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Syria and Forgotten Memory

During what became known as the Arab Spring—a period marked by widespread turmoil and suffering for the Arab peoples, despite being backed by major powers, particularly under the vision of US President Barack Obama—Syria presented a different case. Unlike Tunisia or Egypt, Syria was arguably more deserving of such a revolution. The country, under the rule of the Assad regime—both father and son—had reached a historical breaking point, one that defied the logic of history and represented an unprecedented level of state-sponsored and sectarian violence.

Human memory fades with age, and certain illnesses accelerate its decline. Those who once possessed sharp recollections suffer the most when they begin to notice the difference. Their struggle deepens if they fail to develop alternative cognitive tools that allow them to continue engaging with the world. While it may not always be advisable to remind one’s peers of what one wrote or argued more than a decade ago, it remains valuable to recall certain stories that illuminate a not-so-distant past—stories that encapsulate the intellectual, political, and ideological forces that shaped that era with relentless intensity.

While an individual’s memory may be fallible, the collective memory of nations, societies, and academic disciplines must remain sharp. Spontaneous personal encounters often crystallize historical moments, distilling their meaning, compressing their essence, and providing a retrospective clarity that was elusive at the time.

In 2013, the author of these lines fervently supported any political change that would lead to the fall of the Assad regime, a stance well-documented in archived articles. By chance, during a visit to a European country for medical treatment, he encountered a driver employed by the institution where he was receiving care. Neither man knew the other, but the driver turned out to be a staunch supporter of the Assad regime. Their ensuing debate serves as a testament to that historical moment, reflecting its competing narratives and ideological battles.

The driver asked, “What do you think of what is happening in Syria?” I replied, “I hope the crisis ends, that Syria and its people find relief, and that the country returns to itself—its people, its security, and its stability.”

He countered, “Stability comes through crushing the revolution and eliminating anyone who challenges the regime.”

I responded, “We cannot fully grasp the situation on the ground, but the regime has committed severe excesses against its own people, leaving them no hope other than its removal.”

He retorted, “No, the Assad regime will last forever,” a refrain that was widely circulated at the time.

I said, “That assertion is both historically and politically incorrect. Historically, the Syrian majority opposes him due to his regime’s internal policies. Politically, the broader Arab region has turned against him because he failed to replicate his father’s strategic balancing act, instead isolating himself in the pocket of a single regional ally.”

I did not know the driver’s political or sectarian background, but my response provoked him into open defiance. He declared that the Arab countries would ultimately crumble despite their power and alliances, while the Assad regime and its backers, including the so-called “Axis of Resistance,” would endure. I replied, “Neither you nor I can predict the future. Let us wait and see.”

Over a decade has passed since that conversation. The Syrian people, the region, and the world have endured shifting policies, fluctuating alliances, and evolving strategies. In the end, the Assad regime unraveled within days, toppled by an international agreement that neither he nor his primary backer saw coming.

My interlocutor, in his unwavering belief that the regime was invincible, was merely echoing the propaganda of the time. But history and reality proved far more decisive. Ultimately, some stories, even those that appear personal or marginal, serve as reminders that sharpen the mind and remind us of a history that would otherwise be easily forgotten.

Abdullah bin Bijad al-Otaibi (translated by Asaf Zilberfarb)