By Tarek Othman, Op-ed contributor Tuesday, February 03, 2026People dance and sing songs as they take part in victory celebrations in Umayyad Square on December 13, 2024 in Damascus, Syria. Rebel forces in Syria have retaken the capital from longtime ruler Bashar al-Assad, who has fled the country for Moscow. The fall of the Assad regime marks a new chapter for Syria, which has been mired in a multi-party civil war since 2011, sparked by the Arab Spring uprisings. | Getty Images/Chris McGrath
More than a year after Bashar al-Assad fled to Moscow and the civil war ended, Syria remains a nation in precarious transition. The interim government is rebuilding institutions, reshaping foreign ties, and limiting Iran’s reach. Recent tensions involving Kurdish areas underscore how fragile reintegration remains.
But hope is shining in a place that truly matters.
Amid these swirling changes, the space for religious freedom is slowly opening — and holding. Syria’s Christians are emerging not only as a community to be protected, but also as a constituency for civic unity — evidence that citizenship can matter more than sect.
That is why the recent Christmas season carried unusual weight. It reflected a shift from mere tolerance to something rarer in Syria’s recent history: public confidence. Christians and Muslims shared the streets in celebration. A Christmas tree even appeared at the gates of the presidential palace — an image many read as a small but deliberate signal of national renewal.
In the weeks spanning Dec. 25 and Orthodox Christmas on Jan. 7, Syria offered more than festive scenes. The holiday became a measure of the transition itself — whether public pluralism can withstand political strain. For Syria’s Christians, too often cast in foreign narratives or reduced to permanent victims, the moment pointed to a deeper truth: they are not peripheral to Syria’s future; they may be central to it.
Christianity in Syria is embedded in the nation’s story — from Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus to the remains at Dura-Europos on the Euphrates, home to one of the earliest known house churches.
Across centuries, Syria’s Christians — Greek Orthodox, Assyrian/Syriac communities, Melkite Greek Catholic, Maronite, and others — have helped shape the country’s culture, scholarship, and public life. They pioneered Arabic printing in Aleppo and contributed to early modern Syrian nationalism, leaving an imprint that remains integral to Syrian identity.
Yes, Christians celebrated Christmas under Assad’s brutal dictatorship. But the context was fundamentally different. Celebration was tolerated so long as it remained apolitical, permitted inside a system that demanded compliance rather than genuine inclusion. Like other Syrians, Christians learned to keep expectations modest: public faith was possible; public freedom was not. Hope for systemic change was something to whisper, not proclaim.
The horrific 14-year civil war deepened these dynamics. Churches were damaged or destroyed, communities were displaced, and fear became routine. Independent reporting documented attacks on Christian civilians and on centuries-old religious sites amid the wider conflict.
What distinguishes Syrian Christians now is not only what they endured, but also the choices many are making about the country’s future since Assad’s regime collapsed completely in December 2024. While some voices have floated decentralization, federal arrangements, or even division along ethnic and religious lines, Christian leaders inside Syria have consistently emphasized a united state. For them, cohesion is paramount — citizenship over partition.
That choice reverberates beyond Syria. In Washington and other capitals, Christian minorities in the Middle East are often treated as a barometer of minority safety. In meetings with Syrian civil society advocates, U.S. lawmakers repeatedly return to the same question: How are Syria’s Christians faring?
When members of Congress took a historic trip last year to meet church leaders in Old Damascus, Sednaya, and Maaloula, they heard a strikingly consistent message: cautious optimism, support for political change, rejection of partition, and a plea to lift sanctions the United States had imposed on Assad — so Syrians can rebuild homes and livelihoods.
Those messages shape debates abroad. Had Syrian Christians responded with fear or withdrawal, it could have strengthened arguments for prolonged sanctions (which have now been fully lifted), deeper isolation, or fragmentation under the banner of “minority protection.” Instead, their message has been emphatic: unity over division, equal citizenship over separatism, hope over fear.
This matters. It undercuts claims that Syria is destined for sectarian rupture. It weakens external agendas that would redraw borders. And it strengthens the case for reconstruction, sovereignty, and a shared civic future.
The sight of Christians celebrating openly alongside fellow citizens was not unprecedented. What felt new was what it represented: a quiet insistence, voiced in public, that a Syria worth living in must be built together — or it will not be built at all.
A Christmas tree at the gates of the presidential palace did not certify a revolution’s success. But it did reflect a public wager — by citizens, and by this new state — on what the next Syria could be: a country where belonging is not granted by one’s faith but guaranteed regardless of it. That wager is fragile. It is also, for Syrians of every background, a reason to keep choosing unity over fear.
And that is something beautiful to believe in.
Tarek Othman is a Syrian-American entrepreneur and civic advocate who serves on the advisory board of the Syrian American Alliance for Peace and Prosperity (SAAPP). He was part of the first US Congressional delegation to visit Syria following liberation, engaging directly with religious and community leaders during the country’s early transition period.
