For decades, Syrians have lived with a deep-rooted problem: hate speech. It did not emerge solely from the war but was fostered through official policies and entrenched social practices.
Successive governments used schools, the media and political discourse to depict the “other” as a threat. This created divisions along ethnic and sectarian lines that became part of everyday life. When the uprising began in 2011, these tendencies did not vanish – they sharpened, turning into a central tool of war itself.
Instead of celebrating diversity as a source of strength and cultural richness, it was recast as a danger to be suppressed or controlled. Extremist groups added another layer, advancing exclusionary messages dressed in religious legitimacy, while the regime returned to its old playbook of vilification and fearmongering.
Today, more than a decade on from the outbreak of armed conflict, hate speech stands as one of the greatest obstacles to rebuilding Syrian society or forging a shared future rooted in pluralism.
Experiences elsewhere show what can be done. In Rwanda, after the 1994 genocide, schools and media were reoriented to ban racial incitement. In Bosnia, civil society organisations worked to restore trust across divided communities. These examples raise the question for Syria: what kind of national strategy can counter hate speech in a society long shaped by tension and suspicion?
From Baathist Policies to Jihadist Rhetoric
Abdelhalim Suleiman, a journalist based in Qamishli, tells +963 that the Baathist regime’s policies were decisive in embedding hate speech. “The Assad regime instilled a dismissive attitude towards others, elevating one community’s narrative at the expense of the rest,” he says. “The project was built on melting diverse identities into a false unity that did not reflect reality.”
This approach did not create a cohesive national identity – it entrenched difference and division. Instead of strengthening sub-identities within a wider Syrian fabric, the regime relied on the principle of “divide and rule”. Security services were central to this, and clashes between communities became a recurring feature of life.
Later, jihadist groups drew from the same exclusionary mindset. Many of their leaders had roots in the security and military establishments of Baathist systems in Iraq and Syria. “Much of the rhetoric and fatwas permitting violence against others carried the same mentality as Baathism – particularly its ethnic chauvinism,” Suleiman explains. “Extremist ideology in the region has its roots in the same logic, as we see with al-Qaeda and ISIS.”
He notes that the hate speech promoted by these groups at first aimed to unite Sunni Arabs but soon turned against dissenters within their own ranks. Kurds, Christians, Druze and others were all cast as enemies – and so too were Sunni Arabs who failed to conform.
The current Syrian government, Suleiman argues, remains trapped. “It stems from the same ideological soil,” he says. “No clear law criminalises hate speech. Religious platforms still amplify sectarianism, while pro-regime media figures continue to incite hostility across the country – whether in the coast, in Suwayda, or in the north-east.”
This perpetuation, he warns, not only weakens the government but pushes Syria further into uncertainty and rancour. Civil society and media, he stresses, carry the heaviest responsibility in resisting such narratives – particularly those close to power who can drive real change.
Positive steps have emerged in the north-east, where civil groups and local administrations have opened dialogue between communities and promoted tolerance. Existing media laws, too, contain clauses against hate speech that could be enforced more consistently.
Hatred Rooted in Baathism
Bassem al-Ahmad, director of Syrians for Truth and Justice, echoes the view that the Baath regime was not alone in embedding hate speech – successive governments share blame.
“The Assad regime ran the state through the Baath Party, using exclusionary policies that branded opponents as traitors,” he tells +963. “Hate speech was not confined to politics – it seeped into mosques, into jokes and sayings, into school textbooks, even into everyday talk.”
He argues that extremist groups and Turkish-backed factions later adopted their own hateful rhetoric, targeting non-Arabs and non-Muslims. As war spread, these messages were amplified by social media, reaching hundreds of thousands.
Al-Ahmad points to the damage done across all communities – Kurds, Alawites, Druze and others. Even Sunni opponents of the regime were stigmatised as “terrorists” or “agents of Israel”. Every violation, he says, was preceded by incitement.
For al-Ahmad, legal reform is essential – but not enough on its own. Education, civil society, religious leaders and the arts must all play a role in changing attitudes. He warns, however, against misusing the call to “combat hate speech” as a cover for silencing free expression.
While Syrian media and NGOs have sometimes been complicit in spreading hostile rhetoric, there are also grassroots initiatives working to counter it. “The danger,” he says, “is when the fight against hate speech becomes another instrument of censorship.”
