation provides a highly conducive environment first because the world is preoccupied, and second because it resembles a state of darkness that suits a thief, as the saying goes. Amid this constant global distraction, settlers act with impunity, and the army implements whatever measures it chooses, sometimes under the pretext of security, and at other times by turning a blind eye to settler behavior.

Moreover, Israel seeks to instill the notion that it is confronting the same enemies whether in Iran, Yemen, Lebanon, or the Palestinian territories grouping them all under what it calls an “axis of evil.” It therefore attempts to portray the Palestinian national movement and its factions as part of an Iran-aligned axis, labeling resistance movements as Iranian tools rather than as a natural response to occupation or an expression of the Palestinian people’s will for freedom.

In reality, resistance movements predate the Iranian Revolution and have existed as long as the occupation itself. Resistance is not tied to Iran, Hamas, or any political faction aligned with Iran; it is a historical phenomenon shaped by the Palestinian people through their long struggle and sacrifices.

Can we say that Israel treats the West Bank as an arena directly affected by any regional escalation?

Certainly. Israel considers the West Bank an internal matter, particularly after adopting political and legislative measures that explicitly affirm this. One such example is the Nation-State Law, which states that the right to self-determination in the Land of Israel meaning all of historic Palestine is exclusive to Jews.

Accordingly, Palestinians are viewed as having no political or national rights, with only limited civil and economic rights potentially granted.

This is not merely an Israeli perspective; it was largely adopted by Donald Trump in his “Deal of the Century.” It also appears, to a significant extent, in Trump’s Gaza peace proposals, where Palestinian self-determination is framed ambiguously and conditioned on unrealistic requirements.

Thus, Israel operates on the basis that all Palestinian affairs are internal Israeli matters security issues that concern neither the United Nations, nor Arab states, nor any other global actor. It manages them unilaterally through military force rather than negotiations or agreements.

Historically, has the West Bank experienced similar security tightening during previous regional crises?

Absolutely. During every war involving Israel—such as the Gulf War—and whenever regional crises erupted, Israeli governments seized the opportunity to impose additional restrictions. Over time, such measures have become routine, extending beyond periods of security tension to include Jewish holidays and various occasions.

As Itamar Ben-Gvir has stated, the freedom of movement or the right of Jews to move is more important than that of Palestinians. This reflects a longstanding, deeply rooted, discriminatory outlook that treats Palestinian life and daily affairs as marginal and insignificant.

What are the main security measures Israel employs in the West Bank during regional escalation?

Since the start of the war on Gaza, Israel has adopted what it defines as wartime legal measures. Consequently, the laws applied in the West Bank operate under exceptional, war-like conditions. These include expanded grounds for arrest, prolonged detention, methods of interrogation, detention locations, property confiscation, and continuous closures.

There are now over a thousand gates restricting movement across the West Bank, alongside widespread abuses, harassment at checkpoints, and mass arrest campaigns that have detained more than 15,000 Palestinians during the war including academics, unionists, students, women, children, and local officials from across the political spectrum.

Additionally, there has been a notable easing of rules of engagement. During the Gaza war, Israel killed around 1,100 Palestinians in the West Bank, including 60 to 70 by settler gunfire. Notably, none of these settler killings have been seriously investigated; instead, Israeli institutions routinely justify them. Any perceived suspicious movement such as accelerating a vehicle or reaching into a pocket can be deemed sufficient grounds for lethal force.

These measures coincide with ongoing raids, the gradual erosion of Palestinian Authority powers, land seizures, and the forced displacement of Bedouin communities one of the most dangerous developments during the war. More than 75 herding and Bedouin communities have already been displaced, particularly to facilitate control over Area C.

Ultimately, these measures serve the broader project of settlement expansion. While framed as security policies, they are in essence punitive measures designed to make life increasingly difficult for Palestinians, pushing them toward migration by eroding hope for a stable future.

To what extent are checkpoints, closures, and movement restrictions linked to fears of internal escalation?

While they are ostensibly justified as security measures, their primary aim is not security. Repression often generates backlash; arbitrary arrests, assassinations, and collective punishment frequently push young people toward resistance. These measures are therefore political tools aimed at coercion and control rather than effective security policies.

They align with ideological visions such as that of Bezalel Smotrich, who denies the existence of a Palestinian people and describes them merely as “Arab residents.” According to this vision, Palestinians must either accept inferior status, emigrate, or face death. While Netanyahu may not openly endorse this rhetoric, in practice he allows such policies to be implemented.

How do these measures affect daily Palestinian life and the economy?

Israel’s policies have profoundly impacted all aspects of daily life. These are cumulative measures that predate the current war, including control over land, water, and resources; restrictions on access to 1948 territories for work; and a structurally unequal economic framework shaped by the Paris Protocol.

Further pressure comes through financial measures, such as withholding Palestinian tax revenues (“clearance funds”) under various pretexts compensation claims, alleged terrorism, or other justifications.

Meanwhile, restrictions on land use and infrastructure hinder development, even as Israel benefits economically from practices such as waste disposal on Palestinian land.

As a result, the Palestinian Authority has struggled for over 30 months to meet its financial obligations, deepening economic hardship. While Gaza faces catastrophic conditions, the West Bank is also experiencing rising unemployment, poverty, and the collapse of productive and charitable institutions.

Even international agencies, including UNRWA, face restrictions, while over 60,000 refugees have been displaced from northern camps.

Are these measures primarily aimed at preventing unrest in the West Bank?

That is one factor, but the broader objective is to resolve the conflict unilaterally. The current right-wing government seeks to impose a final settlement by expanding settlements and seizing more land, aiming to establish irreversible facts on the ground.

The goal of reaching one million settlers in the so-called “Samaria” region reflects this strategy. These realities are intended to override negotiations and render previous agreements obsolete.

To what extent can Israel use regional tensions to justify stricter policies?

In the past, Israel relied heavily on security justifications, but it now operates within a political climate shaped by Donald Trump’s doctrine of “peace through strength,” which sidelines international law. This approach enables Israel to impose its policies unilaterally, leveraging its military and political dominance.

If regional conflict expands, what are the possible scenarios in the West Bank?

While Israel maintains overwhelming military superiority, it cannot ignore the presence of over 5.5 million Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza. Long-term political resolution cannot be achieved without addressing their rights.

Israel may impose temporary control through force, but it risks entrenching an apartheid-like system, which faces growing global opposition. International recognition of Palestine and widespread solidarity movements underscore the limits of Israeli dominance.

Could we see broader military deployment or exceptional measures such as full closures?

Such measures already occur periodically. During the current war, the West Bank has effectively been sealed off at times, with travel between cities taking several hours instead of one. Entire areas can be shut down for days following minor incidents.

Is the West Bank likely to become an additional flashpoint if regional conflict escalates?

The West Bank has always been a zone of tension, regardless of the form resistance takes. As long as occupation, repression, and daily violations persist, resistance whether organized or spontaneous will continue to emerge.

Palestinians face constant threats to their lives, dignity, and basic rights, from movement restrictions to economic deprivation. This reality fuels a growing determination, particularly among youth, to resist occupation and reject its policies.

Read the Interview in Arabic

As the Israeli-American war on Iran continues and its repercussions intensify, the Middle East is undergoing transformations at an unprecedented pace. These developments coincide with a striking political shift inside Iran following the death of Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei and the appointment of his son, Mojtaba Khamenei, as his successor.

Amid this landscape, quick analyses are insufficient to grasp the magnitude of what is unfolding in the region. The current war raises broader questions about the nature of regional power balances and their future trajectory.

In this interview, prominent Syrian intellectual and academic Burhan Ghalioun offers a deeper reading of the conflict reshaping the region. The war, he argues, cannot be understood in isolation from a broader project that revisits questions of hegemony and influence, nor can it be separated from ongoing attempts to redraw the map of alliances in the Middle East and beyond.

The discussion examines the nature and limits of the current war and explores the idea of a “new regional axis” proposed by Benjamin Netanyahu a project that envisions reshaping the region’s balance of power. The debate does not stop at the regional level. It extends to Syria itself, a country that has spent years at the center of regional turmoil and is now struggling to preserve what remains of its sovereignty.

Is what we are witnessing today against Iran a war against its influence and governing system, or the beginning of dismantling the Middle Eastern order that emerged after the Iranian Revolution?

The war currently unfolding in the Middle East is, first and foremost, Benjamin Netanyahu’s war to remain in power, and a racist Israeli war aimed at declaring regional dominance, entrenching the foundations of an apartheid system in Palestine, and eliminating any hope of the birth of a Palestinian state.

It is also the war of President Donald Trump and a crisis-stricken imperialism against international law and established norms one that seeks to trample the rights of other peoples, seize their resources through armed force, undermine the spirit of global solidarity, and obstruct the rise of other states and global poles. Military superiority is being used to extract quick and unearned gains at the expense of peace, justice, and global security.

At the same time, it is a war waged by the revolutionary guardians of the Iranian empire to preserve their own survival after the retreat of their regional dominance.

The principal victim is the Iranian people, along with the other peoples of the region who are being pushed toward a new era of regional wars conflicts that serve none of their interests but from which they will bear the catastrophic consequences: destruction, devastation, and the loss of their future and that of generations to come.

The arrogance and disregard for global public opinion displayed by the architects of this war have reached such extremes that they no longer feel compelled to justify it. Instead, they simply announced the discovery of the location of Tehran’s leadership and used it as an opportunity to eliminate them and openly force the capital to surrender as though the world were still living in the Middle Ages, or in the era of white colonial settlement in the Americas and the extermination of Indigenous peoples more than five centuries ago.

They have even named their campaign “Epic Fury.”

Unfortunately, this campaign may serve only as a prelude to the violation of the entire region and the spread of chaos and destruction throughout it precisely the outcome sought by Israel’s settler government to legitimize intervention across Arab countries under the pretext of defending Israel’s security and its biblical claims.

About a week before the outbreak of the current war, Netanyahu spoke of a “new regional axis” that would include countries such as India, Greece, and Cyprus alongside Arab states, confronting what he described as a Sunni axis forming while a Shiite axis collapses.

After several days of war, how do you interpret this proposal? To what extent does it reflect an Israeli vision for restructuring alliances in the region?

Through this announcement, Netanyahu is attempting to offer a carrot to some fearful Arab governments, encouraging them to overlook the destruction of the region’s future security, peace, and human development. He also seeks to convince himself, Israelis, and perhaps certain regional leaders that he is advancing a grand strategic initiative to reshape the Middle East under Israeli leadership a vision he has long harbored.

Yet what has occurred since the war of extermination in Gaza, alongside Israel’s occupation of additional territory in southern Syria and Lebanon, and its disregard for the interests of Arab states even those that signed the Abraham Accords should be sufficient to push Arab leaders to avoid falling into this trap.

Arab leaders must reject the dismantling of international law and the chaos that Netanyahu and Trump openly seek to impose. Instead, they should cooperate to build a new Middle East grounded in respect for state sovereignty, the right of peoples to self-determination, and the rejection of foreign intervention wars wars that have brought nothing but destruction to the region, as seen in Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Yemen, Sudan, and Libya.

Arab states understand that the only objective of this supposed alliance is to ignite an Arab-Iranian, Sunni-Shiite war that would drain all regional powers for decades to come solely for Israel’s benefit.

They must instead thwart this project and work collectively, in coordination with the United Nations and its United Nations Security Council, to launch a comprehensive regional initiative for peace, security, and cooperation among the region’s peoples, protecting everyone’s rights and curbing Israel’s expansionist ambitions.

Just as Khomeinist Iran does not represent Shiites as a faith or a people but instrumentalizes them for a project of regional domination, Arab governments in the Levant do not represent Sunnis either they are political elites pursuing their own interests.

The Sunni-Shiite conflict itself is a colonial project historically used to pit the region’s peoples against one another, facilitating European and later American dominance. Over the past four decades, the Iranian system of Wilayat al‑Faqih used the same division for similar purposes. Now we are witnessing its blowback in the form of Iran’s regional isolation.

This is precisely the dynamic that Tel Aviv seeks to reproduce: Arabs against Iranians and Iranians against Arabs in an endless war whose sole beneficiary would be Israel.

What should follow this devastating war, instead, is a collective awakening among Sunnis and Shiites alike a recognition that these divisions have served a colonial strategy designed to weaken everyone and transform the region into an open plantation for Washington and Tel Aviv.

How do you assess Syria’s position amid these regional transformations? What scenarios might the country face politically, economically, or in terms of security in the coming phase?

Syria has no option but to distance itself from this war while expressing solidarity with Arab states facing missile attacks from Tehran on one side and Israeli-American pressure to become involved in the conflict on the other.

At the same time, the continuation of the war poses a serious threat to Syria’s fragile stability. Syria is not far from the battlefield it lies at its very heart. Only months ago, it was one of the central arenas of what was called the “axis of resistance,” and one of the central stakes in the current regional struggle is control over Syria’s strategic location.

The country is striving, with great difficulty, to maintain even the minimum margin of sovereignty and independence in its decision-making.

Regional instability does not only threaten Syria’s internal political transition and social peace; it also carries significant economic consequences. Much of the hope for reconstruction after the vast destruction caused by the internal war, in which Tehran’s system was also deeply involved rested on Gulf investment.

But the current wartime climate, and the destruction it may bring even to Gulf countries themselves, could undermine confidence in investing across the region.

For this reason, Syrians may need to reconsider their reconstruction strategies and place greater emphasis on domestic human and natural resources.

What practical and political steps should the Syrian government take to prevent the country from being dragged into a regional conflict of this magnitude?

The most important step is tightening control over the Lebanese and Iraqi borders to prevent militias supported by Iran from using them as routes that could pull Syria into the conflict.

Syria must also coordinate closely with other Arab states particularly the Gulf countries, Jordan, and Turkey to unify positions and address shared risks.

More crucial still is strengthening the domestic front. This includes resolving the political issues that obstruct progress in the transition process and developing a clear program for navigating this extremely sensitive phase, which is unfolding amid highly volatile regional circumstances.

It also requires confronting urgent economic and social challenges inherited by the new authorities after six decades of authoritarian rule allied with Tehran.

Nothing will strengthen national unity and rebuild trust so desperately needed in times of crisis more than engaging openly with the public, cooperating with citizens to solve their problems, involving them in responsibility, practicing transparency, and placing the rule of law above ideological or political calculations.

Read the Interview in Arabic

The Palestinian night is no longer a time for rest. Instead, it has become an hour of constant anticipation and fear, as families face a relentless pattern of nightly raids and arrests that threaten their sense of security and psychological and social stability. Within this harsh reality, stories of resilience emerge particularly among women and children striving to adapt to repeated violations despite overwhelming hardship.

In this interview, NoonPost speaks with Kifaya Khreim, international advocacy coordinator at the Women’s Center for Legal Aid and Counseling (WCLAC). She recounts the experiences of Palestinian families and explains the daily challenges women face as they strive to protect their children and preserve family stability.

Across the West Bank, nighttime raids have become a routine part of life, reshaping patterns of sleep, work, and social interaction while leaving deep psychological, economic, and social scars that extend far beyond the moment of the raid itself.

Amid these violations, a pressing question remains: how can the international community and human rights institutions support these families and strengthen their resilience in the face of ongoing occupation policies? This interview sheds light on aspects of Palestinian reality that often remain outside media coverage, underscoring the urgent need for sustained solidarity and support.

How have repeated night raids changed families’ sense of safety inside their homes?

Through field researchers working with the center, interviews and field visits were conducted with women in the West Bank—including Jerusalem—as well as in the Gaza Strip. The goal was to document the impact of home raids and other Israeli violations against women and their families, drawing on direct testimonies and field-based evidence.

Since the beginning of 2022, following the election of what many observers describe as Israel’s most far-right government, there has been a marked increase in home raids conducted both day and night. Nighttime incursions in particular have surged across the West Bank without exception. After October 7 and the subsequent attacks on the Gaza Strip, these violations have taken on new and more severe forms.

Typically, raids take place after 2 a.m., involving between 30 and 40 soldiers storming homes. They are often accompanied by trained dogs released inside the house among women, children, and other residents, with little regard for age, illness, or humanitarian considerations.

These operations frequently involve multiple forms of violence, including beatings of family members, forced stripping, and invasive searches. Testimonies also document cases of sexual assault. Incidents of theft have been recorded as well, including the confiscation of women’s gold and cash found inside homes.

Doors are broken down, furniture is deliberately smashed not for the purpose of search but destruction apparently intended to inflict the greatest possible harm on the family. In some cases, food supplies have been destroyed or mixed together, in addition to physical assaults.

The effects of these practices do not end with the raid itself. Rather, they erode families’ sense of safety within their own homes and leave deep psychological, social, and economic consequences especially for women and children.

Has nighttime become a source of fear and anticipation rather than rest for Palestinian families?

In many areas, night has become a time of persistent terror. Palestinian families report living in constant anxiety after dark. Some avoid locking their doors for fear they will be destroyed during raids, as soldiers frequently break doors when entering homes forcing families to repeatedly bear the cost of replacing them.

In other cases, residents leave their doors open to facilitate soldiers’ entry, a stark reflection of the level of fear experienced by both children and adults.

The psychological toll on children has been severe. Documented cases include bedwetting, sleep disturbances, and persistent fear throughout the night. Adults, meanwhile, live in a constant state of vigilance, monitoring their homes and struggling to sleep or feel secure.

The impact extends beyond psychological distress. Social life has also been disrupted. Some families report avoiding visitors or community activities out of fear of sudden raids, leading to greater isolation and compounding psychological, social, and economic pressures.

How do Palestinian families take precautionary measures to adapt to night raids?

Families have developed coping mechanisms to prepare for potential raids. Many sleep fully dressed to remain ready for sudden intrusions inside the home. Clothes and essential belongings are often kept close at hand in case of an unexpected raid or arrest, particularly for individuals previously detained because of humanitarian, journalistic, or legal work.

Some family members remain awake throughout the night, watching for movement inside or around the house due to the frequent repetition of raids carried out by Israeli soldiers and settlers.

How does sleep disruption caused by night raids affect people’s ability to go to work or school?

Almost no Palestinian household has been untouched by this experience. Many families find themselves unable to carry out normal daily activities the following day whether going to work, attending school, or performing routine tasks because of ongoing psychological and physical exhaustion.

In some cases, individuals attempt to continue their day as usual, relying on a remarkable capacity for resilience and behaving as if nothing had happened despite the profound psychological impact.

Unfortunately, effective psychological support mechanisms are often lacking for families subjected to repeated violations. This underscores the urgent need to strengthen community support institutions capable of mitigating the psychological and social consequences of these ongoing raids.

How do raids and the arrest of a family’s main breadwinner affect economic and social stability?

Palestinian families face broad economic, social, and psychological repercussions as a result of night raids particularly when the primary breadwinner is arrested or property is destroyed.

Violations include the confiscation of cash, gold, and jewelry, as well as the destruction of food supplies and household property. Television screens and furniture are broken, rendering homes barely habitable. Documented cases also include car theft, the burning of crops by settlers, the destruction of trees, and the killing or theft of livestock intensifying the economic burden on families that rely on agriculture as their primary source of income.

Arrests—of both men and women—have devastating effects on families. Relatives and lawyers are often unable to visit prisons or check on detainees. Families experience severe psychological stress due to limited information about detention conditions, including reports of deprivation of food, medicine, and clothing, as well as humiliation and torture of prisoners, according to multiple human rights reports.

These violations intersect to create a climate of psychological and social terror, alongside direct economic harm that makes it extremely difficult for families to maintain daily life or preserve a basic level of stability.

How do raids affect the role of women within Palestinian families?

Women bear the heaviest burden in confronting the consequences of raids and violations. In circumstances involving arrests, home invasions, or the killing of a family member, women often become the family’s central pillar responsible for providing food, care, and emotional support for children and the elderly while maintaining family cohesion amid fear and despair.

Even after homes are demolished or property destroyed, women continue to perform these responsibilities under extremely harsh conditions. Although men and women work together to cope with the damage, the burden on women often multiplies dramatically, making them enduring symbols of resilience and perseverance despite immense hardship.

Do raids affect people’s participation in social and community activities?

Repeated raids have wide-ranging social consequences. Families’ ability to attend social events or visit areas subject to nighttime incursions, closures, and military checkpoints has diminished significantly.

Persistent fear discourages people from attending social gatherings or moving freely between villages and cities, gradually fostering social isolation and weakening community bonds.

In areas such as Masafer Yatta and al-Mughayyir, these effects are even more pronounced. Frequent closures and raids have prevented many girls from continuing their education. In some cases, families feel compelled to arrange early marriages for their daughters outside these areas to protect them from risks on the road or potential attacks by settlers and soldiers.

What challenges do women face when dealing with their children after night raids?

Women—like men—often feel powerless when trying to shield their children from the trauma of repeated raids. Watching children experience fear or violence during an intrusion makes it extremely difficult for mothers to calm them or restore a sense of safety.

Even if a child is reassured after one incident, the fear quickly returns with the possibility that the experience could recur any night.

These challenges are compounded by the lack of psychological support services in many areas. While some women have been able to access counseling for themselves and their children, many families receive no support at all, intensifying mothers’ constant fear for their children, spouses, siblings, and parents.

How do raids and arrests affect women’s psychological and social well-being?

Many women suffer symptoms consistent with post-traumatic stress. Persistent anxiety, fear, and dread of leaving home become common, especially as women must often travel through checkpoints where they face threats from Israeli forces.

Reports include beatings, insults, strip searches, and threats of sexual assault or rape, further intensifying feelings of fear and vulnerability.

In some documented cases, women were forced to strip completely during raids as part of systematic humiliation experiences that leave devastating psychological scars and deepen the climate of terror they live under.

Do night raids create tensions or conflicts within families?

Night raids generate immense pressure within Palestinian families. Tensions often rise as parents struggle to protect their children from danger.

In many cases, families prevent their daughters from attending school or work in areas experiencing repeated closures and raids. Researchers have also documented an increase in domestic violence cases, often reflecting the psychological and economic pressures resulting from occupation practices, including repeated home invasions and property theft.

Will these experiences leave lasting effects on children and women?

Children raised amid constant fear and violence face significant challenges in developing basic educational, social, and cultural skills. Fear replaces a sense of safety, undermining their ability to learn and grow in healthy ways.

For women, these experiences create a persistent sense of vulnerability and anxiety that limits educational, economic, and empowerment opportunities. Fear of raids, assaults, or losing a family member imposes severe restrictions on daily life and shapes both their present and future.

How does the local community support families affected by raids?

In many documented cases, local communities show strong solidarity with affected families. Relatives, neighbors, and extended family members often provide moral and financial support to help replace lost resources or repair damaged homes.

Community-led initiatives have emerged to rebuild houses, raise donations, and provide direct assistance often driven by grassroots efforts rather than formal institutions.

What are the broader long-term social impacts?

Night raids and arrests leave lasting effects on the structure of Palestinian families and communities. Military checkpoints, settler attacks, and closures have fragmented local communities, leaving families isolated from one another and weakening mutual support networks.

Although Palestinians repeatedly demonstrate resilience by rebuilding their homes and communities, these ongoing violations leave enduring scars that affect future generations, limiting children’s educational and social opportunities and increasing psychological and economic pressures on families.

What social support do families need most?

The most urgent needs are psychological and economic support. Affected families require trauma-informed counseling particularly for women and children as well as solidarity visits from community members or human rights organizations, which can provide reassurance that their suffering is not forgotten.

Economic assistance is also essential to rebuild homes and livelihoods damaged during raids. Equally important is documenting and sharing these stories in the media to amplify their voices globally.

What is your final message to human rights organizations and the international community?

My message to the international community and human rights institutions is the need to continue applying pressure through economic, academic, and diplomatic boycotts on the occupying state, as such measures can have tangible effects on its policies toward Palestinian communities in the West Bank.

Despite declining trust in the international community following the events in Gaza, it remains important to hold onto hope that international pressure and boycott efforts can contribute to meaningful change.

International institutions can also provide psychological support to affected families and economic assistance for rebuilding homes, strengthening Palestinians’ ability to remain resilient on their land. The West Bank particularly areas most exposed to settler violence represents the first line of defense for Palestinian land and presence, and international support remains vital for protecting these communities and reinforcing their resilience.

Read the Interview in Arabic

The Arab region witnessed major transformations during the past decade, which included or resulted in the redrafting of constitutions in more than one state, the most recent being Syria, which woke up to a stunning dramatic transformation in late 2024.

The relationship between the constitutional text and the political reality in the Arab region has long been one of the most complex dilemmas. While the constitution is supposed to establish a social contract that restricts authority and protects people’s rights, it is instead a tool to entrench authority and prolong tyranny, amendable when necessary within 10 minutes, as happened in Syria in 2000.

With the major political transformations we are witnessing, I find myself interested in the constitution experiences in our region, especially since 11 Arab countries have witnessed, since 2011, the drafting of new constitutions, or made fundamental amendments to existing constitutions, or issued a constitutional declaration or document.

In this interview, we explore the visions of Nathan J. Brown the prominent American researcher, one of the foremost Western authorities on Arab constitutional and political systems, and the author of important works such as Constitutions in a Non-Constitutional World and When Victory Is Not an Option regarding the Arab constitutional faltering, the future of Islamic currents, and the challenges of political transition.

Who is Nathan Brown?

A prominent American scholar of politics and governance in the Arab world, and a professor of political science and international affairs at George Washington University. His research has earned numerous prestigious awards, and he is a nonresident senior fellow in the Middle East Program at the Carnegie Endowment.

Brown (68) received his B.A. in political science from the University of Chicago, and his M.A. and Ph.D. in politics and Near Eastern Studies from Princeton University. He teaches courses on Middle Eastern politics, as well as broader courses on comparative politics and international relations.

His Publications (Newest First):

• Autocrats Don’t Always Get What They Want (2024) – with Steven D. Schaaf, Julian Waller, and Samer Anabtawi.

• Lumbering State, Restless Society: Egypt in the Modern Era (2021) – with Shimaa Hatab and Amr Adly.

• Arguing Islam After the Revival of Arab Politics (2016).

• When Victory Is Not an Option: Islamist Movements in Arab Politics (2012).

• Between Religion and Politics (2010) – with Amr Hamzawy.

• Resuming Arab Palestine (2003).

• Constitutions in a Non-Constitutional World: Arab Basic Laws and Prospects for Accountable Government (2001).

• The Rule of Law in the Arab World: Courts in Egypt and the Arab States of the Gulf (1997).

• Peasant Politics in Modern Egypt (1990).

Allow me to begin this interview with a question I previously posed to Professor Elizabeth Thompson. In her response, she spoke highly of your work on constitutions in the Arab world, which prompted me to ask you the same question: where does the constitutional project in the Arab region usually falter?

One could say they falter in the text: they have loopholes, vague clauses on rights, devices to render meaningless procedures for accountability, and so on. But the differences between authoritarian and democratic constitutional texts are real but often exaggerated. I think where they really falter is in the political context more than the text itself. Without some pluralism within society and within the political sphere it is difficult for any constitution to operate in a fully democratic manner.

In your book Constitutions in a Non-Constitutional World, you argue that authoritarian regimes draft constitutions not to constrain power as is their presumed role but to entrench it. Today, after two decades marked by repeated constitutional amendments across the region, do you believe the function of Arab constitutions has shifted from being merely a “tool for regime survival” to a more direct “instrument of exclusion” against political opponents?

First, I would say that almost all constitutions are written to entrench authority. Democratic ones are no different in that regard; they do constrain authorities in some way, but they also define chains of command, authorize, and clarify, and enable. It is not a coincidence that many constitutions are written in the midst of fiscal or military crisis and are thus designed to support the state.

But what is distinctive in the Arab world is that almost all constitutions have been written by existing regimes seeking to entrench themselves. They are not written by rival political forces seeking to hammer out rules for politics, nor are they written by elites attempting to construct a state (or rescue one in crisis). They are written by existing regimes seeking an adjustment, reinforcement, or new ideological direction.

For a brief moment after 2011 that was different: constitutions were written by rival political forces negotiating (Tunisia), as a result of an indeterminate struggle (Egypt); they were amended (Jordan, Morocco) by existing regimes attempting to bargain with their critics.

But there was meagre fruit from these efforts. The period of constitutionalism uncertainty (and often of optimism) did leave an effect, however. Political movements and actors are far more likely to cast their aspirations in constitutional form than earlier; constitutional language is more frequently heard in the public sphere.

Based on your research, what are the most significant challenges facing constitution-making processes in the Arab world?

As I have suggested the most significant challenge is autocracy itself. As long as authority is monopolized, there can be no constitutional process that delivers anything other than autocracy–and indeed, constitution writing that allowed for true accountability and contestation would be a threat.

But I think there is a second one as well. Even if there were pluralism in fact, acceptance of pluralism has been much less in evidence. Or where it has seemed to appear–for instance in Egypt in 2011–it quickly collapsed under deep mistrust.

How do you assess Article Two in the Egyptian constitution and similar provisions in other Arab constitutions—that declare Islam the religion of the state and Islamic law a principal source of legislation? Do you see this article as having genuine legal impact, or is it largely symbolic or folkloric in nature?

From your scholarly perspective, does this provision merit the level of controversy and political struggle it generates each time constitutional experts sit down to draft a new constitution in the region?

The legal effects of such clauses have been limited. I think there are provisions for religion that can have effects (for instance, those placing family law on a religious basis) but these are not among them. To have real impact, the clauses would have to be (1) more specific, or (2) designate authority to determine which interpretation of sharia is binding. The legal meaning is determined by “who” questions as much as “what” questions.

I do not dismiss such clauses, however, since they attract attention and debate, forming focal points for constitutional argumentation. It is difficult to understand the deeper engagement with constitution drafting over the past two decades without realizing the way religion and constitutional text have become linked.

Have you had the opportunity to review the text and experience of Syria’s new Constitutional Declaration of 2025? If so, how do you assess the document and the broader constitutional moment it represents? And what message would you offer to Syria as it looks ahead to drafting a permanent constitution?

The message of the document is “Syria has a president and he will oversee the transition.” The message that I would offer is “You will pay a price in the long term if you view the constitution as a place to record your dominance rather than as an arena for a deeply divided and traumatized society to find ways to reconstruct their political system.”

In your book “When Victory Is Not an Option”, you argue that Islamist movements participate in politics in order to survive rather than to govern. After a decade of zero-sum conflict, has “survival” itself become an unattainable option? And does this mark the end of the traditional organizational model of the Muslim Brotherhood?

It marks the end of the Brotherhood’s political project, at least for the forseeable future. And by that I mean the idea that the best way to pursue the Brotherhood’s goal is through the political process.

And yes, survival becomes a goal in itself. Some within the movement–one that is now a century old–view their mission as long term and thus preserving the organization becomes an important accomplishment especially in the context of deep repression.

Do you believe that Arab states have ever allowed Islamists to come to power without retaining the right to withdraw that power whenever they choose?

I think the question conflates state and regime–and that is what many regimes do. They see their preservation and tantamount to preserving the state itself. And that makes it difficult to accept any rotation of power, whether with Islamists or others.

Were the experiences of Islamists in government, particularly in Egypt and Tunisia—a failure of “ideology,” or a failure of “governance” and bureaucratic management? And are there lessons here that you believe are especially relevant for Syria today?

In a sense, given the history of these societies, the political configuration, and the challenges, success would have been a bit of a surprise. There were miscalculations to be sure, but I do not think they were the monopoly of Islamists.

The situation in Syria is so different–it is a society recovering from over a decade of horrific violence and dislocation; and one in which political differences have become militarized. That is such a different setting that I would look elsewhere for lessons–to societies emerging from similar civil conflicts.

Why do processes of political transition in the Arab world appear more fragile and protracted compared to other regions, such as Latin America or Eastern Europe? What, in your view, lies at the heart of this persistent difficulty?

I do not think they are more fragile and protracted. The problem may be with the word “tranistion” itself–it implies a clear beginning and end. Politics did not start at a specific point and it will never end. What appeared to be a neatly defined transition in some settings (say, Russia in the late 1980s and early 1990s) looks very different today.

10. Do terms such as “democratic transition” still retain analytical value when applied to the Arab region, or is there a need to develop a new political vocabulary to more accurately describe what is unfolding?

I think if we only understand politics as a move to or away from democracy we miss most of what is going on. We have a rich vocabulary about politics that should not be reduced to the single dimension of degree of democracy.

How can Syrian civil society today and perhaps this also applies to civil society in Egypt, Tunisia, and elsewhere—expand its margins of freedom and strengthen its representation without coming into direct confrontation with the authorities?

Of course it will come into confrontation; the goal might be to manage such confrontation and work out political rules to protect some measure of debate. There is no magical path to such an outcome, but any “civil society” that does not have deep roots in the society is likely to be easily contained.

Do you think the nature of “civil society” in the region has fundamentally changed? For example, have we moved from a phase centered on “rights-based demands” to one dominated by “strategies of survival”?

I think the biggest change may be the way in which informality has become more powerful as formal politics has been so sharply patrolled. There may be little space for labor or political party organization in some countries, but there are more sophisticated debates outside of those channels, whether on social media or in personal conversations. This is an impression, not a finding, but I simply find that few regimes control their subjects’ minds even if they control all the legal tools.

Allow me to conclude with this final question as well: as a Western scholar, how do you deal with the charge of “Orientalism,” or of imposing Western theories on a complex Arab reality? How do you ensure that you are truly “listening” to the region rather than “lecturing” it? And do you believe there are questions that Arab scholars do not ask often enough about their own states?

I’ve never been charged with “Orientalism” and the burden of proof would be on the accuser if such a charge were levied. I am not concerned with preempting it.

What I do try to do is precisely what you suggest: listen. And that means two things: listen to the people I am studying and listening to those who study them (my scholarly colleagues) regardless of their language, nationality, or discipline.

I publish the writings I do not to lecture but to engage–I am happy when I get a serious response from my colleagues; I am even happier when I get a serious response from those I study (whether it is Kuwaiti Islamists or Egyptian judges).

I think the distinction between Arab scholars “studying themselves” and Western scholars “lecturing them” is one that is not false but it has greatly diminished over the course of my career. Intellectuals are increasingly open to building global rather than national communities. And they are bold in their questions.

Unfortunately there are now two political factors at work that may undermine that very positive trend: restrictions on social science research in the Arab world; and restrictions on travel especially by the current American leadership.

This interview forms part of a continuing series spotlighting Western scholars whose research addresses the Arab region or explores Arab–Western relations. The project aims to critically examine how Western academic and intellectual frameworks conceptualize the region. Previous conversations in the series included researcher Daniel Zoughbie and Professor Elizabeth Thompson.

Read the Interview in Arabic

In the digital age, maps and smart applications have evolved from simple navigation tools into powerful platforms capable of reshaping geography and imposing political narratives. Nowhere is this more evident than in Palestine, where Israeli settlements are displayed with striking clarity clearly delineated borders and precise labels while Palestinian villages and areas are marginalized or omitted entirely. The result is a misleading global perception of their existence and significance.

This is not merely a theoretical concern. There are tangible examples of Palestinians being digitally erased. Google sparked widespread controversy after the labels for the West Bank and Gaza Strip disappeared from its maps, creating the impression that the name “Palestine” no longer appeared at all.

The company attributed the incident to a “technical glitch.” Yet more recent updates show that Area C in the West Bank is not clearly represented, while Israeli settlements appear with distinct names and defined boundaries.

Such cases underscore that digital erasure is not simply a technical malfunction; it carries real political and epistemological dimensions that shape the world’s understanding of Palestinian reality.

Noon Post spoke with Iyad Al-Rifai, founder of the Sada Social Center for the Defense of Palestinian Digital Rights, about the impact of this digital marginalization on Palestinians’ daily lives, the challenges posed by bias in maps and smart applications, and the prospects for achieving fair and accurate digital representation of Palestine.

Why do some Palestinian villages and areas particularly those classified as Area C under the Oslo Accords, as well as parts of East Jerusalem not appear on Google Maps and other smart applications?

The classification of Area C under the Oslo Accords was recently removed from Google Maps following a decision by the Israeli government to designate these areas as under Israeli governmental custodianship and to alter their legal classification moves that, according to this view, contravene previous agreements signed between the Palestinian Authority and the Israeli government.

Who decides which names and borders appear on these maps? Who holds the authority to control them?

This issue sits at the intersection of politics and technology. In the digital era, it is no longer possible to separate the two. Those who control technological tools possess the power to shape narratives, influence public consciousness, and impose particular legal and epistemic frameworks.

The Israeli government provides extensive incentives to major technology companies including Google, Meta, and Intel offering tax benefits and facilitating the establishment of branches, service centers, and regional headquarters within Israel.

There is also discussion of pro-Israel lobbying influence within some of these companies, granting the Israeli government indirect leverage over technology firms and social media platforms.

Following recent legal and administrative changes introduced by the current Israeli government regarding Area C, the political decision was, in this view, translated into a technical action through Google Maps. This may have occurred either in response to a formal government request or as a proactive move by the company to align its policies with government decisions.

Is the omission of Area C and parts of East Jerusalem purely technical, or does it reflect a political decision?

In practice, it is difficult to disentangle the two. The technical dimension does not exist in isolation; it is shaped by and intertwined with political context. As for the clear display of Israeli settlements alongside the deletion or marginalization of established Palestinian areas, this is interpreted as a lack of neutrality and objectivity on the part of certain companies, foremost among them Google.

The company has faced accusations of providing technologies used in military and security contexts, reinforcing the perception that it does not approach this issue from an independent ethical or technical standpoint, but rather serves Israeli policies directly or indirectly.

What are the practical consequences of this erasure for Palestinians’ daily lives, particularly in mobility and emergencies?

Palestinians generally do not rely on Google Maps, because the reality on the ground is far more complex than any digital map can capture. Nonetheless, Google is a global technology giant, and its software underpins numerous other applications. Operating in this way in Palestinian areas is therefore extremely dangerous, as it can affect people’s lives.

In the past, Google has intervened in how settlements, settlement roads, and access routes are displayed, while Palestinian villages and areas cannot be relied upon for clear representation. The situation on the ground checkpoints, shifting road closures, newly created streets is far more complex. Despite this, sustained pressure is necessary to ensure fairness and prevent bias toward the Israeli side, enabling Palestinians to use technology on equal footing with users worldwide.

Can the removal of Palestinian village and area names be considered a form of erasing identity and collective memory?

The issue is not directly about identity or social memory. It is a procedural technical measure. Yet it has broader implications for the confiscation of space and time. Maps, roads, and mobility are not merely spatial representations; they are also about time.

A journey between two villages that would normally take 20 minutes may now take an hour or more, as people are forced onto alternative routes. Most of these improvised dirt roads do not appear on Google Maps because they are unofficial, created out of necessity to circumvent closures and movement restrictions between Palestinian areas.

What are the implications of digitally separating East Jerusalem from its Palestinian surroundings?

This carries clear political connotations. From a digital rights perspective, Palestinians have the right to use these applications safely, smoothly, and without bias. Such platforms should be neutral, providing services regardless of nationality, affiliation, or other factors. Even where roads are shared with or linked to settlements and may be unsafe for Palestinians, users should still receive equitable service without discrimination.

How does Google respond to requests to correct Palestinian names and boundaries?

This raises technical and professional questions about Google’s role in setting standards for displaying borders and geographic layers. The reality suggests that these standards are neither transparent nor professional, and that there is a clear bias in favor of Israel. This bias plays a pivotal role in shaping how users perceive their geographic boundaries and mobility options.

Put simply, Google Maps can no longer be considered a reliable reference for movement, research, or education in Palestine due to this bias and the lack of professional and transparent geographic standards.

How does the disappearance of a village or area from the map alter the way the world perceives it?

The political and epistemological implications are numerous. Fundamentally, what does not appear online seems not to exist at all whether people, institutions, or places. If an area is not listed on the map, it is treated as though it does not exist.

This brings us back to a basic point: Google Maps cannot be relied upon as an authoritative reference for Palestinian geography because the company is not neutral in its handling of the Palestinian file.

What are the future risks of continued digital erasure of large parts of the West Bank?

The continued omission of these areas could exacerbate access problems, posing risks to users who depend on these applications for navigation. There are also epistemic and cultural risks related to the recognition of these places, their history, and their heritage.

While the purely technical risk may be relatively limited, the political and epistemological consequences are far more dangerous, shaping how the land and the Palestinian population are perceived globally.

What can Sada Social do to confront the digital erasure of Palestinian areas?

We engage directly with Google, advocating for dedicated space for the Palestinian file equivalent to that afforded to Israelis, and calling for professional and neutral handling of the issue.

Google Maps is not neutral and cannot be relied upon for navigation within Palestine or as a geographic knowledge source. Nevertheless, we remain hopeful that Palestinian digital reality will be treated fairly and professionally, just like any other digital content worldwide.

To what extent can international accountability mechanisms hold mapping platforms responsible for bias or complicity with occupation policies?

This is a complex and multifaceted issue. We have previously attempted to address similar concerns regarding Facebook. Meaningful accountability requires significant efforts from governments, civil society organizations, and international human rights institutions.

Unfortunately, these major corporations possess substantial legal fortification, broad influence, and strong governmental ties, making accountability exceedingly difficult.

The erasure of Palestinian villages and areas from digital maps represents more than a technical flaw. It is a mechanism for reproducing political and epistemic power in the digital sphere. This bias affects freedom of movement, shapes global perceptions of Palestinian reality, and limits access to accurate information about Palestinian geography and culture.

For this reason, the rights-based advocacy of institutions such as the Sada Social Center remains essential in pressuring major technology companies to ensure neutrality, professionalism, and digital justice. Confronting this challenge requires coordination among civil society, digital experts, and international human rights bodies to guarantee that Palestinian reality is reflected accurately and objectively across global digital platforms.

Read the interview in Arabic

The Allenby Bridge crossing, also known as the King Hussein Bridge, is supposed to serve as a lifeline for Palestinians. In practice, however, it has become a gateway to daily humiliation and a relentless test of human dignity. It is no longer merely a crossing point between two banks, but rather a space marked by long waits, degrading inspections, and continuous psychological pressure, all under limited operating hours and harsh procedures that make crossing it an almost impossible ordeal.

In this context, Noon Post conducted an exclusive interview with Helmi Al-Araj, Director of the Center for Defense of Liberties, to unpack the grim reality at the Allenby Bridge. According to Al-Araj, the bridge is no longer just a security or administrative measure, but a systematic tool in the hands of the occupation to humiliate Palestinians and restrict their basic rights and freedom of movement, while the world watches passively, taking no real steps toward accountability or the protection of human dignity.

As Al-Araj explains, the daily suffering at the crossing goes far beyond bureaucratic mismanagement or temporary restrictions. It reflects a deliberate policy aimed at breaking the Palestinian individual turning them into a captive of every decision made by the occupation regime.

How do you explain the persistent suffering at the Allenby Bridge, despite it having functioned as a civilian crossing for decades?

This ongoing suffering, which has persisted for decades, can be explained by the presence of the occupation and its policies that aim to impose collective punishment explicitly prohibited under international law on the Palestinian people. These policies harm the dignity of men, women, children, the elderly, and the sick alike.

Travelers are subjected to humiliating searches, including strip searches, and are treated inhumanely, often being detained for hours under the pretext of security checks.

Crossing the Allenby Bridge has always been a journey of agony, humiliation, and abuse of human dignity. In recent times particularly since October 7 the suffering has worsened. The occupation has drastically reduced the working days and hours of the crossing, rendering it incapable of handling the flow of Palestinian travelers. Notably, this bridge is the only exit point to the outside world for these citizens.

Limiting the bridge’s working hours under intense and complex security procedures is a deliberate attempt to degrade Palestinian dignity. The occupation justifies these policies by claiming full sovereignty over the crossing while denying the Palestinian Authority any such authority an attempt not only to erase Palestinian dignity but to deny the very existence of the Palestinian people.

All of this unfolds before the eyes and ears of the world, in full view of diplomatic missions, which are fully aware of what’s happening. Yet, they remain inactive, worsening the suffering. The hardship becomes even more severe during holidays, religious occasions, and travel seasons such as Hajj, Umrah, Christmas, and school breaks, when thousands of travelers face delays that force them to wait for days, both entering and exiting, around the clock.

This is a result of the occupation’s insistence on imposing collective punishment to the fullest extent. The decision to open the bridge—or not—is entirely in the hands of the occupying power. Like all land crossings, it could be opened 24/7, yet they choose not to.

To what extent is the Allenby Bridge used as a tool for collective punishment rather than a mere security measure?

The Allenby Bridge is indeed used as a tool for collective punishment par excellence. The hardship it imposes amounts to clear economic depletion. Travel costs are extremely high Palestinians leave their homeland under occupation and pay exorbitant travel fees and taxes. For families, these costs multiply, becoming burdensome and exhausting.

Beyond the financial aspect, there is the degradation of human dignity through convoluted security checks, humiliating searches, and harsh treatment, compounded by long hours of waiting in both summer and winter. Overcrowding only intensifies the suffering, leading to serious psychological and physical effects. Nerves are frayed, time is wasted, money is drained, and daily hardship increases.

The occupation controls every detail of travel. Many travelers have pre-booked flights, job interviews, medical appointments, or religious obligations, all of which are jeopardized by the reduced operating hours of the crossing.

This problem is especially severe on Fridays and Saturdays, when hours are cut to a minimum. As a result, Palestinians are forced to bear extra costs. Instead of heading directly to the airport, they must travel to Amman and stay in hotels for one or two nights.

For instance, someone traveling on a Thursday may have to stay through Friday and Saturday just to catch their flight on Sunday an enormous financial burden and added suffering.

Under these conditions, travelers are in a constant state of anxiety: Will they be allowed to cross? Will their trip be blocked? Add to this the Israeli policy of “security bans,” often used as a form of collective punishment. Citizens are prevented from traveling under vague “security reasons” without legal justification or explanation.

Legally speaking, how can the practice of denying travel without clear reasons be evaluated?

Legally, the practice of denying or turning back travelers without providing clear reasons constitutes a blatant violation of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, especially the right to freedom of movement. It doesn’t just violate that one right it impacts a whole set of fundamental civil rights.

For Palestinians under occupation, travel is not a luxury or a secondary option. It is often essential for employment, education, or medical treatment especially given the occupation’s restrictions on access to East Jerusalem or cities inside Israel. Many are denied access to hospitals such as Hadassah and at the same time are barred from traveling abroad for treatment, threatening their rights to health and life.

The right to work is sacred and enshrined in national constitutions and international human rights instruments, particularly the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Every person has an inherent right to life, work, liberty, and movement.

When these rights are revoked through arbitrary administrative decisions without judicial process or clear legal grounds it causes immense harm to individuals, their families, and society as a whole.

If the traveler is ill, they’re denied treatment. If they’re a student, they’re deprived of education. If a graduate, they’re blocked from work. If devout, they’re denied the right to pilgrimage. And if they have family abroad in the US, Europe, the Gulf, or Jordan they’re cut off, violating their right to family life.

This is not merely about denying an individual’s right to travel; it causes widespread harm to families, society, and the economy, while inflicting deep psychological and emotional pain making it a form of collective punishment prohibited under international human rights law.

In your view, what are the responsibilities of the Israeli occupation, the Palestinian Authority, and the Jordanian side in improving travel conditions at the bridge? Who bears the greatest burden?

While administrative shortcomings on the part of the Palestinian Authority or the Jordanian administration are real and must be addressed, they pale in comparison to the core issue: the occupation’s control over the crossing and its deliberate reduction of working hours.

The root solution lies in opening the bridge 24 hours a day. Even if Palestinian and Jordanian bureaucracy persists, it is bearable compared to the daily repression and blatant violations by the occupation.

Restricting travel to only a few hours a day exacerbates the crisis and renders administrative reforms marginal. Still, administrative and organizational measures by the PA and Jordan are essential especially to curb corruption, prevent exploitation, and eliminate extortion practices like the so-called “VIP services.”

The Palestinian Authority must facilitate the flow of travelers in both directions. This is a basic duty, as is the role of the Jordanian side in achieving the same goal. Nonetheless, the PA holds the greater responsibility as the primary authority engaging directly with Jordan. Any lapse intentional or not comes at a steep cost and risks turning public frustration against both the PA and Jordan, which benefits no one.

We need a positive, constructive, and sincere relationship between the Palestinian and Jordanian people and governments. This historic relationship must be protected from exploitation by private companies operating in the name of either side.

These are profit-driven entities that exploit citizens without regard for their humanity a reality that must be recognized and addressed by the Jordanian authorities immediately and seriously.

Administrative measures should aim to simplify crossing procedures organizing terminals, increasing staff, extending hours, and speeding up passport control. Although the occupation bears primary responsibility, the crisis touches every Palestinian household, and no side PA or Jordan can afford to neglect its part.

Each party knows its responsibilities. Through cooperation, the PA and Jordan can present practical proposals to ease Palestinian suffering at the Allenby Bridge while keeping full accountability where it belongs: with the Israeli occupation.

From your work at the Hurryyat Center, what are the most serious legal and human rights violations Palestinians face at the bridge?

The most severe and dangerous violations, as we at Hurryyat observe, involve the systematic and deliberate denial of Palestinians’ right to freedom of movement a right clearly protected under international humanitarian law, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and human rights treaties like the ICCPR.

When this right is violated in all its forms, it reveals a pattern of premeditated human rights abuse by Israel, flagrantly breaching international law. Denying Palestinians their freedom of movement has a cascading effect, undermining their rights to work, worship, education, medical care, and family life all of which become inaccessible.

Moreover, the occupation worsens travelers’ suffering and directly undermines human dignity through humiliation and degrading treatment at the crossing. When such behavior is deliberate and comes from an official authority as is the case with the occupation it legally amounts to both psychological and physical torture.

Keeping patients for hours at the crossing, detaining pregnant women, children, and the elderly in harsh conditions and under the burning sun this constitutes torture and inhumane, degrading treatment. When carried out intentionally by a state authority, this behavior falls squarely within the legal definition of torture under the Convention Against Torture.

That convention explicitly states that cruel, inhuman, or degrading treatment based on discrimination—and committed by an official body is considered torture, whether it takes place on the street, at checkpoints, at detention centers, or at crossings. Legally and morally, the Allenby Bridge is no exception.

What’s happening at the bridge cannot be dismissed as routine security or administrative measures. It is a systematic pattern of grave violations that amount to crimes that do not expire and strike directly at fundamental human rights and dignity.

How do the long waits and harsh inspection procedures affect the most vulnerable groups among Palestinian travelers compared to others?

In reality, even young, healthy Palestinians suffer tremendously when forced to spend an entire day whether departing or returning at the Allenby Bridge. This wasted time is stolen from their lives, draining their energy and spirit while inflicting constant psychological strain in a context of targeted discrimination against Palestinians. Meanwhile, Israeli Jewish citizens travel freely through airports without facing such ordeals, prompting a legitimate question: Is there anywhere else in the world where such suffering occurs?

The answer is clear: it stems from the occupation and its deliberate policies, executed through political decisions. The suffering experienced by all Palestinian travelers is acute, but it becomes especially unbearable for the most vulnerable patients, children, the elderly, and women, particularly pregnant women.

Extended waiting times, extreme overcrowding, and persistent anxiety over whether one will even be allowed to cross whether heading in or out place travelers in a state of constant nervous tension. Palestinians are left wondering: will I make it today? Will I be turned back? Will I miss my appointment, treatment, or flight?

For vulnerable groups, this ordeal becomes not just psychological but physical. It poses real threats to their well-being, magnifying their suffering and turning travel itself into a harsh experience that directly undermines their human dignity.

Are the restrictions imposed on the Allenby Bridge used as a political and security tool that intensifies during periods of tension? How does this impact Palestinian life?

Yes, there is a clear and consistent pattern of tightened restrictions at the Allenby Bridge during periods of political or security tension. Often, the occupation enforces full closures of the West Bank or even specific governorates for extended periods. We saw this during the First and Second Intifadas, in 2014, and most dramatically following October 7, when sweeping, punitive restrictions were imposed on Palestinians.

Since October 7, suffering has escalated significantly, with harsher security protocols, more degrading treatment, and severe limitations on the bridge’s working hours. It’s become evident that the crossing is used by the occupation as a weapon to collectively punish Palestinians, enforce economic siege, and strip them of their basic civil rights particularly their right to movement, employment, medical care, education, pilgrimage, and family unification.

This suffering is not momentary, incidental, or temporary it is a continuous reality that has persisted since the beginning of the occupation in 1967. It intensifies according to political or security events that the occupation uses as justification for escalation. Often, the occupation fabricates these pretexts to exert additional control.

We see this clearly at checkpoints as well as at the bridge: thousands of cars may wait for hours, with no soldiers present only for the barrier to suddenly open with no apparent change in security conditions. What changed?

Nothing but the decision. That decision itself is deeply rooted in racism and collective punishment. Its purpose is to humiliate people, keep them waiting endlessly, and then casually allow the next group through as if the hours of suffering endured by those before them mean nothing.

This strategy is designed to psychologically break the Palestinian individual to trap them in a cycle of checkpoints and bridges that dominate their daily existence. It prevents them from dreaming of freedom, independence, or even earning a basic livelihood. A Palestinian’s day begins and ends with one question: “How are the checkpoints today?” Is the road open or closed? Why? And the answer is always the same: “Because this is occupation.”

Beyond all individual acts, the occupation itself is the greatest ongoing crime in modern history. It takes many forms, and after imprisonment, shootings, killings, and assassinations, the daily suffering at checkpoints and bridges remains one of its most damaging expressions. They are two sides of the same coin: collective punishment, domination, and the erosion of Palestinian human dignity.

Why is there international silence and a lack of accountability in the face of such clear legal and humanitarian violations at the Allenby Bridge?

The international silence surrounding the violations at the Allenby Bridge is one of the main reasons the occupation continues its abuses. As long as there is no real accountability, Palestinians are the ones paying the price.

This silence persists because of the unwavering political support and protection Israel receives in all international forums whether at the UN Security Council, the General Assembly, or global institutions like the International Criminal Court (ICC).

Many countries, when confronted with the clear and painful realities of Palestinian suffering, choose silence. This silence emboldens the occupation, allowing it to continue imposing cruel restrictions, denying freedom of movement, and dehumanizing Palestinians at the crossing.

Although international law affirms the Palestinian people’s right to self-determination, and the Geneva Conventions and human rights treaties guarantee their rights to freedom, dignity, and movement these rights are not implemented on the ground, especially at border crossings.

In this void of international action, Palestinians individuals and institutions are left to defend their rights alone, despite limited resources. War crimes and daily violations at the bridge and other crossings rarely lead to real accountability, due to the paralysis of international justice mechanisms particularly the ICC and the failure of national courts in some countries to intervene.

Some individual efforts do exist led by activists, lawyers, and advocates around the world—but they remain limited in impact. States party to the Geneva Conventions must take full legal and moral responsibility for enforcing international law.

In short, the international community possesses the legal, political, and moral tools needed to address these violations. But it refuses to use them, fearing repercussions to its own interests. As a result, the abuses at the Allenby Bridge persist daily humiliation, degradation, and denial of human dignity continue, with no real protection for Palestinians.

What role should the media play in challenging the narrative that the occupation promotes about the Allenby Bridge?

Palestinians endure daily suffering at the Allenby Bridge violations that amount to crimes against humanity. That’s why this story must be told constantly, the perpetrators held accountable, and the occupation’s policies exposed for what they are.

The media serves as a mirror of reality. Presenting these facts in audio and visual formats carries more power than written news alone. It’s a responsibility that extends beyond journalists it belongs to every Palestinian: citizens, students, doctors, politicians, businesspeople, women, and children. It is a national responsibility to reveal and share this truth.

Palestinian media must ensure this issue remains on the local and international agenda. It must shed light on the massive daily suffering Palestinians endure at border crossings especially the prolonged closures of the Allenby Bridge at a time when most border crossings around the world operate 24/7.

This travel blockade and the absence of any alternative route harms all aspects of Palestinian life. It makes the fight for rights primarily a Palestinian responsibility, even before that of international bodies.

Through media, we can expose the occupation’s hypocrisy in claiming to uphold human rights. The occupation targets not only resistance, but the entire Palestinian population including children, the elderly, and pregnant women inflicting pain that touches their everyday lives and dignity.

If you could deliver one message to the international community about what happens at the Allenby Bridge every day, what would it be?

Take full legal, political, and moral responsibility for the suffering of the Palestinian people under occupation. Uphold their right to self-determination, the establishment of their own state, and an end to the occupation in accordance with international law and UN resolutions.

The international community must go beyond issuing statements of condemnation. It must take concrete steps to hold the occupation accountable, apply the principle of reciprocity, and assume its permanent humanitarian and legal responsibilities regarding the West Bank and Jerusalem’s checkpoints. These checkpoints have turned occupied Palestine into a fragmented prison West Bank included.

International pressure must address all forms of violations from humiliation and degradation at crossings to the internationally prohibited collective punishment enacted daily at the Allenby Bridge. The global community has the means to act and it must act.

Read the interview in Arabic

The year 2026 has been marked by acute political tensions since its very first days. In its opening week, U.S. soldiers abducted the Venezuelan president and transferred him to New York on the direct orders of U.S. President Donald Trump.

At the same time, Iran has been witnessing unprecedented protests, which Washington has seized upon as an opportunity to threaten military intervention, amid mobilizations suggesting an imminent new U.S. strike, encouraged and driven by Israel.

These developments have reopened debate over the erosion of international law and the emerging shape of the global order, particularly following the U.S. president’s announcement of a “Peace Council” as a potential alternative to international law and the global institutions that emerged after World War II.

To decode this complex landscape, we spoke with veteran political researcher Dr. Housni Abidi. In this wide-ranging discussion, we delve into new U.S. strategies, the declining effectiveness of international law, the exposure of multilateral institutions’ limitations, and the rise of what can be described as “geopolitical transactionalism” an approach that treats states and regions as bargaining chips and tradable assets.

This conversation does not merely describe the crisis; it seeks to unpack its roots, assess its trajectories, and anticipate the shape of a world being formed on the ruins of the old international order.

Who Is Housni Abidi?

Housni Abidi is a researcher born in 1964 in the city of El Ouenza, Tebessa Province, Algeria. He is currently based in Switzerland. He holds a PhD in political science from the University of Geneva and serves as director of the Center for Research and Studies on the Arab and Mediterranean World (CERMAM).

He has worked as a consultant for several international institutions, including the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), UNESCO, the United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD), and the United Nations Alliance of Civilizations.

From Israel’s grave violations of international law in Gaza to the U.S. military operation in Venezuela, are we witnessing the collapse of international law in favor of the rule of military force?

International law has been one of the foundational pillars of the international community since the failure of the League of Nations. Multilateral diplomacy emerged as an inevitable outcome of the creation of the United Nations, built on the principle that every state—large or small, rich or poor—has the right to vote, with the exception of the Security Council, which was shaped by the conditions prevailing at the end of World War II.

When the law is violated without being enforced, the international system loses its balance. This is not limited to Gaza; it dates back to the Iraq war, which was the first successful attempt to circumvent international law. The same logic applies to Russia, which argues that it is not the first state to bypass international law and undertake military action causing major disruptions without facing punishment.

What happened in Gaza represents a qualitative shift in international law. The United States went so far as to punish those who sought to hold violators of international law accountable, imposing sanctions on judges of the International Criminal Court. This constitutes a direct threat to international law and to what remains of the legitimacy institutions built since the end of World War II.

Today, we are living through a profound imbalance resulting from the collapse of the post–World War II international order and the refusal of permanent members of the Security Council who possess veto power—to respect international legitimacy. The United States does not want international organizations to play any effective role.

When it withdraws from these bodies and the U.S. president creates alternative institutions of his own, we are witnessing a radical transformation in which military power and bargaining become the two main pillars of what could be called a new international order.

However, it is still too early to define the nature of this order. While the foundations of the old system are eroding and increasingly questioned, it is extremely difficult to build a new, acceptable international order through force alone.

To what extent does Trump’s approach to Greenland reflect a broader pattern of “geopolitical transactionalism,” in which territorial sovereignty is treated as a negotiable asset rather than a fixed principle of international law?

I believe President Donald Trump’s strategy toward Greenland is a natural extension of his foreign policy approach, which is based on power politics and the imposition of sanctions, particularly through tariffs. Intimidation and threats have become a consistent method for the U.S. president, enabling him to weaken all opposing forces. It has become difficult for Congress, the Senate, the federal judiciary, the media, civil society, or the Democratic Party to form an effective counterforce capable of standing up to Trump.

He follows the same path in international politics. There is no state or organization capable of blocking his ambitions, even when he attempts to seize by force a territory belonging to Denmark a NATO member and a U.S. ally. This represents a blatant violation of sovereignty and international law, as well as a shirking of responsibilities toward an allied state.

Given that NATO members theoretically cannot enter into direct war with one another, does the current tension over Greenland and Ukraine signal a fundamental shift in Western alliances and the structure of the international system?

What is happening between the United States and the European Union mirrors the intellectual and political structures of each side. Europe still believes that the United States is not defined solely by President Trump and that it must adopt a cautious, balanced approach toward him to avoid fueling anti-European sentiment among the American public. Trump’s presidency will eventually end, which compels Europe to invest in the future.

Europe possesses powerful economic tools but is reluctant to deploy them, as doing so could further entrench “Trumpism” even after Trump leaves the White House. The core issue is that European states have come to question whether the United States views them as genuine partners and allies or merely as customers who pay well for American weapons.

This moment offers Europe an opportunity to rethink military and strategic autonomy an idea long advocated by Trump himself, though it originally traces back to former French President Charles de Gaulle.

Regarding Iran from the 2022 protests following Mahsa Amini’s death, to war with Israel, to the recent escalating demonstrations how has the Iranian regime managed to endure despite mounting internal and external crises?

The Iranian regime has faced significant social upheavals of varying intensity over time, but the latest protests are the most severe for two main reasons.

First, they originated in the traditional bazaar, historically conservative and close to the regime, and the same social force that helped bring down the Shah and usher in the Islamic Revolution.
Second, they were driven by urgent economic and social grievances: declining purchasing power and the collapse of the Iranian rial issues that enjoy broad consensus among Iranians regarding the legitimacy of protesting them.

What makes these protests particularly alarming for the regime is their unprecedented geographic spread, extending from major cities to remote villages that had never witnessed protests before. Their momentum was further reinforced by overt external intervention, particularly by Israel and the United States, as President Trump directly addressed Iranians, telling them: “Hold on, protest we are coming.”

Despite this, the regime retains a support base whose size and nature are difficult to define. It draws backing from multiple quarters: the Revolutionary Guard, business figures, governmental and semi-governmental institutions, various social groups, and possibly even segments of the regular army. It also possesses financial resources that enable it to absorb current shocks. However, this does not mean the protests have ended or that the regime can endure indefinitely.

While the regime has succeeded in suppressing calls for its overthrow, this success is temporary rather than definitive. The United States, Israel, and Western states seeking regime change understand that the cost of an uncertain military operation would be extremely high, whereas internal change through popular uprising represents a less costly and more politically acceptable option from a Western perspective.

There has been persistent talk since the start of the year about potential U.S. military intervention in Iran. How do today’s U.S. strategic calculations differ from past experiences in Iraq and Afghanistan?

The United States suffered failures in Iraq and Afghanistan despite years of heavy military presence, bearing enormous costs alongside its NATO and Western allies.

President Trump, however, differs fundamentally from his predecessors. Although he presents himself as an isolationist president focused on domestic priorities, reality suggests otherwise. In less than a year, the United States has carried out more than five military interventions abroad without legislative authorization. Trump prefers highly limited military interventions and does not act without assurances of decisive military outcomes.

Does Western support for Iranian protesters represent a genuine commitment to human rights, or merely a desire to overthrow a political and ideological adversary?

There are many examples of double standards, particularly regarding human rights. With the exception of some sincere Western NGOs and international organizations working to improve governance and combat corruption, Western states often use human rights rhetoric as a weapon for pressure and blackmail rather than as a genuine objective.

For example, President Trump has not demanded improvements in human rights in Iran; instead, he demands negotiations from a position of weakness, the dismantling of Iran’s nuclear program, and regime change itself. In both Venezuela and Iran, human rights are not a true priority for Western governments.

What does the contrast between swift U.S. intervention in Venezuela and relative hesitation toward Iran reveal about the real criteria guiding U.S. military decisions?

Venezuela represents a practical application of Trump’s interpretation of the Monroe Doctrine, which treats Central and Latin America as the United States’ backyard and an extension of its national security. When factors such as Maduro’s policies, ties with China, Russia, or Iran, or the success of leftist movements emerge, Trump considers intervention justified, citing drugs or proximity to hostile regimes.

This marks a radical shift in international relations. Traditionally, a newly elected U.S. president would visit Canada and Mexico, underscoring the strategic importance of neighboring states—just as a French president visits Berlin. Today, however, we are witnessing fractures between geographically adjacent countries, despite the assumption that geographic proximity should translate into strategic proximity.

Has the Iran-Israel conflict moved beyond proxy warfare toward a direct existential confrontation?

The confrontation between Iran and Israel has surpassed the proxy war stage and become an open conflict. Iran has suffered the assassination of senior figures nuclear scientists and military leaders confirming the direct nature of the war.

Iran expanded its reach through influence rather than geography, extending into southern Lebanon, Palestine, Yemen, and Iraq. In response, the United States and Israel have sought to dismantle what they call “shared arenas,” targeting Hezbollah, striking inside Iran, and encouraging Syria’s new leadership following the fall of Bashar al-Assad, who was considered an Iranian instrument.

This conflict is not ideological so much as a struggle over interests and influence. Israel seeks lasting influence in southern Lebanon and Syria, while the United States pursues similar expansionist goals. How this geographic and strategic expansion ultimately unfolds remains to be seen.

Are international institutions failing because of their structure, or because major powers have hollowed them out?

When international law is not enforced, the role of global institutions diminishes. The UN Security Council is paralyzed by vetoes from the United States, Russia, and China. When the U.S. withdraws from key organizations such as UNESCO and the World Health Organization, it cripples their effectiveness, seeking to prevent any institution from constraining the new approach adopted by the Trump administration.

As dysfunction worsens, smaller states and those committed to international legitimacy must defend the United Nations and multilateral diplomacy. Major powers, having discovered the limited political utility of these institutions, now seek to disable or replace them just as Trump is attempting through his proposed “Executive Peace Council.”

Does this turbulent start to the year entrench U.S. dominance, or signal a shift toward a multipolar world?

The year 2025 was Trump’s year par excellence, and 2026 will be no different. He has dominated media, politics, and economics, severely damaging international relations and sowing doubt even among close allies such as Britain, Germany, and Canada.

Trump offers no genuine alternative. Any alternative must possess legitimacy and broad international acceptance. Instead, Trump views international relations as business deals offers, counteroffers, negotiations, and price agreements where the strongest economic actor wins.

The world is undergoing a profound transformation. Major responsibilities now fall on the Global South, BRICS, Arab states, and the Middle East, which must prepare for deep disruptions in international relations that the current global system will be unable to resolve. This moment presents an opportunity to rethink the foundations of global governance.

Read the interview in Arabic

The Assad regime devastated the Syrian state and society, turning public institutions into tools for corruption and repression over decades. The Ministry of Social Affairs and Labor was no exception. The Syrian state was entirely absent from addressing social threats such as begging or poverty, and Syrians were left without any meaningful social protection system.

The Ministry of Social Affairs was also directly responsible for one of the most sensitive unresolved files that remains open even after the fall of the regime: the children of detainees who went missing.

Since last July, the Ministry of Interior has arrested former Minister Kinda al-Shammat from Wael al-Halqi’s government (2014–2015) and former Minister Rima al-Qadri from Wael al-Halqi’s later cabinet (2015–2020), as part of an official investigation into allegations that the children of detainees were concealed inside orphan care institutions during the Assad era, along with several officials who ran state care homes.

Today, after liberation, the Ministry of Social Affairs and Labor carries an immense humanitarian, legal, and social burden. Syrians are living through severe economic hardship, with poverty reaching 90 percent according to UN reports, and unemployment exceeding 60 percent.

In this interview, we speak with Dr. Raghda Zidan, Assistant Minister of Social Affairs and Labor and head of the committee investigating the fate of the sons and daughters of detainees. We pause at some of the most sensitive files in an attempt to answer Syrians’ pressing questions about the ministry and the paths it is pursuing.

At the outset, I wanted to begin with the al-Hol camp file. Despite its security and political dimensions, it remains, at its core, a deeply humanitarian and social issue involving thousands of Syrian men and women who were never brought before any court, in addition to thousands of children.

Dr. Zidan explained that Fadi al-Qassem is currently responsible for managing the camp in its entirety, along with his assigned team. Al-Qassem previously served as Minister of Development and Humanitarian Affairs in the Syrian Salvation Government, and later as Minister of Administrative Development in the Syrian Interim Government headed by Mohammad al-Bashir following the fall of the former regime.

She added that the camp’s administration does not currently fall under the ministry’s authority, and that cooperation with the ministry will take place in later stages.

I would like to begin with scenes that rekindled hope in the idea of a new Syria such as the rehabilitation of anti-begging centers. I, like many others, did not expect to see any tangible progress on this issue for years after liberation, given its deep connection to the country’s devastated economic and social conditions, which will take years to recover.

Yet it appears that you have already begun addressing this tragedy. Do you have statistics and a clear plan? And how would you assess the response of families and children?

Begging was one of the primary files the Ministry of Social Affairs worked on from the outset, given the sheer number of people involved and the transformation of begging into a profession rather than merely a consequence of need. It was first necessary to rehabilitate the centers themselves, which resembled prisons and were unfit for humane living. They provided no rehabilitation for children and no guidance for their families.

We rehabilitated several centers so they could genuinely accommodate children, provide education and rehabilitation, and reintegrate them into society. This took time due to limited resources and the large number of people affected.

So far, we have rehabilitated more than 253 boys and girls in Damascus, and the work is ongoing. Rehabilitation efforts are also continuing in all governorates, in cooperation with local administrations and provincial social affairs directorates.

There are no accurate statistics on the number of people who beg in Syria. Previous estimates suggested more than 250,000 across all governorates, including about 10 percent children. These figures are not precise, but they do reflect the widespread nature of the phenomenon.

The number of centers is insufficient, and existing ones require further rehabilitation. We have prepared three centers in Damascus to ensure dignified rehabilitation, protect children’s rights, reintegrate them, and return them to school. We are also working to equip appropriate centers in all governorates. While centers exist, many are not adequately prepared.

Our focus is particularly on child begging. Under Syrian law, begging by adults is a crime punishable by law and falls under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Interior.

The files under the ministry’s responsibility may be among the most challenging after liberation, given the depth of the social crises left by war, displacement, and fragmentation alongside the lack of resources and qualified personnel.

International partnerships often appear to be one of the main avenues for funding. What are your priorities and project plans for 2026?

Today, the Ministry of Social Affairs and Labor serves marginalized groups, persons with disabilities, the elderly, children, women who are heads of households, and youth seeking work or training more than 90 percent of the Syrian population. Resources are limited, so we developed a medium-term strategic plan (three years) encompassing eight core programs:

• Social protection

• Social and economic inclusion

• Decent work

• Local economic development

• Community rural development

• Development of NGO work

• Corporate social responsibility

• Administrative and governance development

Each program includes several projects.

In 2026, we will focus on social protection poverty reduction, assistance programs, combating begging, and caring for the elderly and persons with disabilities. We will also prioritize employment strategies, including unemployment reduction, training programs, women’s and youth empowerment, and decent work. Digital transformation and updating the ministry’s regulatory framework are also key priorities.

We cooperate with international organizations across multiple programs, especially in social protection. These include the ILO, UNICEF, ESCWA, UNDP, and others. We implement child-focused programs with UNICEF, labor-related programs with the ILO, and training programs with UNDP, GIZ, and additional international partners.

You head the committee investigating the fate of detainees’ children one of the most sensitive issues in Syrian society. Could you outline the committee’s roadmap and working mechanisms?

The committee was formed to uncover the fate of the sons and daughters of detainees and forcibly disappeared persons who were placed under security measures in centers affiliated with the Ministry of Social Affairs and Labor.

Its mandate is to determine their fate, ensure they were reunited with their families, and provide files that support accountability without itself acting as an investigative or judicial body.

That responsibility lies with the Ministries of Justice and Interior, the Transitional Justice Commission, and the National Commission for the Missing.

The committee includes representatives from the ministries of Social Affairs, Justice, Interior, and Awqaf, as well as representatives of victims’ families and civil society organizations working on missing persons. We collected all available files from ministry-run care homes and formed volunteer teams to archive and review them.

We also launched two confidential hotlines for families and anyone wishing to provide information, established a dedicated communication unit to update families, and offer legal, psychological, and social support.

So far, we have identified 314 children. We have confirmed that more than 160 of them have been reunited with their families through direct visits. Work continues to determine the fate of the remaining children and to verify the identities of those who resided in care centers during the war and have since left.

The files are extensive, entirely paper-based, addresses have changed, and the data requires careful verification. This process takes time and effort. We hope to reach every child and ensure accountability as swiftly as possible.

Were you personally present when the 160 children were reunited with their families?

It is important to clarify that the children were not in ministry centers when we assumed office. Some left years before liberation and were recorded as having been returned to their families; others left immediately after liberation. Our role was to verify the records and confirm that those listed as reunited are indeed with their families today. We have confirmed this.

We are now searching for the remaining children. Some are reportedly with their families but outside Syria, while others remain unaccounted for. We are pursuing every possible lead.

Are the 314 children those listed in care center records as detainees’ children, or those whose families filed search requests?

These names were found in care center records. There are additional lists of children whose families filed search requests but whose names we have not yet found in ministry records. The search is ongoing and expanding.

Regarding the 160 children already identified, were their parents released, declared deceased, or still missing? And were the children registered under their real names?

Their parents were released either before or after liberation. Some children were registered under their real names; others had their names changed.

At the “Lahn al-Hayat” residential complex, children of unknown parentage are received and assigned names. When children of known parentage whose parents were detained were placed there, they were registered as having unknown parentage and given new names in line with the complex’s regulations.

This practice was not universal across all centers. Importantly, even when names were changed, original intake files retained the child’s real identity.

The case of Rania al-Abbasi’s children is among the most prominent missing-children cases and has sparked public anger toward the committee.

How many children of detainees remain missing today, and why do you think there is a gap between the committee and families?

During the revolution, many children disappeared. Some reports cite 3,700 missing children. Not all of them were placed in ministry care centers. Only children whose parents were detained by state security branches were placed in these centers. Others disappeared at militia checkpoints, became separated from their families, or vanished under different circumstances.

Every child placed in a ministry center has a file explicitly stating that they are the child of a detainee and that their file must be handled confidentially. Many families searching today discover that their cases fall outside the ministry’s jurisdiction.

We fully understand the pain families endure. We, too, are children of the revolution and have our own missing loved ones and martyrs. We are working tirelessly to uncover any information that may help determine the fate of the missing and cooperate closely with the National Commission for the Missing and all relevant bodies.

So far, have you found any document proving that Rania al-Abbasi’s children entered ministry institutions?

No, we have not found any such documentation.

To clarify, your committee is responsible only for children placed in ministry institutions, while responsibility for others lies with the National Commission for the Missing?

Yes, that is correct.

Do you have insight into investigations involving former officials suspected of involvement? And what about reports claiming children were transferred to Russia or Iran or recruited into combat?

Our role is verification; investigations are the responsibility of the Ministries of Interior and Justice. We are in constant contact with them. The file is extremely complex, and many reports circulate. So far, we have found no documents confirming or denying claims of deportation or recruitment.

How can Syrians—especially youth—support the ministry’s efforts to rebuild society?

We need everyone’s efforts. This is a moment of state-building. Those who can contribute must not hesitate. Watching from abroad and commenting on social media alone is not enough. We need people on the ground, engaging directly and understanding how they can help. Many have volunteered and worked sincerely. Others found the task overwhelming and withdrew, but at least they understood the scale of the challenge.

Our country will not be rebuilt by wishes, but by work and sacrifice. Reconstruction is harder than liberation, and we must all rise to the responsibility.

How do you see the role of Syrian media in covering the ministry’s social files and the detainees’ children committee?

Much of what circulates on social media today is rumor rather than fact. There is little verification, and efforts are often met with attack and ridicule. This is expected. However, genuine journalism has yet to fully assume its role in the reconstruction phase. Media must present the full picture, not chase trends or amplify disinformation. Journalism is a responsibility that demands awareness of the power of words and images.

Finally, how has the detainees’ children file affected you personally, as a mother?

It is profoundly difficult. As a mother and as someone who lived under the former regime’s injustice and experienced the loss of relatives and friends in prisons and bombings, this file is deeply painful. Listening to grieving parents and feeling unable to ease their suffering is emotionally crushing. Yet it strengthens our resolve to continue working and intensify efforts to uncover the truth.

The obstacles are immense. The former regime was highly sophisticated in its crimes. We must work patiently to reach the truth and hold those responsible accountable.

Palestinian heritage faces grave challenges under Israeli occupation, amid Judaization policies, settlement expansion, and systematic acts of sabotage and looting. Preserving archaeological sites and Palestinian historical identity has thus become a matter of existential urgency.

Palestinian heritage is more than just ancient ruins and stones it is the memory of a nation and the identity of a people. Safeguarding this legacy requires ongoing Palestinian efforts and effective Arab and international support to ensure that the Palestinian narrative remains documented and visible to the world, with every artifact serving as a living testament to a civilization that has endured for millennia.

To shed light on this critical issue, Noon Post spoke with Mohammad Jaradat, Director of the Inventory Department for Archaeological Sites at the Palestinian Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities. He discussed the scope of Israeli violations, Palestinian documentation efforts, and the importance of evidence-based historical narratives.

After October 7, how did the rate of attacks on Palestinian archaeological sites change?

Since 2013, Palestinian antiquities and heritage have faced an unprecedented and systematic campaign of looting whether through the annexation of archaeological sites or the theft of historical artifacts. This campaign intensified significantly in 2024, with the Israeli government endorsing this approach by granting the Civil Administration full authority over all archaeological sites located in Area B under the Oslo Accords.

Area B, rich in archaeological sites, is under Palestinian administrative control. This new Israeli decision means that roughly 25% of the approximately 7,000 archaeological sites within the 1967 borders of Palestine are now vulnerable to Israeli control either through extensive excavations or outright artifact confiscation.

Israeli authorities have also granted expanded powers to those working in the field of antiquities and cultural heritage, enabling them to seize control of these sites and conduct excavations and confiscations. One recent example is Khirbet al-Burj.

Khirbet al-Burj lies about 1.5 km west of the town of al-Mazra’a al-Sharqiya, east of Ramallah, atop a hill. It includes layers of archaeological remains dating back to the Iron Age and classical periods, including Hellenistic, Roman, Byzantine, Umayyad, Abbasid, Crusader, Ayyubid, Mamluk, and Ottoman eras.

Some of these remains are visible on the surface, including building foundations, church remnants, two rows of column bases, six columns, rock-hewn structures, and cisterns. Israeli forces have confiscated these columns particularly those that had fallen relocating them to unknown sites or into Israel itself.

Would you describe what’s happening as organized looting of antiquities or a wartime escalation?

This is a systematic campaign unfolding alongside a broader escalation. In addition to direct attacks, Israeli authorities are clearly working to assert control over Palestinian archaeological sites. One of the most significant developments is the establishment of what they call an “archaeological park” in the area of Sebastia, covering approximately 800 dunams.

Sebastia, located north of Nablus, is the site of a Roman city perched on a hill overlooking surrounding plains. It is on the tentative list for World Heritage designation, and the Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities is currently preparing its formal nomination file.

Israeli seizures of such sites are part of a broader agenda tied to settlement expansion in the West Bank. Previously, Israeli authorities confiscated 63 archaeological sites in the Nablus area, most of them on elevated terrain or near bypass roads. The goal is not simply to annex these sites but to repurpose them to serve the broader colonial project.

Why have archaeological sites become a direct target at this stage?

Archaeological sites are intimately linked to the land, so seizing land often means seizing its heritage. Today, Israeli authorities openly declare intentions to annex archaeological sites under the guise of development or the creation of “archaeological parks.” However, these projects are ultimately aimed at consolidating settlements.

Among the key goals are legitimizing illegal outposts especially those not officially recognized by disguising them as heritage sites. This strategy often includes annexing the surrounding lands. It also supports the expansion of pastoral settlement, a growing phenomenon in which Israeli herders are allowed to roam freely across vast areas, sometimes even entering Area A under Oslo, claiming they’re grazing sheep.

Additionally, existing settlements are being expanded by linking them with confiscated archaeological sites, thereby absorbing more land. This is particularly evident in areas like Nablus and Sebastia, where the goal is to isolate Palestinian towns and villages and construct settlement infrastructure, including roads.

These actions deprive Palestinians especially the Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities of the ability to protect and develop critical heritage sites. Some of the affected sites include Khan al-Lubban, Khirbet al-Awaf near Sinjil north of Ramallah, Khirbet Seilun (Tel Shiloh), Khirbet al-Bubariya, Khirbet al-Tana al-Tahta in the heart of Nablus governorate, and Khirbet Masoudiyya Station, an early 20th-century Ottoman rail stop. There’s also Khirbet al-Kanisa (or Sheikh Ghanem) on Mount Gerizim, which already hosts an Israeli outpost.

In total, dozens of sites have been annexed by Israel as part of a strategy to expand settlements, establish outposts, and reinforce its control of West Bank land, especially through pastoral colonization and agricultural exploitation.

What is the historical and archaeological value of these areas?

Every archaeological site carries inherent historical and cultural value, but some like Sebastia hold exceptional significance. Sebastia is a fully developed Roman city with all the hallmarks of classical urban planning, including an acropolis, a temple, Augustus’s palace, a theater, a colonnaded street, a gate, and a hippodrome. Collectively, these elements mark it as a site of extraordinary importance.

The site’s nomination to UNESCO’s tentative World Heritage list in 2004–2005 and the preparation of its final submission file drew strong Israeli protests, as Palestinians spearheaded the nomination independently.

Khirbet al-Burj, meanwhile, rises 920 meters above sea level, offering panoramic views in all directions. Its ancient columns some dating back over 3,000 years have been relocated by Israeli authorities to Israel. This hilltop site has strong potential to become an archaeological park and a tourist destination due to its elevation, historical depth, and scenic beauty.

What role do settlers and the so-called “Israeli Antiquities Authority” play? Are these actions protected by the Israeli army?

Yes. In the West Bank, there is an entity officially known in Israel as the “Staff for Antiquities in Judea and Samaria,” under the Civil Administration. This team includes officers in the Israeli army who specialize in antiquities. As the occupying power, they were initially tasked with overseeing heritage management.

After the 1993 Oslo Accords, authority over antiquities in Areas A and B was transferred to the Palestinian side, while Area C remained under Israeli control. International law prohibits occupying powers from altering antiquities except for preservation or essential infrastructure projects.

However, under settler pressure, the Israeli military and political leadership integrated this staff into the Israeli Antiquities Authority. Consequently, Israeli universities began conducting excavations in Area B. For example, two or three years ago, Bar-Ilan University excavated Khirbet Tibneh near Nabi Saleh, northwest of Ramallah.

This intervention prompted by settler lobbying and sanctioned by Israeli officials is part of a larger policy aimed at asserting sovereignty and annexing West Bank territory.

Where are the stolen artifacts taken? Are they displayed in Israeli institutions or used to promote false historical narratives?

Artifacts looted from the West Bank were long stored in facilities in Sheikh Jarrah in East Jerusalem, while those from Gaza were stored in Ashkelon. We’re talking about millions of pieces obtained either through official Israeli excavations or illegal digs by antiquities thieves. These items often end up in Israel’s antiquities market.

Some artifacts are displayed in Israeli museums—there are over 200 such institutions in Israel, including small private venues. One notable example is the personal collection of Moshe Dayan, which was massive and largely sourced from the West Bank.

These items are not held in anticipation of future negotiations with Palestinians, as in Egypt’s case with Sinai. Instead, Israel treats them as its own property, conducting research on them and sometimes even exporting them abroad.

This conduct underscores Israel’s refusal to treat the West Bank as occupied territory. Recent efforts to reassert control over Area B are part of the same broader annexation campaign.

Do you believe this looting is part of a wider Judaization strategy?

Yes. Judaization is a long-standing Israeli policy that began in Jerusalem and the Galilee and has since expanded across historic Palestine. Today, it extends deeply into the West Bank. The aim is to erase Arab, Islamic, and Christian identities from cities like Jerusalem, Hebron, Galilee, and Nablus, and impose a Jewish identity instead.

This involves distorting historical facts and suppressing the Arab narrative in favor of what we see as a fabricated Israeli one. Rather than allowing the evidence to speak, Israel imposes pre-written biblical narratives onto archaeological sites a clear violation of archaeological methodology.

This approach is also reflected in Israeli school curricula, which present these antiquities as part of “Jewish heritage,” even though they are Palestinian in origin. It is a comprehensive policy to Judaize the land, its identity, and its historical memory.

How are stolen artifacts used to rewrite the land’s history?

Israel refuses to acknowledge Palestinian history as a rich, cumulative narrative spanning centuries. Instead, it promotes a narrowly defined Jewish history, superimposing ready-made stories onto archaeological sites and interpreting them in ways that reinforce the notion that the land’s entire past belongs exclusively to Jews.

This reinterpretation co-opts Bronze Age, Canaanite, and early Philistine periods, folding them into a singular ethno-religious story, typically tied to the Israelites. Thus, all archaeological evidence is redirected to support and reinforce this singular narrative.

What is the cultural and national cost of this looting?

The damage is immense. Palestinians are denied the ability to protect, study, or integrate these sites into their tourism sector, which has economic implications as well.

More importantly, false narratives are constructed based not on scientific data but on political agendas, and these are promoted globally. In Jerusalem, for instance—a city historically sacred to all three Abrahamic faiths the narrative is now almost entirely framed around the concept of the “Temple,” marginalizing Islamic and Christian stories.

This control extends to access: Palestinians are often denied entry to places like Jerusalem and Hebron’s Ibrahimi Mosque. These sites’ Arab, Islamic, and Christian identities are being erased.

Israel markets its version of history internationally, reinforcing its narrative among sympathetic audiences. Meanwhile, the Palestinian narrative though grounded in evidence is marginalized by restricted access and global indifference.

If looting continues, what will it mean for the Palestinian historical narrative?

Two conflicting narratives now dominate globally: the well-funded Israeli one and the constrained Palestinian one. Nevertheless, the Palestinian Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities, universities, and academic institutions continue working to produce a scientifically grounded, evidence-based Palestinian narrative.

Israel’s narrative, however, is bolstered by massive cultural output books, exhibitions, and media which frame the land as “the Promised Land” and “the Land of the Patriarchs,” supported by selectively interpreted archaeology.

Narrative, therefore, is a central battleground. While some liberal Israeli scholars acknowledge Palestinian history, most archaeologists in Israel promote and globalize a biblical narrative aligned with Israeli political goals.

Would you characterize this as a form of cultural cleansing alongside geographic displacement?

Absolutely. While military aggression is overt, cultural warfare can be even more insidious. Israel is cultivating a generation raised on a one-sided story that denies Palestinian presence and erases their role in shaping the land.

The danger also lies in global academia. Because of the scarcity of accessible Arabic sources, some researchers rely on Israeli narratives, which risks altering perceptions and facts on the ground. Military control can obscure or destroy evidence, allowing fabricated stories to take hold.

Take Masada as an example. In 1951, an Israeli officer published a brochure claiming it was the site of a great battle between Jews and Romans. Despite the lack of archaeological evidence only a single arrowhead was found this version persists. Even today, Israeli soldiers often swear their oaths at Masada.

Such myths, unsupported by science, are passed down as unquestioned truth, exemplifying a strategy of cultural cleansing aimed at memory, history, and identity.

To what extent do these practices constitute international crimes?

International law protects cultural heritage during armed conflict, as stipulated by the 1954 Hague Convention and the 1972 UNESCO Convention. These agreements prohibit occupying powers from altering or appropriating cultural property.

Deliberate attacks or misappropriations of heritage sites are clear violations and constitute crimes under international law. Palestine gained full UNESCO membership in 2011, giving it a platform to raise such violations and apply pressure on Israel.

World Heritage sites like Bethlehem’s Church of the Nativity, Battir, and Hebron are already recognized. Jerusalem has been on the list since 1982.

What role do The Hague and Geneva Conventions play in protecting heritage in occupied territories?

Both conventions prohibit attacks on cultural property during war or occupation. The 1954 Hague Convention specifically mandates protection of such property and obligates occupying powers to preserve it.

These legal instruments give Palestinians a framework for documenting violations and advocating internationally. Additional protection comes from the 1999 Second Protocol to the Hague Convention, which further emphasizes cultural safeguarding during armed conflict.

What is required—locally, regionally, and internationally—to stop this looting?

The Palestinian Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities must act decisively to safeguard heritage, particularly under growing Israeli expansionist policies. Preserving cultural heritage should be a national priority, on par with health, education, and agriculture.

Palestinian efforts should include:

• Protecting heritage under Palestinian control using all available means.

• Daily or near-daily documentation of Israeli violations, leveraging digital tools.

• Organizing festivals, exhibitions, and conferences to raise awareness.

• Intensifying Palestinian archaeological activity; while Israel operates at hundreds of sites, Palestinian efforts must expand with scientific rigor.

• Promoting cultural awareness through public campaigns, schools, and universities.

• Publishing the Palestinian heritage narrative in foreign languages to reach international audiences and expose Israeli practices.

Regionally and internationally:

• Establishing a unified Arab legal framework criminalizing heritage violations.

• Strengthening ties with UNESCO and UN bodies to keep them informed of Israeli abuses and ensure Palestinian participation in global heritage forums.

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What is your message to the international community, which remains largely silent? How can we protect what remains?

In a world beset by wars and crises, our message is this: Like all peoples, Palestinians possess a rich cultural legacy that stretches from the Stone Age over a million years ago into the present. This heritage is a human treasure that must be protected for future generations.

We call for international solidarity and action to counter Israel’s cultural colonization. Despite the economic and political hardships we face, Palestinians continue their efforts to document, preserve, and share their heritage as part of humanity’s shared history.

Read the interview in Arabic

Syria’s momentous transition today-following its liberation from the Assad regime, which ruled by iron and fire for some 55 years-harkens back to a similar pivotal moment in Syrian political memory a century ago: 1920. That year marked the birth of the “Arab Kingdom of Syria,” the Levant’s first pioneering experiment in parliamentary democracy-an experiment that, had it been allowed to survive, would have transformed the face of our country and the entire region.

At that time, the “Syrian General Congress” convened in 1919 under the leadership of King Faisal I bin Hussein. He agreed to become the first Arab monarch to subject his rule to a constitution, enshrining a model of “civil, representative monarchy” where sovereignty belongs to the nation, not the ruler.

Supported by the wisdom of the Congress’s president, the Islamic reformer Sheikh Rashid Rida, the Congress succeeded in that brief period in reconciling Islamic identity with the values of a civil state. They crafted the 1920 Constitution, which established full equality among Syrians regardless of their religious or ethnic backgrounds.

Yet, this nascent parliamentary experiment, which was ahead of its time in the region, soon crashed against the wall of Western colonial ambitions. France and Britain refused to accept a sovereign, free model that threatened their interests.

The decisions of the San Remo Conference legitimized the Mandate, followed by the military advance led by General Gouraud, who crushed the Syrian dream at the Battle of Maysalun in July 1920. Military force thus ended a political project that could have altered the region’s trajectory for the next century.

We revisit this history today with its most prominent historian, Professor Elizabeth Thompson, author of “How the West Stole Democracy from the Arabs”. In this interview, we discuss how Syrians today can reclaim that “lost legacy,” and how, in their new republic, they can avoid the traps of “minority protection” and international guardianship-pretexts used a century ago to destroy their first attempt and tear apart the societal fabric.

Who is Professor Elizabeth Thompson?

Elizabeth Thompson is a leading American scholar and historian of Middle Eastern studies. She holds the Mohamed S. Farsi Chair of Islamic Peace at American University in Washington, D.C., specializing in the dissection of political and social transformations in Syria and Lebanon during the Mandate era. Her award-winning work is distinguished by its success in illuminating Arab constitutional experiments that were deliberately obscured from the global historical record.

Professor Thompson is widely regarded as one of the most influential contemporary academic voices deconstructing colonial narratives in the Arab Levant. Her publications serve as international benchmarks for understanding the nexus between citizenship, gender, and the state in post-colonial societies.

The core of her scholarly contribution lies in shattering stereotypes surrounding “Arab Democratic Exceptionalism.” Through her rigorous research on Syria and Lebanon, she has demonstrated that the obstacles to democracy were not cultural, but rather the result of structural and legal interventions imposed by colonialism.

Major Works:

1. How the West Stole Democracy from the Arabs: The Syrian Congress of 1920 and the Destruction of its Historic Liberal-Islamic Alliance

2. Justice Interrupted: The Struggle for Constitutional Government in the Middle East

3. Colonial Citizens: Republican Rights, Paternal Privilege, and Gender in French Syria and Lebanon

   

In your book “How the West Stole Democracy from the Arabs”, you document the Syrian attempt to establish a democratic system in 1920. Now, more than a century later and following the fall of the Assad regime, do you believe Syria is facing a second historic opportunity?

Or do international circumstances continue to obstruct this path as they did a hundred years ago?

A century after Syria’s democratic, parliamentary democracy was demolished by the French, Syrians face an opportunity to recoup the democratic and tolerant political culture that their society held before colonial occupation. In 1920, a religious leader wearing a turban presided over a congress that drafted and ratified what I consider the most democratic constitution in modern Arab history.

It established a representative government based on equality before the law, regardless of religion, class or ethnicity. The congress came close to granting women the right to vote as well. Most important, the constitution was adopted by a Congress including religious conservatives and modernist liberals. They refuted the Orientalist proposition that Islam and democracy don’t mix.

Pious Arabs who still revere the writings of Rashid Rida may be surprised to know that before colonization polarized politics, he agreed to disestablish Islam as a state religion, in favor of Islamic principles of equality and public interest. The monarch, King Faisal, was elected by the Congress and pledged an oath to uphold the constitution and “religious laws,” not Islam.

As Rida argued, non-Muslims would not be equal if the state and its laws were based on Islam. Nonetheless, he argued, the resulting constitution was a state based upon Islamic principles.

The current regime in Syria must heed the lessons of 1920, which expressed political consensus based on the country’s indigenous traditions. Sectarianism – and indeed, Islamism– grew in response to foreign, Christian occupation. It was perhaps a necessary, reactionary phase. But it contributed to political instability that weakened Syria in the mid-20th century, leaving it vulnerable to foreign interference and dictatorship.

International intervention was then, as it is now, a threat to Syrian society. But Syrians in 1920 met that threat by uniting. Syrians must do the same today if they wish to put the violence of the colonial and Baathist past behind them.

In your writings, you argue that international intervention often reproduces authoritarian structures. What risks do you foresee today that could cause this pattern to recur in post-liberation Syria?

Under the French mandate, Syrian political life was deformed by foreign support for some interests against others. To impose their will, foreigners align with those who can repress resistance sectarian religious leaders, powerful economic leaders and landowners, and tribal elements.

In other words, colonizers were able to occupy and oppress societies around the world by dividing them according to class, religion, and ethnicity. Syrians must be careful today, as in 1920, that those who offer aid will repeat these tried-and-true tactics.

In your scholarly experience, where does the constitutional project typically falter in the Arab world: in the legislative texts or in the balance of power? How does this apply to the current Syrian moment?

Constitutions have failed where they have been imposed from above and outside by elites and by technocratic outsiders.

I find much wisdom in the writing of Nathan Brown on errors made in Iraq after the American invasion of 2003. There, and in other historical cases, a small elite in collaboration with outside experts engineered a document to which normal people had no allegiance.

A constitution is sustainable when it is written as a product of debate, discussion and compromise. That way, all parties in the society have “buy in”. That said, a constitution cannot be sustained if powerful forces, aligned with the military oppose it.

A prerequisite for establishing a constitutional system is the subordination of the military to civilian control and to checks and balances that prevent the executive’s unilateral deployment. Sadly, these conditions did not hold in other Arab countries after 2011. Sadly, after 250 years, they are being undermined in my own country

Today, Syrians have the chance to get it right. But the challenges are formidable. The population is in desperate, immediate need of assistance. Space for open political debate has been diminished by decades of tyranny and war. The educated, middle classes have been dispersed.

They are essential to political development, but they cannot find homes or jobs. This vacuum, and the social emergency, might tempt the regime to short-circuit the process of constitutional debate. That would be a mistake in the long run.

What lessons can Syria draw today from the history of Arab constitutionalism from the 19th century to the Arab Spring particularly regarding the separation of powers and the establishment of civilian oversight over the military?

Syrians must restore and take pride in their own history. In 1920, and again in the 1950s, Syria was a beacon of Arab democracy. Syria did not have as large a landed oligarchy as Egypt and Iraq did. Syrians had developed in Ottoman times a political tradition of tolerance and relative egalitarianism.

After World War I, it had resisted the sectarianism that disastrously undermined Lebanon. It is essential that Syrian schools and the press recall this proud tradition. Syria can and should again become a leader in Arab democracy.

You write often about historical alliances between conservative and liberal movements. Do you see the possibility for the birth of a new social alliance in Syria between the civil, Islamist, and nationalist currents to rebuild the state? What can be learned from the lessons of the past?

Syrians must reject the lies told by the Asad regime that they are a fundamentally divided people. I studied under one of Syria’s foremost historians, Abdel Karim Rafeq. He was a Christian from Idlib, but a Syrian nationalist too. He told stories about how his mother wore a headscarf outside of church in solidarity with her Muslim neighbors.

Aside from Rashid Rida and the Congress, Syrians must also recuperate the spirit of the Arab Socialist Party of the 1940s and 1950s, led by Akram Hawrani. While he was controversial, he was also important figure in Syrian history he was a socialist from Hama whose father was a Sufi leader.

That enabled him to connect with ordinary people. He built the Arab world’s first peasant movement. He was a devoted democrat who helped to re-open Syrian politics in the mid-1950s again on the basis of uniting Syrians across religion and refusing the idea that Islam and democracy are unreconcilable.

Sadly, he fell victim to the imperialist, Cold-War politics of the 1950s. I urge Syrians to revisit his four-volume memoir. It reveals in rich detail the popular, democratic, and tolerant political culture that runs deep in Syrian history.

How can Syrian society, with its diverse components, transcend the narratives of fragmentation and the antagonistic identities that the Assad regime has sowed over the course of 50 years?

This is an important question, and an essential challenge for political leaders today. I urge the ministry of education to revamp and enrich Syrian students’ study of their own history, to offer an alternative view of their society. I would urge Syrians to produce historical films and television shows, too. I dream that someone might make a television series about the 1920 Congress!

In your writings on gender and citizenship, you have long emphasized the impact of women’s participation in building the modern state. How do you view the role of Syrian women today in this foundational phase?

Furthermore, what risks do states face when they exclude women from the process of drafting the constitution and shaping new policies?

Women were so important to the democratic moments of 1920 and the 1950s in Syria. I was saddened to find, when I first visited Syria in the 1990s, how the Asad regime had disempowered women. And yet, I was heartened by all the smart, motivated, and patriotic women I met, who worked in the government, in education and as writers. Some of the most inspiring stories about the Syrian revolt against the Asads were written by women.

I cannot see how an egalitarian regime can be built upon the repression of their spirit and talent. Should Syria (as I hope) find a way of reconciling with the Kurdish movements of the northeast, I would hope that the liberation of women there might become an example. It is simply a lie to claim that religion requires women to be excluded from the public sphere. Indeed, the subjugation of any group women, or Kurds, or Christians– erodes the stability of any egalitarian, democratic regime.

You documented how France and Britain used the ‘protection of minorities’ card as a Trojan horse to justify the Mandate and dismantle the nascent Syrian state. How did this political exploitation of minorities in the 1920s impact the political sectarianism we see today in Lebanon and Syria?

The pretense that minorities need foreign protection was a widespread colonialist tactic a century ago. Its influence was most destructive in designing a sectarian regime in Lebanon. Syrian leaders refused to adopt anything like the 1926 Lebanese constitution.

In the mandate era and through the 1950s they resisted any attempt to institutionalize sectarianism. Sadly, the 1950 constitution included language basing law on Islam. This lit a flame under a powder keg. It forced non-Muslims to align with anti-democratic forces. It must be resisted today.

Likewise, the exclusion of Kurds in the 1960s violated the very principle of inclusion and tolerance established in the 1920 constitution. Syrian historians and scholars must spread knowledge of the colonial origins of sectarianism and demonstrate the prior Syrian tradition of tolerance.

If we assume the League of Nations had respected the King-Crane Commission’s report and allowed the Syrian Kingdom to endure, how do you imagine the Middle East’s political landscape would look today? Could we have avoided the rise of military dictatorships?

Historians resist counterfactualism. Yet, one cannot avoid thinking about how, if the Syrian Congress of 1920 had not been abolished, how different the Middle East would look. The expulsion of Syria from the rights-bearing family of nations, all members of the League of Nations, was deeply dehumanizing.

In Syria and elsewhere in the colonial world, this exclusion inspired anti-Western and often militant movements that spread violence. Had the Great Powers in 1919 recognized that inclusive democracy was a route to world peace, we would not have suffered decades of violence and war against colonialism in the later 20th century. This is the topic of the book I am now writing.

As a scholar who has spent years studying the early Syrian experience in constitutional governance, which historical moment do you feel most resembles the Syrian moment today?

This moment is unique. History does not repeat itself. However, this is a moment of potential democratic transition such as Syrians witnessed in 1920 and the 1950s. The problem, in both prior cases, was the defense of national sovereignty. Today, unlike 1920, Syria is not seen as a prize in the expansion of empire.

And unlike the 1950s, Syria is not a Cold-War battleground between socialism and capitalism. Precisely because Syria offers no intrinsic interest to Great Powers, it might be free to enact true self-determination.

The main obstacle to this will be the need for reconstruction funds from outside, which may come with strings attached. The Syrian government must remain extremely wary of these.

If you had to summarize the past century in a single sentence as advice for Syrians today, what would it be?

Syria is no longer a political football tossed between regional or world powers, so it has the chance now to unite in establishing a truly inclusive, just government that serves its own peoples’ best interest.

This is the second in a series of written interviews I am conducting with Western scholars and intellectuals whose academic or intellectual contributions have offered valuable insights into issues concerning our Arab region or explored Arab–Western relations. The series seeks, above all, to better understand how our region is perceived within the Western intellectual sphere.

The fifteenth anniversary of Egypt’s January 25 Revolution arrives at an ambiguous historical moment. It is a time marked more by exhaustion than nostalgia, weighed down not only by the question “What happened?” but also “What remains?”

Fifteen years on, we are not facing a single dominant narrative, nor a decisive defeat or a delayed victory, but rather a prolonged process of fragmentation, reconstitution, and cumulative collapse across politics, society, organizing, and even the collective imagination.

In this context, we must return to the difficult questions not as revolutionary nostalgia, nor as political self-flagellation, but to understand what became of Egypt’s spaces of political and social action: parties, unions, labor movements, Islamists, alternative media, and new generations.

To explore this, we spoke with Hossam el-Hamalawy, an Egyptian journalist, activist, and academic who has lived through the revolution and beyond, consistently writing, critiquing, and organizing from a position of deep engagement.

Q: Starting with Egypt’s political scene today, how would you assess what remains of political forces whether emerging civil parties like the Hope Coalition, older formations like Karama or the Socialists, or the Islamist currents?

Do any still have influence? Can we still talk about organized political action, or are we left with empty frameworks?

Today, almost all political forces from the far right to the far left are either diminished or have completely collapsed. One of the central aims of the counterrevolution that followed the coup led by Abdel Fattah el-Sisi was to dismantle the political landscape entirely.

It began with Islamists whether the Muslim Brotherhood, jihadists, or Salafists but soon extended to civil forces: April 6, existing leftist parties (registered or informal like the Revolutionary Socialists). Most of these were repressed and dismantled. By the end of Sisi’s first term in 2018, most had been crushed.

Yet between 2020 and 2022, the regime faced a multifaceted crisis: COVID-19, the Ukraine war, a global economic downturn, and a reduction in Gulf support. These challenges unsettled the regime and created limited opportunities for marginal political activity.

Another factor is the steep decline in Sisi’s popularity. Initially, from the coup until the first currency float in 2016, he enjoyed immense support, largely driven by fear of chaos and a longing for stability, especially among the middle class. He made grand promises and asked people for patience. Many believed him at first.

Movements like the Hope Coalition, Ahmed Tantawy’s initiative, and renewed Nasserist efforts began surfacing in this context.

Q: But are these efforts effective? Can they create any real change?

Unfortunately, all these movements, including the Revolutionary Socialists to which I belong, have been severely weakened. Their bases have been eroded. While there are still limited attempts such as within professional syndicates or Tantawy’s campaign they are quickly repressed.

Still, nothing lasts forever. The victory of Khaled el-Balshy in the Journalists Syndicate and recent activity in the Engineers Syndicate, alongside mass strikes like those of the lawyers, show that some social pulse persists. These efforts often fail or are crushed quickly, but their mere existence shows movement compared to the total stasis of 2018.

Q: Let’s talk about the labor movement. Where does it stand today in relation to the regime? Have protest tools evolved? Can today’s actions be built upon for the future?

To understand the present, you need context.

Since Nasser’s era, Egyptian labor unions have been state-controlled. In 1957, the state established the Egyptian Trade Union Federation (ETUF), a hierarchical structure subject to full state oversight.

It was never a genuine workers’ representative. Rather, it was a tool for control and mobilization like bussing workers to vote-rigging stations during Mubarak’s elections in exchange for minor favors.

Still, some independent voices managed to infiltrate lower-level shop-floor committees. Between 2006 and 2011, spontaneous wildcat strikes led by factory workers not leftists or NGOs became more common. This gave rise to Egypt’s first independent union in 2008, followed by many others after the 2011 revolution.

The Egyptian Federation of Independent Trade Unions was launched then, with some leftist support. But internal dysfunction, leadership elitism, and poor coordination quickly appeared. A key example was the failed general strike of February 2012.

After the 2013 coup, unions both state-controlled and independent were crushed. Leaders were arrested, dismissed, or forced to retire. New laws rendered union activity nearly impossible, including a ban on opening union bank accounts.

Yet in the last few years, a modest revival has begun. New tools, like WhatsApp groups, allow for some organization. Young leaders are emerging though often without the experience or coordination networks of the past.

These protests are mostly defensive against layoffs, wage issues not aimed at building a broader labor strategy. Still, they offer a glimmer of potential for future revival.

Q: Over time, we’ve seen political energy shift into rights-based work, often driven by former leftist activists. Today, much of the opposition’s activity is media-based, especially online. Have podcasts, YouTube shows, and social platforms become substitutes for organizing? Can we reclaim real politics from this drift?

Egypt’s human rights movement began growing in the late 1980s and early 1990s, after the collapse of the third wave of Egyptian communism and the fall of the Soviet Union.

Many former leftists saw human rights work as an alternative to party politics. Some organizations remained small and donor-focused, but others like El-Nadeem, the Hisham Mubarak Law Center, and the Egyptian Initiative were central to protest movements and provided tangible support on the ground.

Lawyers like Khaled Ali played a key role in connecting courtroom battles to street activism fighting privatization, defending labor rights, and challenging the state.

Islamists had their own trajectory. The Muslim Brotherhood, with its network of charities, schools, and social institutions, functioned as a quasi-civil society actor. Some Islamist lawyers also joined the rights movement.

Post-2013, digital platforms became the only outlet. Social media, especially podcasts and livestreams, replaced public squares. This is not unique to Egypt; it’s a global shift accelerated by repression and technology.

Among Islamists, divisions persist: some focus on religious outreach, others still seek political power. Many now see media work as part of political strategy.

Can media replace politics? Not really. But when the streets are closed, digital work is often the only option. Once public space reopens, we can assess which digital projects have real potential to evolve into political platforms.

Q: Egyptian society is often described as fragmented and lacking intermediary structures. Who bears primary responsibility for this? The state? Political leaders? Intellectuals?

All of them to varying degrees but the state bears the lion’s share.

You can critique political and intellectual leaders all you want, but the state holds the power: the prisons, the army, the police, the security apparatus, the judiciary. It controls every lever of governance and repression.

Still, the second tier of responsibility includes political figures and public intellectuals. The Egyptian left, for example, had leaders like Rifaat el-Said who steered parties into poor strategic choices.

Islamist leaders, too whether radical or reformist sometimes colluded with the regime or were involved in unjustified violence, such as sectarian attacks in the 1990s. That history helped the regime justify its brutality.

So yes, many opposition leaders made mistakes. But the ultimate responsibility lies with the state.

Q: What about claims that structural limits within society cultural, educational, economic block political progress?

I think that’s an excuse often used by those unwilling to take responsibility.

Some liberals or leftists argue that “the people don’t know their own interests,” or that “they’ll always vote for the wrong people.” That’s elitist nonsense.

People understand their material needs. They navigate poverty and oppression daily. The challenge is translating individual interests into collective action and political programs.

Yes, structural obstacles exist but they don’t remove accountability from the state or the failures of opposition movements.

Q: Can we describe Sisi’s regime as a form of “revolutionary dictatorship” one that overthrew all existing actors and built a new system?

Not really. That label doesn’t fit.

A revolutionary dictatorship like the Jacobins in France arises when a radical movement temporarily centralizes power to defend a transformative agenda. Even if repressive, it’s tied to a revolutionary project.

Sisi’s regime is purely counterrevolutionary. Its entire goal was to erase 2011, to ensure nothing like it ever happens again. It didn’t inherit the old system it built something harsher.

Sisi’s gamble was to rally society against protest itself—to convince people that chaos had to be crushed. That’s a hallmark of counterrevolutions. Think of Pinochet in Chile, or the Freikorps in Germany after World War I. These weren’t restorations; they were new, violent regimes born from revolutionary fear.

Sisi’s state is securitized to its core. It governs through intelligence agencies, not institutions. It’s authoritarianism without even the pretense of political life.

Q: So why didn’t the regime just bring back Mubarak’s model? Why replace it with something even more brutal and less competent?

Because from their perspective, Mubarak’s system failed. It allowed a revolution to happen.

They didn’t want a party to manage, a parliament to negotiate with, or a media to navigate. They wanted a structure where the security agencies run everything openly.

Look at photos from presidential meetings: it’s all generals and security heads. The deep state isn’t behind the curtain anymore; it’s center stage.

Q: What about Gen Z? Are they a real political force, or is their influence exaggerated by the nature of digital platforms?

People forget that in 2011, it was the young who led. What we call Gen Z today were the Gen Z of then.

Throughout history, it’s always the youth who lead revolutions. They face down police, charge into streets, and withstand the violence. Change never starts with the elderly.

What’s different now is digital fluency. Today’s youth are “digital natives” they don’t need training on how to tweet, film, or organize online. They grew up with it.

That creates speed and flexibility but also brings problems: lack of structure, fleeting engagement, and difficulty translating presence into power.

Technology is a tool. But change still requires organizing, relationships, sacrifice.

Q: Over the years, the memory of the revolution has faded. Sometimes it only appears in regime speeches. What remains, really, of January 25 in Egyptian consciousness?

I wouldn’t say it has disappeared. In a country of 100 million, there’s no single answer.

In my experience, moments like January 25, January 28, Mohamed Mahmoud, and Rabaa still spark deep emotions especially as the regime loses support. Some romanticize Mubarak, others long for 2011.

There’s also a generation that didn’t live the revolution directly. For them, it appears on YouTube and TikTok almost like science fiction. But that fascination keeps it alive.

What remains depends on class, background, geography. But January broke taboos. It changed how people talk about rights, gender, and power. Those shifts are symbolic but real.

In October 2023, people returned briefly to the streets. They chanted the old slogans: “Bread, freedom, social justice.” That wasn’t coincidence. It was memory, waiting for a moment.

Absolutely. The coup crushed January’s organizational legacy. But the questions it raised are still here. They haven’t been answered. They wait.

Q: Regionally, especially after the war in Gaza, do you think the Arab world has entered a new phase one that favors authoritarian “stability” over risky change? Is democratic transition still viable?

If this regime were truly stable, it wouldn’t need new prisons every year. It wouldn’t fear minor protests. It wouldn’t arrest people over Facebook posts.

Sisi behaves like a man terrified of 2011 returning.

Look at September 2019 or October 2023. Even small protests cause panic. That tells you everything.

Q: But isn’t there a risk that repression becomes normalized that both society and the regime see it as the default?

That’s the danger. When authoritarianism becomes everyday, people adapt. But adaptation isn’t the same as consent.

And with regional dynamics changing especially after October 7 we’re entering a new phase. That deserves its own conversation.

Q: Finally, on the anniversary of January 25, what would you say about revolution itself as a concept?

Revolutions are rare. They aren’t daily politics. They’re extraordinary moments when people act together and say: enough.

No society is inherently revolutionary or passive forever. Today, people feel alone—like speaking up makes you the crazy one. The system wants you to feel that way.

As Marx said: the dominant ideas are always those of the ruling class. We don’t own the schools, the newspapers, the media. Even the internet is controlled by billionaires.

Still, small spaces for connection and solidarity exist. Most people choose survival but in rare moments, fear flips. The impossible becomes real.

One theory says revolutions erupt not at rock bottom but when rising hopes hit a wall. That gap between aspiration and reality creates tension. It explodes.

Egypt’s revolution wasn’t sudden. It was years of small battles strikes, blogs, protests, connections from Cairo to Asyut. It built slowly, then burst.

That’s how change happens: not through miracles, but through accumulation. And eventually, the dam breaks.

In a country exhausted by decades of denial, exclusionary identity politics, and a deep-seated mutual fear that has become part of daily consciousness, words themselves become a moral act. Speaking out breaks the silence, creates space for difference, and affirms that listening to others does not require adopting their views it simply acknowledges their right to be heard.

In this interview with writer and critic Haitham Hussein, we open a space for joint reflection on the Kurdish issue as a question of state and citizenship. The discussion navigates history, language, memory, and literature as vital elements shaping Syrian consciousness.

We explore the possibilities of national partnership, the role of law, culture, and narrative in reopening the public sphere on the basis of mutual recognition, and the capacity of literature to express what politics has failed to articulate, restoring the individual to the center of the story after decades of marginalization.

Haitham Hussein is a Syrian Kurdish writer, novelist, and critic, born in Amuda al-Hasakah in 1978. He resides in London, is a member of the Society of Authors in the UK and Scottish PEN, and works as an editor at the international newspaper Al-Arab based in London. He is also the founder and director of the website Rawayeh. His novels and critical works have been translated into several languages.

What do you mean by “Kurdish rights” in the Syrian context?

Kurdish rights in Syria, above all, should not be placed in quotation marks. They are the rights of an indigenous national community to be treated within the state and public sphere on the basis of equal citizenship without denying its name, devaluing its language, or stripping its legal and political dignity. These rights are multilayered, beginning with legal recognition but not ending there.

Kurdish rights mean the right to identity the right for a Kurd to say, “I am a Syrian Kurd,” without that being read as a threat, political error, or cultural defect. It includes linguistic rights: Kurdish should be treated as a living language in education, culture, and media, free from the decades-long repression and criminalization under Baathist rule and the Assad regime.

Kurdish rights also mean full citizenship: the right to nationality, registration, documentation, property ownership, employment, and movement. When citizenship is revoked or restricted on ethnic grounds, the state becomes a tool of collective punishment.

The exceptional 1962 census in al-Hasakah is a stark example of politics turning into a widespread legal dispossession, stripping hundreds of thousands of Kurds of citizenship an injustice passed down through generations.

There is also the right to fair representation in political and administrative life, access to state institutions based on merit not on a presumption of guilt tied to identity. Kurdish rights include the right to memory: acknowledgment of Arabization policies, demographic engineering, and systematic marginalization, including the so-called “Arab Belt” project, which entailed forced displacement and settlement.

It is essential to emphasize that advocating for Kurdish rights does not mean inventing new frameworks outside established norms. These demands are firmly rooted in international human rights law, including identity, language, culture, political participation, non-discrimination, and self-determination in its internationally recognized forms.

Such rights are not matters of local interpretation or political mood; they are historical safeguards against exclusion and denial.

International law is clear from the Universal Declaration of Human Rights to the International Covenants on Civil and Political Rights, and on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, all the way to the principles governing peoples’ right to self-determination.

There is no need to search for evasive or ambiguous solutions when legal standards are well-established. Syria’s problem was never a lack of texts or vague concepts, but the absence of political will to respect these principles. The state became a tool of denial rather than a guarantor of rights.

From this perspective, any serious discussion about a new national partnership or social contract in Syria cannot bypass these references or reduce rights to temporary settlements or political concessions.

Rights are not gifts from the authorities, nor bargaining chips for loyalty. They are upheld by law. Any attempt to circumvent this principle simply reproduces the crisis, even if the language or faces change. Kurdish rights must serve as a foundation for rebuilding a shared state based on genuine equality, embracing and protecting pluralism.

As a Syrian Kurdish intellectual and writer, how do you assess Decree No. 13? To what extent does it meet or align with the concept of Kurdish rights you just described?

What strikes me about Decree No. 13 is its timing it comes in a moment of political turbulence and reflects an official attempt to recalibrate the discourse toward Kurds after decades of denial. From this angle, it holds symbolic value. It breaks a long silence, reaffirms Kurds as an integral national group, recognizes cultural and linguistic identity, and reopens the citizenship file tied to the 1962 census.

These elements intersect with the essence of Kurdish rights as I’ve outlined: rights to name, language, and legal presence in the state.

However, its alignment with the broader concept of Kurdish rights remains limited. The rights I refer to are grounded in equal citizenship enshrined in law and the constitution, and in institutionalizing recognition. I’m not a legal expert, but as it stands, the decree offers general political acknowledgment without translating that recognition into constitutional guarantees or enforceable legal protections.

This reveals the difference between symbolic recognition and a solid legal foundation for the relationship between Kurds and the state.

Designating Kurdish as a national language is a step forward, given the long history of prohibition. However, confining it to optional or cultural domains leaves it outside the core educational system. This contradicts the notion of language rights as part of the public sphere, including education, media, and local administration.

In terms of nationality, the decree moves closer to the essence of Kurdish rights by addressing one of the deepest forms of exclusion: the legacy of the 1962 census. Resolving statelessness aligns with international legal principles that prohibit arbitrary deprivation of nationality.

Equally important is the question of implementation. Syria’s track record with decrees necessitates ethical and political caution. Bashar al-Assad issued dozens of decrees bearing reformist or rights-based titles that ultimately became hollow gestures. The executive authority treated law as rhetorical not a commitment to society.

The real test lies in practical questions: Which bodies will oversee implementation? What are the timelines? Will independent committees be formed to resolve nationality cases? How will curricula be restructured to include Kurdish? How will diversity rhetoric translate into concrete media and administrative policies? Without these tools, recognition remains suspended in the symbolic realm.

The decree also lacks a political and institutional dimension of rights no mention of fair participation in state institutions, administrative decentralization, or Kurdish representation in decision-making centers. These are essential components of the rights framework I’ve described, and are echoed in international minority rights standards that link cultural recognition with guarantees of participation in public life.

Real alignment requires moving from partial recognition to a comprehensive constitutional project that redefines the state as one of pluralistic citizenship, legally safeguarding rights and tying principles to institutions and practice.

How and when did ethnic tensions in Syria begin to form, and to what extent did Assad’s policies deepen this divide?

Ethnic tensions in Syria didn’t begin with Assad, but they hardened and became institutionalized under Baathist rule and later under Hafez and Bashar al-Assad. Before that, there were social frictions, local rivalries, and economic changes that led to conflict. But when a modern state is built around a singular identity and governed with a security mindset, those tensions evolve into mechanisms of exclusion.

The Baath party promoted an Arab nationalist narrative with chauvinistic tendencies that rejected diversity. The Assad regime took this further, embedding it into education, bureaucracy, security, and even the definition of “the nation” itself.

Consider the official language of the Syrian state: all constitutions enshrined Arabic as the sole official language, with no protections for other components. This doesn’t explain everything, but it reveals a state mentality that viewed pluralism as a burden.

One of the regime’s gravest offenses was transforming ethnic identity into grounds for suspicion. Kurds were routinely required to prove their loyalty more than others, and any cultural or artistic activity was interpreted as a political threat.

At the same time, a dominant “public culture” marginalized Kurds, erasing them from educational curricula, reducing them to stereotypes in the media, and treating Kurdish culture with condescension.

The 1962 census in al-Hasakah preceded Hafez al-Assad, but his regime inherited and expanded its impact using statelessness as a tool of control. In 2011, a partial solution was introduced to appease some of those affected, but not as part of a transitional justice effort.

Meanwhile, the Arab Belt project and other Arabization policies were not marginal historical details but expressions of a state-driven effort to reshape geography, demographics, memory, and language.

The divide deepened because the regime didn’t stop at excluding Kurds it embedded that exclusion into society, shaping an educational system that produced generations who saw Kurds as outsiders or as people with “excessive demands.”

Even after the fall of the Assad regime in many areas, the remnants of this mindset linger, surfacing every time the topic of rights arises. We see this clearly today in official and pro-regime Arab media discourse.

When does nationalism shift from protecting identity to becoming an exclusionary discourse?

Nationalism becomes exclusionary when it moves from “belonging” to “ownership” when the nation is defined in exclusive terms, and the “other” becomes a guest, an outsider, or even a threat.

It turns into a tool of exclusion when it justifies monopolizing the state, public discourse, history, and even the right to name the country and its people. Nationalism becomes dangerous when it demands symbolic obedience, sees questioning as suspicion, and converts culture into propaganda. At that point, human experiences are judged through an illusion of ideological purity.

In Syria’s case, Arab nationalism, when fused with the state, security services, and curricula, ceased to be a cultural identity and became an apparatus of repression. That’s the difference between a natural cultural belonging and an ideology that grades citizenship.

How can Kurds defend their language, culture, and memory without slipping into ethnic nationalism?

The first step is distinguishing between defending rights and turning identity into a closed fortress.

Defending language and culture is a right, but it requires a political and ethical mindset to avoid replicating the very violence that Kurds themselves endured.

A healthy defense frames language, culture, and memory as part of Syria’s broader public sphere—not as a private possession. This means building a narrative where protecting Kurdish identity strengthens Syria, not fragments it.

Kurdish language education, media platforms, and publishing initiatives should be seen as part of constructing a self-respecting state. Internally, the Kurdish community also needs self-critique and should avoid trends that turn identity into a tool for exclusion or treat Arab Syrians as a monolithic block.

Syria’s history is complex and filled with both victims and actors. Generalizations lead to political and moral paralysis. A healthy defense of Kurdish rights requires civil tools educational institutions, translation programs, literary criticism, cultural documentation, legal advocacy. When language becomes a long-term civic project, the risk of ethnic chauvinism diminishes.

How has the exclusion of Kurds from Syrian state institutions under the Assads shaped their later political participation?

When a community is excluded from state institutions for decades, exclusion becomes a social experience. It fosters fear of the state, distrust in central authority, a sense of futility, and reliance on alternative local networks.

Under the Assads, excluding Kurds was not a bureaucratic detail—it was part of loyalty engineering. The state accepted individual participation under conditions but rejected genuine collective representation.

This led to two simultaneous outcomes: weak participation within state institutions, as access was blocked, and growth of parallel participation outside the state—in political parties, cultural movements, and grassroots organizing. Some were mature, others troubled, some became entangled in regional dynamics and conflict.

After 2011, this legacy became evident. Many Kurds viewed the Syrian center with deep suspicion, given their experience with a state that was never neutral. At the same time, the collapse of the state created a pressing need for self-preservation.

One cannot ignore the autonomous administration in northeast Syria, which created space for Kurdish language, education, and initiatives. It broke a long stagnation and restored confidence in Kurdish identity in public life. But the experience remains isolated surrounded by hostility, attempts at containment and exclusion which has hindered its evolution into a culturally balanced model that connects with the rest of the country. This siege is political, military, economic, and symbolic, and it has affected cultural sustainability.

What kind of national partnership could secure Kurdish rights while strengthening unity among all Syrians?

A viable national partnership must be based on a simple principle: a state of pluralistic citizenship, not of a singular identity or inflated sectarian ego intoxicated by temporary power.

This means clear constitutional recognition of ethnic, cultural, and linguistic diversity with practical guarantees, not vague statements. It requires full legal equality, including final and just resolution of statelessness and its consequences, and genuine administrative decentralization that allows for elected local governance, equitable services, and fair resource distribution within a unified state not isolated “islands.”

It also requires political and security participation, so that identity no longer becomes grounds for exclusion or suspicion.

The unity of Syrians must not be built by denying difference, but by transforming it into a political and moral contract that protects all. Any unity imposed from above through coercive language or exclusionary narratives will eventually morph into resentment.

In your critical review of the Syrian experience, what has been the gravest error of the Arab Syrian discourse in addressing the Kurdish issue? And conversely, what was the most costly mistake of Kurdish political discourse in engaging with Syria as a collective homeland?

The gravest error in Arab Syrian discourse has been the normalization of Kurdish denial, embedding it into the national psyche. The Kurdish question was not addressed as one of state and citizenship, but as a nuisance, a file to delay, or a burden to manage through security tools.

This discourse accepted the presence of Kurds as individuals, but faltered at acknowledging them as a people with language, memory, and collective rights. Even at moments when it raised slogans of freedom and opposition, it retained the same mindset that the regime had produced. It asked Kurds to join a national project that didn’t even recognize them, and treated any assertion of ethnic rights as a threat to unity. Nationalism thus became a tool of exclusion rather than a unifying contract.

In contrast, Kurdish political discourse emerged as a defensive response to a repressive state. It was born of fear, shaped by a long experience of suspicion and marginalization. But the cost became apparent when legitimate self-defense turned into a limited political horizon one that prioritized consolidation over partnership.

In key moments, the focus remained on managing current realities, rather than building a broader national narrative, delaying investment in a shared Syrian future in favor of temporary security calculations. This deepened mistrust and left a vacuum filled by old fears and hostile propaganda.

This imbalance is ethically asymmetrical. Arab discourse erred from a position of privilege controlling state symbolism and tools. Kurdish discourse erred from a defensive position under duress. But persisting in this dynamic keeps the crisis alive.

The way out lies in a dual reckoning: dismantling symbolic privileges at the center, and overcoming isolationist tendencies at the margins. It boils down to a single, non-negotiable question: How do we build a Syria that includes everyone without asking permission, without favors, without forced assimilation, and without turning fear into permanent policy?

How can this mutual critique be transformed into legal and political solutions that redefine national relations?

Transformation begins when critique moves from moral rhetoric to a concrete political and social contract. That means a clear constitutional text that recognizes and guarantees ethnic and linguistic pluralism not just slogans. It requires education and cultural laws that restore respect to all community languages and open media and publishing space to them, according to the standards of a modern state.

It also calls for transitional justice mechanisms to address the consequences of exclusionary policies: statelessness, discrimination, demographic engineering, land confiscation, and harm caused by security agencies. Elected administrative decentralization must ensure participation and resource equity, with transparent oversight to prevent local tyranny.

Laws are also needed to counter chauvinism—Arab, Kurdish, or otherwise—through a clear party law, media law, and anti-hate speech measures. Cultural courage is essential. We must rewrite a national narrative that includes Kurds, Arabs, Syriacs, Assyrians, Turkmens, Druze, and others on the principle that Syria belongs to all its people, not to a single identity.

What does literature offer in understanding the Arab–Kurdish relationship that political language does not?

When literature is faithful to its intellectual, ethical, and human mission, it can reveal what politics deliberately hides and name what has been normalized as trivial. The problem in Syria isn’t just the poverty of political language, but the literary field’s reluctance to engage the Kurdish question.

It’s hard to justify the silence of many Syrian novelists who have written about oppression, prison, city, countryside, and marginalization yet ignored the Kurdish issue, as if it didn’t exist. This silence is not an aesthetic choice or an innocent omission. It reflects a broader cultural system of denial.

When Kurds are absent from Syrian fiction absent as characters, places, language, or wounds it means the writer never considered them part of their world. In that case, literature becomes complicit in exclusion, even unintentionally.

Literature can illuminate the Arab–Kurdish relationship by capturing everyday life: schools, neighborhoods, jokes, unspoken fears, complicity. But it fails when it chooses safety and complacency creating a fictional world devoid of diversity. In that case, literature becomes a tool of erasure.

Political language is coarse and blunt that’s expected. But literature should not share its blindness. A novelist who writes about Syria without Kurds isn’t writing about Syria, but a diminished version of it no matter how skilled or eloquent they may be.

Literature reveals human intersections that politics ignores: friendships, intermarriages, shared work, common fear of prison, collective longing for safety. Its power lies in dissolving “us” and “them” by returning each person to their human fragility, personal history, and unique wound not their slogans or isolation.

To what extent can literary storytelling contribute to building a shared Syrian memory that transcends ethnic divides and recent political history?

Literary storytelling cannot build a shared Syrian memory as long as it treats Kurdish memory as peripheral, local, or unworthy of the main narrative. Shared memory isn’t built by erasure or by collapsing Syria into a single narrative of victimhood no matter how powerful or human that narrative may seem.

When you read countless Syrian novels and find no Kurdish presence no characters, no places, no language, no wounds you must ask: What shared memory are we really talking about?

Any memory—shared or otherwise—cannot be built by silencing other memories, or by treating them as folklore or “non-literary” political issues. Narrative can contribute to shared memory when it brings diversity to the center of the story, not to its margins. We need fiction that places the Kurdish tragedy within the broader Syrian context without dissolving it and that addresses the Syrian tragedy as a whole without erasing its specificities.

Storytelling can revive oral traditions that shaped Kurdish music, songs, and memory, and document the institutional marginalization that kept hundreds of Kurdish intellectuals on the margins of Arab literary circles summoned only occasionally for symbolic decoration, without changing the structure of the field.

Literature doesn’t offer ready-made political solutions. But it provides what politics needs to cleanse itself of its blindness: the ability to see people, pain, and history not as the regime defines them, but as they were lived by real people.

Many Syrian literary works have produced selective memories: condemning the regime in one realm while reproducing its exclusionary logic in another. This contradiction has weakened literature’s historic role and created an ethical and intellectual vacuum.

That said, some exceptions exist Syrian writers who have addressed the Kurdish issue with moral and human sincerity, treating it as part of Syria’s fabric, not as an alien topic. These few attempts prove that such engagement was always possible and that the broader silence was neither inevitable nor innocent.

But the rarity of these exceptions highlights the general failure. It raises a collective moral question for Syrian literature: Why has Kurdish presence in storytelling remained dependent on the courage of individuals, rather than emerging from a shared cultural choice?

A man who writes literature with deep optimism and an unwavering faith in humanity and love rooted in trust in human exchange and in the simple Arabic maxim: “I am of you and to you.” He believes that most people carry inner beauty that can emerge if given the chance, even if they seem to display evil at certain moments.

From New York, just days ago, the globally acclaimed Libyan writer Hisham Matar spoke to Noon Post after nearly a year and a half of effort while reviewing the Arabic translation of his newest novel, Friends, which has won and been shortlisted for several awards since its publication in 2024. Its Arabic translation is expected to be published soon by Dar El Shorouk in Egypt.

His latest project involves translating the book Ahlam: A Period of Recuperation by Egyptian Nobel laureate Naguib Mahfouz into English, released last May under the title I Found Myself… The Last Dreams, with a foreword by Matar and photographs by his wife, the photographer Diana. Matar met Mahfouz in Egypt at a pivotal moment in the latter’s life as he was writing these dreams a meeting that left a profound mark on Matar’s literary and human sensibilities.

Matar writes in English and does not have much time to read contemporary literature not out of arrogance, but due to lack of time. He admits feeling that he falls short toward his friends who are writers, both Arab and foreign, but emphasizes that reading for him is “oxygen,” and that he is a slow reader who needs a long time to finish a single book.

Matar studied architecture but changed his path to writing both creative and academic. He leans toward writing as his most honest means of saying what he wants and prefers to leave his book alone with the reader, allowing them to interact without his presence, because the text, in his view, is the most precious thing he can offer.

He finds a constant tension between writing and speaking, which leads him to avoid intensive media appearances, given the pressures they impose on the writer and on literature itself.

Just as Matar takes a long time to read, he also takes a long time to write: his latest novel took three years to write after carrying its idea for nearly a decade; his book The Return took about three years; the novels In the Country of Men and Anatomy of a Disappearance each took about four years; while A Month in Siena, where he blends visual art, travel, and reflection, was written in only six weeks.

Here is the full conversation:

You won the George Orwell Prize for Political Fiction for your novel Friends. Do you think the Arab world needs a similar prize for political fiction perhaps launched by Arab writers abroad as a form of resistance or free expression amid the broader Arab political climate?

Prizes are important, but the attention given to them by readers, writers, and publishers alike is excessive. I care more about development than about prizes.

A writer needs support to write because writing doesn’t come with an income, and it’s difficult for a novelist in particular to make a living from writing even successful writers and those who write serious novels.

A prize encourages social and political critique, but what I prefer, from the perspective of a writer, is to give a modest sum annually over five or ten years to a group of writers to support and sustain them be it five, ten, fifteen, twenty, or even one hundred writers if you have the influence rather than giving a £50,000 prize to one writer for one book each year.

Use the same budget over a period of time because writing and novels take time. That’s if our concern is nurturing literature and its makers.

The prize remains fine, but its problem is that it gives you the idea that literature is a race; in truth it is cooperation, not a race. Writing is a craft of solidarity and collaboration. When you sit alone in a room and write, you are in dialogue with the history of literature, with other books, with many voices, and with every person who has influenced you in life.

Your father paid a high price for opposing Gaddafi. Would you have opposed repression or tyranny in the same way?

In other words, what is your method for confronting despotism whether in a dictatorship or a democracy as we see in the world today?

My father was a politician with his own methods and ideas that he wanted to realize in his country ideas about managing freedoms and social existence that would grant freedom to the press and independence to the law. All of these ideas were completely opposed to the ruling system in Libya at the time Gaddafi’s regime.

I agree with my father on many ideas, but our personalities are different, and the beautiful thing is that he always encouraged my choices. I am more interested in art, philosophy, and thought. Though I share his political perspectives, my approach is different. I don’t see myself as a writer of a particular type of novel or literature I don’t see myself as a political or oppositional writer.

For me, the writing and the project itself drive the thought; I don’t drive it. I’m not against those who do this there are excellent writers who do but it’s not my way. When they gave the Orwell Prize for Political Fiction to my novel Friends, I was delighted by the honor.

I’m not against those who see the novel in these terms, but that’s simply not where I write from. I know the idea is sometimes hard to understand and may seem full of contradictions, but for me it’s simple.

You enter the kitchen to cook something you want today, then friends come in and find the food they crave. You will be happy that what delights you also pleases them but you didn’t cook it for them in the first place.

Writing emerges from an obsession. Even the word obsession is problematic for me it’s like a dream. All the books I’ve written, whether novels or memoirs, started from an image, a sound, or a feeling without knowing what would come next, but something draws me.

That’s how Friends began with a long sentence full of circling yearning and a desire to measure the distance between feeling and existence. One sentence that I didn’t know who would say it, in what context, or why I felt that way.

I wrote it and carried it for about eight or nine years before sitting down to complete the whole novel. There is drama that holds any story, and there are deeper existential or philosophical questions that sustain the work.

That’s how a beginning happens. You don’t jump into the work and decide it will be political or emotional or revolutionary. Writing is an attempt to strip yourself bare. You will write what draws you regardless of its resonance with people or their admiration of it. If they like it, you will not find yourself alone in those feelings.

Do you feel a responsibility to express the voices of the voiceless, or is that a burden the writer must resist?

I don’t feel that consciously. There is a problem in deciding who the voiceless are many are voiceless. I have an ethical and political sympathy with the concept, but I also have artistic doubts about it.

As a reader because I am a reader more than a writer I want to live in a culture that allows all voices to be heard and allows the marginalized to be part of the conversation. That is genuine plurality not giving the responsibility of representing the voiceless to some people.

Exile in your writings is not just political but also intimate. To what extent has exile become a lens through which you see the world, reflected in your writing and in your university teaching of exile literature?

Without a doubt, exile is a very powerful factor in my life and in my formation as a human being. I’ve lived between two cultures, and I am a son of both.

I am fundamentally Arab raised as an Arab, with those roots, my people, and my family but I was raised in the West—especially in Britain—since I was 15.

I’m 55 now, and I have lived all this time with the West and in its language in which I write.

The most important relationship for a writer is with the language he uses. Language is not just a system of concepts it is philosophy, feeling, emotion, history, and psychology. There is a deeply important reason for the Arabic word for injustice being the opposite of light, whereas in English injustice is the opposite of justice.

It may seem simple, but it’s a philosophy that influences everything. It influences how we welcome, for example, or how we approach food. All of this has deep cultural roots. So when you are an Arab writer writing in English, you have great contradictions in your life.

Overall, every culture has two dialogues: one with the self and one with the other, which are completely different. How we speak about ourselves with those who resemble us and how we speak about ourselves to the other.

I am British and Libyan, and that’s a problem because these are countries with historical conflict and still today between Europe and the Middle East and America as well.

I am not Japanese and Libyan, for example. I find myself between two cultures with all the disputes and historical tensions and also the old cultural cooperation between them.

Your book The Return, in which you trace your father’s path, is the only one not yet translated into Arabic despite being a declared project. What happened?

And what is your relationship with Cairo, where you lived for a period and where your father disappeared?

There is always a distinction in my mind between governments and peoples. My relationship with Egypt is not like my relationship with the Egyptian regime that kidnapped my father and handed him over to Libya. Similarly, my relationship with Libya is different from my relationship with the Gaddafi regime or any regime.

I say that the more difficult our countries are and the more problems they have, the more we must maintain social relations with them. I have great faith in the genius of social relationships that surpasses anything else.

Egypt—Cairo, specifically—has its own intelligence and confidence in social exchange. Perhaps at the time of the event itself I carried some distance from it, but I never bore it hatred. This is one of the things I thank God for. The desire for hatred or revenge was never part of my life.

Even when my father was in prison in Libya during the darkest and most painful times I never wished those who imprisoned him to be harmed. In my view, revenge is the greatest defeat accepting that the oppressor’s method is the method that must continue. Literature is deeply interested in this idea. Shakespeare’s Hamlet, for example, is essentially concerned with the problem of revenge.

When we went to Egypt, my accent became entirely Egyptian indistinguishable from Egyptians. After my father was kidnapped, the accent returned to Libyan. This is the only psychological impact on my relationship with Egypt, but the social connection with Egyptian friends after what happened to my father was deep and sincere. You don’t need much time to distinguish political violence or corruption from the people themselves.

What about the translation of the book? Some see political reasons that might be hindering its translation since the Arab publisher is ultimately in Egypt and your book deals with disappearance there…

No, that’s not the case. Translation is a long story and always has its challenges. The Return in particular is difficult to capture in its voice. We have a translation, but it wasn’t accurate, and we haven’t yet succeeded in achieving a better one.

Writing in English creates distance between you and the Arab reader. Has this choice cost you something, or has it given you protection in saying what you want?

For me, writing in English was not so much a choice as it was the result of many things even before I left Egypt. Education in Egypt in the 1970s and especially the 1980s suffered from major problems that pushed those who could afford it to enroll their children in foreign schools and I was one of those caught in that.

My initial relationship with Arabic was extraordinary. In grammar exams, for example, the boys would gather around me and sit next to me because I excelled. I wrote poetry too, and my entire relationship with literature and language was in Arabic until age eleven.

Then I was transferred to an English school a painful transition because I didn’t know a single English word. They put me in an office with headphones, and I listened daily to Jane Austen novels for two hours every morning before other classes.

I had just six months to learn the language so I wouldn’t lose the school year, so I dove entirely into English and after two years I moved to a boarding school in Britain. There was a profound loss when the language slipped away. In my twenties and early thirties, I was deeply concerned with these questions and they weighed heavily on me. I felt I was a child of contradictions that would never align.

For freedom it’s certainly tangible but there are Arab writers who have courage and freedom, and there are writers who write in English without freedom. Living in a culture that can cancel a book or imprison a writer that happens and has serious consequences. But the first space of freedom is internal. That is the first battlefield a writer must win for his zeal for freedom and that doesn’t come merely by changing place.

Your writings represent a different model of the relationship between son and father in the Arab context. How has this relationship evolved over time?

Has the prolonged uncertainty about your father’s fate shaped your sense of narrative as an alternative to the experience of ultimate loss?

My first three books In the Country of Men, Anatomy of a Disappearance, and The Return all focused on the father‑son relationship in different circumstances. I was 19 when my father was kidnapped, and I returned to Libya at 42. During that entire period, my primary concern in life was the presence of my father, which consumed much of my effort and thought.

Strangely, in the midst of all this preoccupation with trying to find my father which took various forms, including working with international human rights organizations, in the judiciary, and in the media I felt distant from him. I didn’t understand how I could feel that distance when I devoted so much effort to finding him. He visited me in dreams, yet I felt a distance between us.

In Libya, I had the chance to search for him in the place where he was taken without knowing how or exactly where he was moved. Every new piece of information opened up new questions. Then I reduced the intensity of the search that had occupied my life for six years. I continued searching but in a lesser way and this is where the surprise happened.

My father returned in my mind not with the language I had been speaking about him related to abduction, torture, and prison, but as my father the smiling, uninjured father before all of that. It was a great mercy and a gift from the Most Merciful that changed my concept of our relationships with loved ones who have died.

That is the personal difference that occurred, but in terms of writing which is also a personal matter the greatest gift my father gave me was respect for my personal freedom and respect for the plurality within me and the plurality within the family.

He had his ideas and style, and I have another style. Plurality itself is richness, not a burden to be borne. I am sure that if he had not done this with me, I would have been a different person given the complexity of the situation I found myself in and the difficulty of finding my own freedom.

My father was kidnapped, my friends were in prison, my cousins were in prison, my uncle was in prison there was danger to me too. It is very difficult to dream in such a context, to read a novel, to contemplate a painting in a museum, to have a relationship with dawn or with Beethoven. These are all questions you ask yourself in such a situation.

Even when he succeeded in writing a letter from prison describing what happened to him and brave youths smuggled it to us later he wrote to each one of us in the family. He started with my mother, then my older brother, and when he addressed me he asked whether I was still writing poetry and whether the guitar was still my friend.

At that moment, my heart felt it had stopped. I wondered: Will he now tell me I should focus on other things with all these developments? And the next sentence he wrote amid all this very difficult situation was: “I hope you are still keeping up with poetry and music.”

Perhaps that helped you move beyond the theme of fatherhood to write Friends? Do you see this as a transition to a new phase in your writings?

I don’t see it that way. I am building a specific fabric in which all the threads connect, each different from the other. Only God knows what will happen in the end. I am like someone listening to music humming in his head, wishing it would never end. When it ends, we can examine the fabric.

Let me tell you something else that influenced me: when I went to Libya, I met many people who had been imprisoned with my father, and they gave me impressions that helped me form a picture of his presence in prison he was loyal to his beliefs and principles, strong, full of the poetry he memorized, and unbroken by torture.

This gave me a sense that my father’s essence did not withdraw from him and that he remained who he was, which gave me courage in life and optimism and pride not as a son, but as a human being.

Not every writer wins awards or finds, for example, an American president like Barack Obama reading and praising their book. How fortunate do you consider yourself, and what setbacks did you face early in your writing journey?

I consider myself lucky with my family and friends that is the fundamental standard. In writing, yes, luck certainly plays a role. It’s a beautiful thing to be a writer with readers. That’s the kind of dialogue you want. The setbacks were at the beginning. I sent a sample of my first book to agents and received many rejection letters.

I show these letters to my students now to encourage them. But generally, it didn’t take long for me to find an agent and a publisher who have continued to publish me from the first book until today.

I always tell beginner writers not to focus on prizes or financial gain from the publisher or other matters, but to put all their concern into the writing itself and not ask it too much.

In a world burning with events tyranny and extremism, Gaza, revolutions and coups over the past decade and a half, civil wars and forms of international bullying what contemporary issues or concerns occupy you today?

I’ll answer as a citizen, not as a writer. Sometimes the concerns overlap, but not always. As a citizen, I am very concerned about what is happening in Palestine.

It’s the issue we grew up with the most important issue in our lives and it’s deeply connected to what is happening in our countries. It’s a complex issue intertwined with other concerns, especially the pressures Arab governments face because of it or the pressures these governments place on us as a society.

I am also preoccupied with the prevailing concept of progress, knowledge, or success presenting Dubai as a model of all that. Also, our impact on nature in what is known as the environmental crisis, which I see as a human problem, not an environmental one, because the environment will endure humans are the ones in grave danger.

Likewise, America going into Venezuela and talking about Greenland what I call political bullying. Israel striking in seven countries at the same time. This bullying has undermined international law and the institutions we built after World War II.

All of this carries a heavy weight in the chest as a citizen, and as a writer I write about these topics in journalistic work. And I am certain they appear in my books in one way or another.

For you, the novel is not just a story but a history of ideas, feelings, and connection. What are you currently writing, and is it different from before?

For me, each book is completely different from the other. I begin my day with writing. Right now I’ve been writing a novel for a year that has nothing to do with a son and his father but it’s difficult to talk about because writing and talking use the same thing, which is language.

It took many years to publish Friends since the birth of its idea. Do you think some truths become writable only after a certain period of time?

This is important, especially in the novel. It’s difficult to write a novel about an event happening in real time not impossible, but difficult. It requires some time because the novel comes from imagination, and imagination needs time because it simmers history or thinks about it differently.

However, my new novel is connected to contemporary time and tests the idea of writing about something happening now this is my first experience in this context.

In the heart of occupied Jerusalem, the Qalandia area is facing an unprecedented environmental and humanitarian challenge following the Israeli occupation authorities’ announcement of a plan to establish a waste landfill and a waste‑to‑energy plant serving the Israeli Electricity Company on inhabited Palestinian land.

The project’s implications extend far beyond environmental concerns; it poses a direct threat to public health, agricultural land, biodiversity, and the livelihood of local residents. While Israeli authorities claim the project’s aim is to harness waste for energy generation, environmental experts and human rights advocates warn that the landfill will have serious short‑ and long‑term consequences from air, groundwater, and soil contamination to indirect forms of population displacement.

In this context, Noon Post conducted an in‑depth interview with Dr. ‬Aql Abu Quraʿ, Director of Environmental and Climate Change Projects at the Development Work Center/“Together,” in which he provided a detailed analysis of the environmental and health hazards posed by the landfill and connected them to Israeli policies concerning settlement expansion and land expropriation.

Dr. Abu Quraʿ also discussed the legal tools available to oppose the project at local and international levels, and the role of civil society and rights institutions in pressuring to stop it.

He underscored that the proposed Qalandia landfill is not merely an environmental project but an instrument with deep political, social, and legal dimensions. The project threatens the Palestinian ecosystem, endangers the health of residents, undermines the productive use of agricultural land and biodiversity, and contributes to the gradual displacement of local communities.

What is the nature of the waste landfill plan proposed by the Israeli occupation authorities in Qalandia?

In principle, establishing a waste landfill in an occupied area is unacceptable under international humanitarian law and United Nations resolutions. The Jerusalem, At‑Tur, and Qalandia areas are legally classified as occupied territories meaning that building a waste landfill there lacks any legal or humanitarian legitimacy.

This rejection is not limited to political and legal dimensions alone; it also encompasses serious health and environmental implications. The plan involves not only a landfill but also a facility to process and potentially burn waste to generate energy all within a densely populated residential area.

Qalandia is surrounded by numerous Palestinian towns and neighborhoods, making the placement of such a project in this location fundamentally unacceptable from political, legal, health, and environmental standpoints.

Why was Qalandia chosen as the site for this landfill? Why place it on Palestinian land, and to what end?

The occupation’s focus is on the At‑Tur area, a confiscated Palestinian region on the outskirts of the old Qalandia Airport. Officially, the project is presented as a means to process waste from various parts of Jerusalem by burning it to produce energy.

The core question remains: why specifically Qalandia? Why build this facility in a densely populated Palestinian area?

In my view, the political objective is clear. The occupation seeks to assert control over the area in various ways, including implementing projects that appear service‑oriented but are fundamentally political and colonial in nature designed to entrench control over the land and change its character.

What are the environmental impacts of building a waste landfill in this specific area?

The proposed landfill would sit amid densely populated communities including al‑Ram, al‑Dahiya, Beit Hanina, Shuʿfat, Kafr ʿAqab, extending toward Ramallah and al‑Bireh. Placing a waste landfill at the center of such an expansive residential cluster constitutes a major environmental and health disaster.

Potential effects include air pollution from smoke and gas emissions and the hazards associated with handling various kinds of waste, including medical, chemical, and hazardous materials.

Decomposition of such waste can also contaminate soil and leach harmful substances into groundwater, creating a complex array of environmental repercussions dependent on the design and operation of the landfill and processing facility.

How might the landfill affect air quality, groundwater, and soil in the future?

It is well established that any landfill or waste processing facility produces leachate a liquid containing hazardous chemicals that, sooner or later, can percolate through soil and reach groundwater. Emissions from the landfill or processing plant also contribute to air pollution.

Furthermore, waste collection mechanisms prior to processing may spread foul odors, degrading the quality of life for nearby residents a phenomenon observed around other sites such as the Zahret al‑Fanjan landfill in Jenin.

Chemical leachate seeping into the soil reduces fertility and harms the broader ecosystem, including air, soil, and groundwater, with potential effects extending into the local food chain.

What are the repercussions for surrounding agricultural land and biodiversity?

The area around the project is among the region’s vital agricultural zones. Establishing a landfill or waste processing facility would sharply reduce cultivated land and vegetation density, thereby directly impacting soil health and agricultural productivity.

Land once used for farming would either be confiscated for the project or degraded by contamination and nearby waste accumulation, stripping the soil of fertility and limiting its agricultural utility.

The repercussions extend beyond agriculture to biodiversity: pollution of soil and air and the degradation of natural landscapes damage plant cover and the organisms that depend on it. The spread of foul odors, declining air quality, and the loss of scenic value may also encourage local residents to leave reinforcing indirect displacement strategies linked to such projects.

What health risks might the landfill pose to Qalandia residents and neighboring communities, especially the elderly and children? Could it lead to higher disease rates long term?

The severity of health risks theoretically depends on the design and operation of the landfill, but research and experience indicate that most landfills contain a mix of waste including chemical, cleaning agents, organic waste, and medical refuse. When this mixture breaks down or is burned, it releases pollutants that can negatively impact the health of surrounding populations.

Short‑term exposure to continuous emissions and odors may increase respiratory and chest illnesses, while long‑term exposure, even at low levels, may lead to serious diseases, including certain cancers. Vulnerable groups children, the elderly, pregnant and nursing women are particularly at risk, as chemical agents can cross the placenta, raising the likelihood of birth defects and long‑term health problems.

Given that the project claims to use waste for energy generation, the health risks multiply in the absence of strict environmental standards. Numerous studies worldwide show that landfills and waste‑processing plants near residential areas are linked to both immediate and chronic health impacts, affecting local communities broadly and disproportionately harming the most vulnerable.

How would the project affect residents’ daily lives if implemented?

Experiences in other Palestinian areas show that landfills near population centers fundamentally alter daily life. For example, communities around the Zahret al‑Fanjan landfill in Jenin continue to grapple with air pollution, persistent foul odors, and the seepage of chemicals into groundwater and soil consequences that have degraded agricultural quality and health.

Based on these precedents, similar effects in Qalandia would directly impact residents’ daily lives, potentially prompting some families to leave the area due to worsening environmental and health conditions, with significant short‑ and long‑term implications for community stability.

What about similar projects in Palestinian areas like Abu Dis, al‑ʿEzariyya, Naʿlin, and Idhna?

Experiences in those areas demonstrate that landfills often exceed capacity, especially when used to handle waste from settlements and other occupied zones. Without scientific management and strict environmental controls particularly in densely populated areas their consequences are severe for both the environment and public health.

Likewise, if the Qalandia landfill is implemented without careful scientific and humanitarian consideration, it could inflict significant harm on residents and neighboring areas, especially given the lack of protective measures for Palestinian communities against the environmental and health impacts of such projects.

How does this issue reflect double standards in how Palestinians are treated, given settlers’ rejection of landfills near their communities?

This issue starkly reveals double standards in the treatment of Palestinians: settlement communities reject landfills near their own areas yet transfer these projects to populated Palestinian towns. Past experiences affirm this trend; in one area near Ramallah, a proposal for a large landfill was canceled due to residents’ objections, reflecting broad social and psychological resistance to such projects within residential zones.

Despite this clear rejection, landfills are imposed on Palestinian communities without regard for their safety or rights. These facilities handle various waste types, many containing hazardous chemicals from plastic waste and pesticide residues to cleaning agents and medical and veterinary waste which degrade over time into even more dangerous compounds.

Long‑term exposure, even at low levels, can lead to chronic and serious illnesses, including respiratory and skin diseases, cancer, and birth defects effects akin to those seen with chemical pesticide use in agricultural areas.

How does this plan fit within occupation policies that impose environmental burdens on Palestinians?

This plan forms part of a deliberate policy to expropriate Palestinian land and assert control, whether for settlement expansion or the establishment of polluting industrial facilities. The At‑Tur area, for example, already hosts several factories, including chemical plants, alongside the proposed landfill signaling a clear pattern of converting Palestinian areas into receptacles for hazardous environmental projects.

Such policies create a repellent environment, dissuading residents from living or investing near landfills and polluting factories out of fear for their health and wellbeing. Thus, the project becomes part of a broader strategy that tightens restrictions on Palestinian life, contributes to indirect displacement, and seizes land under the guise of service or industrial development.

Is the project a form of environmental colonialism or a transfer of pollution from Israel into Palestinian lands?

Yes. According to international law and norms, this project can be viewed as a form of environmental colonialism exploiting Palestinian land to host polluting facilities while transferring waste from settlements or inside Israel to Palestinian areas.

This practice degrades the Palestinian ecosystem soil, agricultural lands, groundwater, and air quality and mars the landscape. It creates an inhospitable environment that drives residents away and increases the environmental and health burdens on Palestinian society.

What is the connection between this landfill and settlement expansion schemes or the isolation of Palestinian areas?

The project is clearly linked to Israeli policies aimed at controlling land and severing connections between Palestinian communities in Jerusalem and the West Bank. The landfill serves as an indirect tool to isolate Palestinian localities and establish facts on the ground, including the gradual displacement of residents and weakening demographic stability.

Moreover, shifting complex environmental burdens from inside Israel to Palestinian territories helps achieve short‑term goals like reducing environmental liabilities and long‑term strategic aims related to demographic and geographic control strengthening dominance over Palestinian land and undermining resistance to such policies.

Given that establishing a landfill on Palestinian land violates international law, what legal tools are available to oppose this plan locally and internationally?

The Palestinian Authority, in cooperation with international environmental bodies, has a legal basis to object to the transfer of waste and hazardous materials across territories under international agreements. Palestinian officials can file objections with relevant international institutions, highlighting the health, environmental, and social risks associated with the landfill.

In addition, civil society organizations play a pivotal role including the Development Work Center/“Together” by engaging with international partners and U.N. environmental bodies, clearly communicating the dangers, and pressing global actors, such as the European Union and environmental programs like UNEP, to halt the project.

The media also plays a critical role in exposing the reality on the ground and building international pressure against the plan.

How is your center following this issue? Is there a legal avenue to challenge the plan?

As an organization, we maintain relationships with international institutions and environmental NGOs, enabling us to launch global advocacy campaigns to stop the project.

Although achieving tangible results is difficult given Israeli pressure on the international community and its disregard for legal norms, documenting and presenting the true situation on the ground is an important step. In the future, after the landfill is established, we plan to conduct scientific research, collect samples, analyze them, and document findings as part of legal and environmental follow‑up efforts.

What message would you like to send to the international community to help combat this plan?

My message is clear: the international community must act to stop this project, which threatens to displace residents, seize land, and degrade the region, in addition to the expected health, environmental, and psychological harms in the short and long term. It is unacceptable to remain silent in the face of these risks; they must be confronted, and necessary measures taken to preserve the ecosystem and the rights of Palestinians on their land.

At a historical moment when the contours of a new Syria are beginning to take shape and as the country reexamines its cultural and intellectual roles after years of stagnation and political subjugation the question of the relevance and role of cultural institutions, particularly the Arab Writers Union, has once again come to the fore.

What role can the Arab Writers Union play today? Is it enough for it to remain a traditional syndicate, or has the current period thrust upon it broader responsibilities ones that involve fostering civic dialogue, connecting writers and intellectuals inside and outside the country, and contributing to a cultural vision aligned with the social and political transformations underway?

These questions are increasingly urgent as institutions shift and as writers renegotiate their relationship with the public sphere and with the very idea of freedom.

In this exclusive interview with Noon Post, Dr. Ahmad Jassem Al-Hussein, the president of the Arab Writers Union, shares his vision for the organization’s future. He speaks about redefining the Union’s role, its relationship with Syrian writers at home and abroad, the current boundaries of creative freedom, and the evolving role of intellectuals in a period of transition.

He also discusses the Union’s concrete steps toward internal restructuring, publishing and translation projects, and support for young writers an effort to move beyond a heavy legacy and build a new, meaningful cultural institution.

Ahmad Jassem Al-Hussein is a Syrian writer and literary critic. He holds a PhD in modern literature and criticism from the University of Damascus. Over the years, he has held several academic and cultural posts, including teaching in the Arabic Department at the University of Damascus and serving as Dean of the Faculty of Arts at Al-Furat University in Hasakah.

He currently heads the Arab Writers Union in the emerging Syria and has published several works in literature, criticism, and textual editing.

What definition do you think best suits the role of the Arab Writers Union today? Should it remain merely a cultural syndicate, or has the current moment placed wider responsibilities upon it?

Syria today truly, in every sense is redefining itself. It is rediscovering its strategies and formulating new policies and visions. It’s clear that organizations, unions, and syndicates cannot remain as they were. Those earlier structures existed primarily to serve a dictator, a single party, and outdated strategies that no longer apply.

Moreover, the world itself has changed. Organizations now play communicative and representative roles and reflect the dynamics of civil society in each country. From this perspective, the Arab Writers Union should not be limited to a professional or cultural body—it must become a space for dialogue and discussion, a platform for exploring new horizons for Syrian society and the new Syrian state.

This places a great responsibility on the Union one that first requires vision from those who work within it, and second, acceptance from society and the authorities of the role it can play. That role should not be confined to the Union’s headquarters in Damascus but must extend to all provinces, so that the Arab Writers Union becomes a hub for dialogue, ideas, and policy proposals aimed at decision-makers.

All of this requires a redefinition of the Union’s role not only by its members and staff but also by society and the state because we are now speaking about civil society, about promoting dialogue, discussion, and democracy. The Arab Writers Union can be one of the gateways to realizing these aspirations.

How would you describe the Union’s current relationship with Syrian writers and intellectuals, both inside the country and abroad? What steps are necessary to rebuild trust and reestablish an inclusive, effective presence?

The Arab Writers Union has accumulated symbolic weight over the years, a symbolism shaped by two opposing forces: on the one hand, it represented Syria’s intellectual and literary community; on the other, it was seen as an emblem of the previous regime’s authority.

Reclaiming this symbolic stature and building a meaningful presence requires action on both sides. The Union must modernize its legal framework, revise its membership processes, and improve communication channels. Meanwhile, writers outside the Union or outside Syria should approach it with fresh eyes and contribute to its evolution, offering ideas to shed the residue that has built up over the years.

Today, there are still many divisions pulling Syrians in different directions. That’s why we, writers and non-writers, members and non-members, intellectuals and citizens alike, need to extend our hands to one another in search of common ground.

Through this platform, I want to emphasize that the doors of the Arab Writers Union are open to communication, discussion, development, and any initiative that activates its role and transforms it into a true space for cultural convergence.

What can the Arab Writers Union do today to ensure freedom of expression and creativity in the new Syria? How can it become a safe space where writers can express themselves freely and create without fear?

To be transparent, there are currently no banned books in Syria. The country today offers a safe space for freedom of writing and media, but that freedom needs a legal framework. It can’t be left without boundaries it must operate within clear mechanisms.

The Ministry of Information is preparing a code of ethics expected to be released soon. At the Arab Writers Union, if any member faces a situation that affects their freedom to write be it a book ban, a summons, or anything else we stand by them once we are informed and communicate with the relevant authorities. So far, there have been no genuine cases of censorship.

The very concept of banning has become outdated. In today’s digital age, a writer can publish anything online. Censorship is now a relic of the past. A wise authority allows space for expression—but with that space comes responsibility.

Writers must not engage in hate speech or promote racism or sectarianism. These concerns can be addressed through a writers’ or publishers’ code of ethics, ensuring that cultural discourse does not become a burden on society or a tool for destruction.

Freedom does not mean the right to insult or undermine any social, intellectual, or ethnic group. From this standpoint, freedom of expression and creativity in today’s Syria is wide open. Everyone can express themselves—so long as they respect the dignity and identity of the Syrian “other.”

The old-style censorship is over. The Arab Writers Union no longer plays that role. Manuscripts are now handled by the Ministry of Information, which, to the best of my knowledge, is quite open. Very few books are rejected. If any passage raises questions, the ministry engages with the author in dialogue.

I’ve personally witnessed these exchanges they were cordial and constructive. Occasionally, a writer might revise a page or two to avoid sparking societal tensions.

What role do you believe Syrian writers and intellectuals should play today? How can they become active contributors to this new cultural phase?

We are finalizing a document at the Arab Writers Union that members will sign. It emphasizes that writers must not contribute to the destruction of Syrian society, nor promote military solutions that endanger the social fabric or the state’s structure. We want writers to be advocates of citizenship, democracy, and civil society.

Our core reference points are human rights, the vision for a new Syria, and the promotion of civic values and national belonging. Syria has always been a place of diverse peoples and cultures.

Today’s writers must rise above old wounds, call for accountability and cultural transitional justice, and seek common ground in Syrian society, human rights, and new visions for a democratic civil state. We need voices that promote peace, harmony, and connection.

What is your strategic vision for the Union in the coming phase? Are there plans for a structured cultural agenda that extends over the years?

Yes, we have both plans and projects. We restructured the Arab Writers Union through a committee of legal and professional experts and transformed it into an institution. For many years, the Union was a vehicle for ideological production and the buying of loyalty.

Today, it has become an institution governed by international standards with clear departments, functions, and mandates. Cultural work cannot thrive without a well-structured foundation. That process took nearly three months and now enables us to transition into actual cultural production.

In 2026, we have a series of Arab and international events planned regular forums where we will host Arab and global writers, alongside strong participation from Syrian authors.

We also have thematic gatherings in the works on writing in exile, state-building, and the narratives of displacement. We will announce them successively. Now that our internal structure is in place, we can carry out impactful and meaningful activities with real cultural and media weight.

Do you have specific projects to reinvigorate publishing and translation, and to create opportunities for young writers both inside and outside Syria?

In terms of publishing, we are finalizing the licensing of a new publishing house. Historically, much of the Union’s publishing activity was driven by favoritism or involved books of questionable quality. Today, the new publishing house will operate according to market standards. It will have a clear vision, support outstanding writers with serious intellectual contributions, and engage in translation projects from various global cultures.

As for young writers, we are launching two major initiatives: an academy for teaching writing, which will begin offering courses soon, and specialized writing programs. We also have awards planned to be announced by year’s end, once all arrangements are complete. In short, any young writer with a strong manuscript will find a home in the Arab Writers Union.

What message would you like to send to Syrian writers as they enter a new chapter in the country’s cultural history?

I believe no one today is stopping Syrian writers from playing their role. And if they remain absent from the scene, others will fill the void. Syrian writers must raise their voices, shed fear, and say clearly: “I am here.” Silence is not an option.

The space for expression is open to everyone. Every writer has their own platform now. No authority suppresses speech or imprisons writers for their views.

There is no publisher holding power over you, no media gatekeeper silencing you. There are no more excuses for Syrian writers to avoid the public sphere.

We are living through a rare historical transition moments like these often give rise to writers, thinkers, and visionaries. If you have something unique to offer, the door is open.

The ball is in the writer’s court. It is time to present bold, human-centered ideas to help build a better state and society. Digital publishing is open and free just share your voice and your vision. The stage is yours.

With every new incident in which settlers set fire to a Palestinian home, the haunting memory of the 2015 arson attack that killed the Dawabsheh family in the village of Duma, near Nablus, resurfaces. As settler violence escalates across the West Bank, fears grow of similar tragedies recurring.

These repeated attacks are not isolated acts of individual violence but appear to be part of a deliberate strategy aimed at terrorizing Palestinian residents and gradually displacing them from their land a process occurring in tandem with settlement expansion and a striking absence of legal accountability.

In this report for Noon Post, a group of experts in documentation, human rights, and mental health address key questions many Palestinians are now asking:

Can another Duma-style attack happen elsewhere?
What is the link between arson and forced displacement?
How are women and children coping psychologically with these traumas?

A Surge in Settler Attacks and the Institutionalization of Arson

Amir Dawood, Director of Documentation and Media at the Wall and Settlement Resistance Commission, explains that the unprecedented spike in settler attacks over recent months did not occur in a vacuum. Since October 7, these attacks have reached sustained and historically high levels.

“Arson has been part of settler violence since the beginning of the occupation, but what we are witnessing now is a peak in this tactic,” Dawood says. He cites the 2015 Dawabsheh family arson attack as an early warning that has since evolved into a systematic approach. “Since October 7, 2023, we’ve documented over 780 arson incidents by settlers targeting homes, fields, vehicles, and personal property.”

These are not random acts, Dawood stresses. “The goal is not only to destroy property but to inflict harm and terrorize lives. There is a clear methodology, reinforced by public statements from Israeli ministers advocating for village burnings, especially Huwara. These calls go unpunished, revealing official complicity.”

He notes that prominent settler militia leaders assumed governmental roles in early 2023, blurring the line between state and settler violence.

“What we see today is not lone-wolf terrorism but organized attacks under the protection of the Israeli army and legitimized by official policy. Arson is now a central tool for expelling Palestinians and asserting control over land.”

Could the Duma Attack Happen Again?

“Duma revealed the presence of fascist criminals within the Israeli state,” Dawood states. “What was once a shocking exception has now become a normalized threat across Palestinian villages, towns, and Bedouin communities.”

He emphasizes that, while Duma resulted in fatalities due to its surprise nature, most Palestinian communities are now more alert. “Many towns have established protection committees to sound the alarm before settlers strike, often thwarting attacks. Still, the intent behind these arsons has grown even more extreme, with an increased willingness to kill.”

Aisha Ahmad, a legal researcher with the Independent Commission for Human Rights, notes that the perpetrators are often young extremists, including the so-called “Hilltop Youth,” a network of ultra-religious settlers backed by political and military figures.

“These attacks happen under the protection of the Israeli army, which does nothing to stop them. We’re not seeing isolated incidents, but a campaign of organized, state-enabled violence aimed at driving Palestinians from their land,” she explains.

Ahmad warns that another Duma-style atrocity is entirely possible. “These operations serve dual purposes: punishing Palestinians and expanding settlements by instilling fear.”

She also highlights the Israeli government’s role in arming settlers and providing political cover. “These right-wing policies seek to reshape the landscape through force, transforming Palestinian life into a daily risk.”

The absence of accountability further entrenches this impunity. “No serious investigations were conducted into the Dawabsheh case, nor into ongoing arsons or home invasions, where property is destroyed, residents assaulted, trees uprooted, and crops burned especially during the olive harvest season.”

Settlements and Fire: A State Strategy for Displacement

According to Dawood, arson and related settler violence are central components of a coercive environment designed to force Palestinians off their land. “These attacks target the very nerve of stability in Palestinian communities, particularly Bedouin groups, many of whom have already been displaced.”

He underscores that settlers are not fringe actors. “They are the executors of a state policy. The Israeli government shields them, supports their goals, and offers them ground-level protection because their actions align with the broader colonial strategy.”

The geographic pattern of violence also mirrors settlement plans. “In South Hebron, the residents of Masafer Yatta face daily assaults as part of a formal plan to expel them. East of Ramallah, settlers are enforcing a de facto ban on Palestinian access to areas east of Route 60 as part of an explicit annexation blueprint.”

Even international sanctions are neutralized by the state. “When the EU imposes travel bans or banking restrictions on violent settlers, Israel compensates them financially and facilitates travel to countries that don’t enforce those measures.”

Following European sanctions, the Israeli government intensified its defense of settlers. The appointment of Israel Katz as Defense Minister led to the repeal of administrative detention for settler offenders a symbolic punishment at best thereby boosting settler violence.

Rising Attacks and Local Protection Efforts

Asked about future trends, Dawood predicts the violence will either escalate or maintain its current intensity. “So far, no real pressure has been exerted on Israel to halt this terrorism. On the contrary, the state continues to support settlers and shield them from consequences.”

Local communities, however, are increasingly taking initiative. “Several villages have formed night patrols to protect themselves. Singel’s committee is a notable example, and other villages like those in northeast Ramallah and South Nablus have long maintained protection teams.”

These grassroots efforts have grown in response to what Dawood calls a “state-sponsored assault” on Palestinian life. “We are up against a national policy, not rogue settlers, and yet the Palestinian popular resistance deserves praise for its resilience.”

He calls on the international community to abandon its double standards. “The world must move from statements to action imposing real sanctions and severing ties with the Israeli state until these crimes end.”

Psychological Toll: Impact on Women and Children

Psychologist Alaa Hreish of the Center for the Treatment and Rehabilitation of Torture Victims explains that violent events, especially those involving home invasions and arson, cause profound psychological trauma.

“A house is not just a shelter it’s a symbol of safety. Losing that sense of security, especially for children and women, results in anxiety, nightmares, sleep disorders, and difficulties concentrating,” she notes.

Behavioral changes vary. “Some children become aggressive; others withdraw. Academic performance suffers. Physical symptoms like bedwetting, appetite loss, and psychosomatic issues are common.”

For women, the trauma includes fear, depression, PTSD, and family tension, particularly when compounded by financial burdens from property loss.

“If left unaddressed, these stressors can lead to domestic strife and violence,” Hreish warns.

Healing After Trauma: What Families Need

“Trauma overwhelms a person’s ability to cope,” Hreish explains. “In the immediate aftermath, children need a safe environment and opportunities to express emotions through drawing, play, and open dialogue.”

She advocates for gradual returns to daily routines and the use of calming techniques like deep breathing. Group support networks, particularly for women, help mitigate trauma through shared experiences.

“The community plays a crucial role. No family can cope alone,” she emphasizes. “Schools, neighbors, and civil society must work together to provide psychological, material, and emotional support.”

Despite growing needs, service gaps remain due to resource limits and stigma around mental health. “In 2022, our center treated 1,754 individuals; in 2023, 3,610; and by 2024, over 6,200. The rise reflects not just demand but the expanding scale of trauma.”

Access is also hindered by logistical and cultural challenges. “Mobile clinics face danger in conflict zones, and many still avoid seeking help due to shame or lack of awareness.”

“Palestinians live in a constant state of trauma,” Hreish concludes. “Supporting their psychological resilience is essential to preserving the social fabric.”

The pattern is clear: settlers set fires, homes burn, and no one is held accountable. Arson is no longer a spontaneous act of revenge but a calculated weapon of displacement. Experts warn that unless deterrents are imposed, every Palestinian village could be the next Duma. Families now live between flames and fear, caught in a cycle of unchecked violence and perpetual vulnerability.