Mezn Murshed
Since the Syrian president Ahmad Al-Sharaa announced, at the start of 2025, that he would lead Syria’s transitional phase, the questions have not stopped. They may sound technical or constitutional on the surface, but they cut to the heart of what remains of Syrians’ belief in the idea of the state: Is there a genuine chance to build a modern civil legal order?
The uncertainty today is not just about Syria’s political future, but about the legal framework that will govern people’s daily lives, civil interactions, and commercial relations.
The question sounds simple; but, as Syrians know too well, it is as complex as Syria itself. For decades, the law in Syria was not an umbrella protecting everyone equally. More often, it was an instrument of control in the hands of those in power and their allies, applied to ordinary people but rarely serving them. Many stood above it.
Syria’s legal heritage is tangled; a product of Ottoman, French, and Islamic laws, later reshaped to suit successive regimes rather than society itself.
This hybrid system, though reflective of the country’s diverse history, often produced ambiguity and contradiction. The Syrian Civil Code, modelled largely on the French system, faced serious challenges in practice, especially under an authoritarian political system that never embraced the rule of law.
The paradox is that the law has always exist, but it has rarely been present in people’s lives as a guarantor of rights or as a tool for equality in responsibility.
So, the core question today is this: Can Al-Sharaa’s government, rooted in an explicitly Islamic background, establish a truly civil legal system that upholds justice and equality before the law? And does it have the capacity, and the will, to break the long-standing link between law and power, and reconnect it to society instead?
It’s no secret that any serious legal project begins with recognizing a society’s diversity and contradictions, not by trying to force it into a single narrative.
In a country where social structures have been shattered, justice institutions weakened, and sectarian and political wounds have deepened, building a neutral civil law will not be a purely legislative process. It will be a deep political choice, one that cannot be pursued with soothing speeches, good intentions, or ambiguous compromises that conceal more than they reveal.
The first challenge facing Al-Sharaa is not simply drafting a new law or amending articles, but untangling the relationship between religion and state, between ideological reference and legal framework.
Because whether declared or not, ideological backgrounds seep into legal details, especially in personal status matters and individual rights.
The real question for Syrians is not only “What will be written?” but “Who will write it? For whose benefit? And based on what intellectual or cultural foundation?” Can a government that includes figures openly aligned with hardline Islamic views produce a civil law that guarantees women’s rights and minority protections? And will it be written in a truly civil language or in a conditional one?
These questions are not born from paranoia but from lived experience, both in the region and in Syria’s own history, where “good intentions” have often turned into oppressive systems when built solely on “the truth” of one side, rather than on consensus.
The second challenge is institutional: there can be no state of law without an independent judiciary, and no justice without an effective accountability system.
So, what do we have in Syria today?
An exhausted judiciary, a near-absent cadre of professionals, reliance on graduates of short religious courses, and a weak legal culture. Even though there are many defected judges with expertise and integrity, they remain sidelined. Meanwhile, society is still groping its way toward trusting institutions again.
Al-Sharaa has repeatedly spoken about rebuilding these institutions. But the problem was never in the promises, it is in the ability to translate them into reality, in a genuine political environment that guarantees judicial independence, not its use as a tool.
Is there an opportunity? Yes, Syrians are tired of slogans. Today they are asking for something simpler yet deeper: a law that does not discriminate, a judge who does not obey orders, and a citizen who does not fear the state’s institutions.
Read also: Investigative Committees in New Syria… Under Scrutiny!
The current moment could be a chance to repair this broken social contract, but only if approached with courage, not evasiveness.
One of the quiet but crucial tests facing Al-Sharaa will be how he handles issues like personal status law, women’s rights, and full citizenship for minorities.
Will there be courage to go beyond traditional religious and social legacies? Or will the fight be waged in the language of compromise and delay, with the stronger side prevailing over the weaker?
Only time will tell. But the early signs do not inspire full confidence, whenever a sensitive file is raised, the answers are vague, the details missing, as if the intention is to postpone rather than confront.
Some may say we should wait, give the man a chance, and not rush to judgment. But Syrians are more fatigued, and less patient, after fourteen years of dreaming of a state of law. From bitter experience, they know that law is measured not by what is declared, but by what is legislated and enforced, not by what is said at conferences, but by what a citizen feels in court, at a police station, or at the civil registry.
In the end, Syrians are not asking for much. They want laws that do not change with the ruler’s name, justice that is not distributed by loyalty, and citizenship that is not granted based on identity. They want a homeland where they can trust in their children’s future, a homeland that will not force them to leave again.
Is that too much to ask?
