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3 days ago
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The feminist activist Ghalia Rahhal recalls with wry laughter her visit to the “blue building” in Idlib three years ago, an office where the group Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) monitored civil society organisations such as hers. Her colleague at a women’s rights organisation was once called there to hear a list of issues they were banned from working on: child marriage, divorce, and anything related to gender equality.
Rahhal had already survived an assassination attempt in her home town of Kafranbel as well as the murder of her son in Aleppo, leaving her unfazed by pointed questions levelled at her by an official: we heard you were training women in the refugee camps about politics, about equality, he told her with suspicion.
Rahhal instead saw an opportunity for dialogue, wondering if she could capitalise on a chance to speak with the authority that back then ruled only the enclave of Idlib in Syria’s north-west. “Why are you angry that we are teaching them these things?” she asked him. “My goal is not to teach those women to fight you, it’s for women to become decision-makers. We can’t have a displacement camp full of women run by a man, to name just one example.”
She continued her work in secret, providing lectures and training to women so that they would be ready to participate in a transitional government if the opportunity ever presented itself. That opportunity suddenly and unexpectedly arrived last month, when former president Bashar al-Assad fled to Moscow as his fearsome regime crumbled.
The Islamist group HTS, which spearheaded the insurgency that ended Assad’s rule, is now the de-facto authority in Syria and has begun touting many of the same ideas it once chastised Rahhal for when she taught them to women displaced by Syria’s bloody civil war.
There is, so far, little clarity about how the new government will rule, particularly when it comes to women. Even so, many see this moment as one of boundless opportunity and say they are ready to dissent against any new authority wanting further control of their lives. Others, such as Rahhal, say they believe the transitional authority made up of HTS appointees simply doesn’t have the same means to crack down on women across the country in the same way they sometimes did when they ruled only a small mountainous enclave.
Many remain hopeful despite mounting unanswered questions, including how the reborn country might approach the sexual violence weaponised in Assad’s prisons, or whether thousands of exiled female activists, along with others who fled for fear of persecution over their gender expression or sexuality, could one day feel safe to return to the new Syria.
A few handpicked to serve in the transitional government have already drawn anger for their comments about women. Obaida Arnout, a spokesperson for the new authority, said women’s “biological and physiological nature” made them unfit for some government jobs.
And Aisha al-Dibs, the new minister for women, said she would not “give room” to any civil society organisations that disagree with her view, citing one “catastrophic” programme eight years ago that she claimed led to a rise in divorce rates.
Both statements sparked a fierce backlash, all of which appeared to chasten the new government. Days later, Maysaa Sabrine, a former deputy at the Syrian central bank, was appointed to head the institution, the first woman to do so in its history. Rahhal views this as part of a push-pull of draconian measures she said she was familiar with under HTS rule, with their repeal labelled as responsiveness to criticism.
Delal Albesh, who has run a centre providing vocational training for women in Idlib for years under HTS, said things in the city had improved and she hoped the new authority would take a similar approach nationwide. Her centre was one of a number of women’s empowerment facilities, providing opportunities to learn new skills so they could enter the job market or treat injuries caused by the Assad regime’s bombardments. She is now looking for an office in the capital, Damascus.
“Since many men were fighters, women didn’t sit back and wait – they worked,” she said. Women had taken on more roles across civil society, she said, particularly after the deadly earthquake that jolted northern Syria and southern Turkey in early 2023, killing an estimated 8,000 Syrians. Her organisation, Zumoruda, found that HTS’s pressure had eased after it registered with the local authorities, allowing it to expand its fieldwork and reach more women.
Her sister, Amina Albesh, who works with the Syrian civil defence group known as the White Helmets, said she didn’t want to talk politics as her organisation has long strived to remain neutral of any ruling authority. But she was confident that women would seize new roles in Syria.
“Many women lost their partners and have done a lot of hard work these past 14 years,” she said, estimating that 70% of the women living in Idlib had been working to provide for their families.
“They are tired,” she said. “But we are against all these statements that women can’t do this or that. We have proved we can do literally anything.” Both sisters said there had been few civil appointments open during HTS’s rule of Idlib, which they felt explained why no women had ever been appointed to leadership roles.
Rahhal remains sceptical about the transitional government’s promises of change. She described examining each new development from her exile in Berlin, comparing it with decisions that HTS took in the past, including when the group operated under the name Jabhat al-Nusra, an offshoot of al-Qaida. Then, she said, their violations were blatant, including a convoy of cars arriving to raid the Mazaya women’s centre she co-founded.
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A year prior, an unknown assailant had set Mazaya’s offices on fire, and Rahhal was the target of a car bomb. The activist doesn’t know who planted the bomb, and is still seeking justice for the murder of her son, the journalist Khalid al-Issa, who was killed by an explosive device hidden in his home in Aleppo in 2016. Rahhal believes that some of those involved in his murder could now be in power.
“In general, I don’t trust HTS because I still don’t know whether they are truly changing or they just claim to have changed,” she said. “Are they really changing ideologically, or just for their own interests?”
After she was questioned in the so-called blue building, she said, it didn’t end the pressure on women’s rights organisations, but things did shift. Just like when she was briefly detained by the Hisbah, a local authority for enforcing religious edicts, who accused her of not wearing appropriate clothing but was thereafter dissolved, her detention ended up “causing headaches” for HTS just as much as it bothered Rahhal’s group.
Pressure on women’s rights organisations had become “more politicised” before she left Idlib two years ago, she said. Imams aligned to HTS would preach against the women’s empowerment centres, accusing them of “spreading corruption”, and warning people to be careful around them. Women would be called in for warnings, she said, but the local authority run by HTS was also careful to foster supportive relationships with select female empowerment centres who they felt aligned with their aims.
Still, Rahhal continued her activities to train women to be ready for leadership roles in a future democratic society.
“They prevented this during their rule in Idlib, because without my doing these trainings in secret it would take many years to re-establish a space among women to discuss civil rights, transitional justice and equality,” she said.
“Because I did it in secret before, now I can build from this base – but their plan was to marginalise women so they don’t understand these things and get involved in government.”
She remains encouraged by a few statements from HTS leader Ahmed al-Sharaa, but feels the real tests lie ahead. Rahhal is keeping an eye on those attending the national dialogue where al-Sharaa is expected to dissolve HTS, although preparations have so far proved opaque.
“I don’t want to see 300 versions of Aisha al-Dibs attending, I want to see real representation,” she said.
Rahhal does not expect an invitation, but feels attendance is more than symbolic. “This is the first step towards having real female representation, to make real change,” she said.
