Two Syrian soldiers in full military gear were giddily excited as they explored the Bab al-Saghir Cemetery in Damascus. They asked us where the shrine of Muawiya ibn Abi Sufyan, the founder of the Umayyad Caliphate, was located. When we pointed it out and added that we had just visited it ourselves, they were thrilled. As they walked away, we heard one of them say to the other, “Why did the former Assad regime deny people this blessing?!” They meant the opportunity to visit such a place.
Three days earlier, I had joined a close friend of mine who lives, as I do, in the United States, along with his brother from Damascus, to search for what are supposed to be the well-known graves of historical and religious figures. It soon became clear that exploring the city and asking locals to direct us to these graves would take quite some time and effort. Bashar al-Assad’s regime deliberately made it difficult to locate certain shrines in Damascus because of what they represented. The shrines meant different things to different people — sometimes, as I would find, controversially so.
Syria’s significant role across empires and dynasties has left it with a rich variety of shrines for Christians, Sunni Muslims, Shiites and other sects. Many of these shrines have held huge symbolism and importance throughout the country’s history of political, religious and sectarian conflicts.
Since 2011, Syria’s religious shrines have become flash points in the country’s sectarian and geopolitical wars. Once places of prayer and memory, they were turned into tools for propaganda and recruitment. Iran portrayed the Sunni-led uprising as a threat to Shiite heritage and mobilized militias from Lebanon, Iraq, Yemen, Afghanistan and Pakistan to defend sites like the Sayyida Zaynab shrine in the Syrian capital. This is believed to be the resting place of Zaynab, the granddaughter of the Prophet Muhammad, born to his daughter Fatima and her husband Ali ibn Abi Talib, a figure particularly revered by Shiite Muslims. The shrine serves as a major pilgrimage site for Shiites, representing faith, resistance and the suffering of Muhammad’s family.
After Assad’s fall in December 2024, many Syrians I met in Damascus were angry about how Iran had used these sites against them. Some Shiite militias argued they needed to stay in Syria to safeguard certain shrines, including Sayyida Zaynab. In response, some Syrians called for the shrines to be demolished or relocated to Iraq or Iran, because, they said, they had been used to justify killing them. Even with Assad gone, shrines have continued to be central to sectarian violence and mobilization.
Visiting several shrines across the capital, it is clear that these sites are both deeply revered and subject to official neglect. They remain contested in a Syria still grappling with its multiple identities and what they might represent in the modern world.
One of the oldest cemeteries in Damascus, Bab al-Saghir dates back to the early Islamic era. Located near the “Small Gate” after which it is named (one of ancient Damascus’ eight gates), it serves as the burial site for many notable Muslim religious and intellectual figures, with numerous visible archaeological remnants. Walking through its grounds and seeing the names and dates on the gravestones, visitors can appreciate the diverse civilizations that have shaped the city and the region.
A well-guarded grave, encircled by several layers of metal fencing, features an old Arabic inscription that reads, “Muawiya ibn Abi Sufyan, the first caliph of the Umayyads.” This seventh-century ruler lived and died during a tumultuous time in the history of Islam; the first 50 years of the religion were marked by controversies and conflicts that shaped the Muslim world, some of which still reverberate to this day.
If you have been following Arab television dramas, you may have come across the controversy surrounding a recent Ramadan series about Muawiya. Produced by MBC, which is owned by the government of Saudi Arabia, the show portrays him as a strong Muslim ruler. Touted as the most expensive series ever produced in the Arab world, it has generated significant discussion in Iraq, Egypt and beyond. The show is prohibited from airing in Iraq due to concerns that it may incite sectarian tensions, while Egypt’s influential Al-Azhar institution issued an opinion encouraging Muslims not to watch it.
Muawiya’s legacy has long been contentious, especially among Shiites. The dispute dates back to the beginning of Islam. Muawiya was one of the figures closest to the Prophet Muhammad, but his role in a rebellion against Ali — Muhammad’s son-in-law and cousin, and the fourth caliph of Islam — made him a controversial figure for Shiites from that day on.
In the year 750, 70 years after Muawiya’s death, the last Umayyad caliph, Marwan II, was killed while fleeing the forces of Abu al-Abbas al-Saffah, the first caliph of the Abbasid dynasty. The Abbasids showed the Umayyads no mercy; most surviving Umayyad family members were located and killed. When an amnesty was announced for the surviving male Umayyad family members, 80 of them were invited to dinner on the pretext of reconciliation. Once they were seated at the table, however, at the signal of the new Caliph al-Saffah, assassins entered the room and clubbed them to death.
The revenge did not stop there. The Abbasid victors desecrated the tombs of the Umayyads in Syria, excavating them and tearing apart and burning the remains. An exception was the tomb of Umar II, thanks to his good reputation — and also, I thought after my visit to Bab al-Saghir, the grave of Muawiya. But it turned out that what seemed a clearly labeled gravestone proclaiming the caliph’s last resting place was also controversial.
When I was an instructor at Kalamoon University in Syria from 2007 to 2009, I had an older colleague, Samir Jahshaan, a Palestinian-Syrian Christian from Damascus. I remember having a conversation with him at the lunch table about what certain Shiite pilgrims did during their visits to Umayyad shrines in Syria. He became angry as he recounted how the shrine of Muawiya in the old town used to smell like a dirty public restroom, because some Shiite pilgrims would urinate on it as an insult, since, to Shiites, Muawiya symbolizes injustice, usurpation and historical trauma. Jahshaan was deeply upset that Syria’s political regime would allow such an insult to some of its historical figures.
The moral of this story for me is not that a Christian Syrian was offended by (mostly Iranian) Shiite pilgrims urinating on the grave of a well-known Arab Sunni leader and prominent early ruler of Syria. Rather, it is that the description and location of Muawiya’s grave in his narrative from years ago do not match the grave I found in Bab al-Saghir Cemetery during my recent visit. Who, then, is in that well-guarded grave that clearly says “Muawiya ibn Abi Sufyan, the first caliph of the Umayyads”?
After a thorough investigation of historical and archaeological documents, I am not sure a grave for Muawiya exists. Various sources imply that Muawiya’s original grave was irretrievably lost due to the Abbasids’ destruction of the Umayyad cemetery, during which they thoroughly plowed and sowed the land of the old burial site for a hundred years. Nonetheless, numerous references point to the Bab al-Saghir Cemetery as the probable site of Muawiya’s original tomb. Al-Masudi, a 10th-century scholar, noted that the grave was well known during his era and even pinpointed its location within the cemetery. So, the grave that my old friend was talking about is actually another location that people mistakenly believe to be Muawiya’s tomb.
The Abbasids did everything they could to erase Muawiya’s original grave from existence. However, they were not motivated by the Shiite-Sunni rivalry. They were not a Shiite dynasty, even though their caliphate name and lineage might suggest it, given that they claimed descent from Abbas ibn Abd al-Muttalib, an uncle of Muhammad. The rivalry between the Abbasids and Umayyads was driven instead by family and tribal feuds, as well as struggles for power. At the beginning of this civil war, many Shiites supported the Abbasid revolt because they believed it was a step toward restoring power to the “ahl al-bayt” (the family of Muhammad). However, once in power, the Abbasids were ultimately viewed by the Shiites as usurpers and oppressors, similar to the Umayyads. Even so, the Abbasids and the Shiite clergy shared an interest in erasing the Umayyad rulers from history, including by destroying their tombs.
Despite all these efforts, Muawiya has remained a deeply revered figure among many Sunni Syrians, both historically and today. His legacy is tied to a powerful era of early Islamic rule and, despite centuries passing, his image persists in the Sunni collective memory. Equally, Muawiya has been widely disliked by many Shiites, both historically and in the present day. This animosity stems from his role in early Islamic conflicts, particularly his opposition to Ali.
In modern Syria, this sectarian divide has taken on new political significance. The rise of the Alawite-dominated Assad regime — closely aligned with Shiite powers like Iran and Lebanon’s Hezbollah, and linked to Shiite Islam theologically — fueled widespread Sunni resentment, especially following the brutal crackdown on the Syrian uprising, starting in 2011. For many Sunni Syrians, preserving the memory of Muawiya is now not just an act of historical reverence but a symbolic resistance against what they perceive to have been a Shiite-Alawite axis of oppression.
Interestingly, after the fall of Assad, both Sunnis and Shiites in the region, not only in Syria, have begun drawing comparisons between Muawiya and Syria’s new transitional president, Ahmad al-Sharaa. For Sunnis, al-Sharaa is the measured, powerful and conservative figure who brought down the Assad regime and its Shiite supporters. Shiites acknowledge this comparison, though the symbolism differs starkly. Iranian propaganda has started inciting fears among the Syrian minorities that al-Sharaa is another Muawiya, who will oppress the Shiites, Alawites and others.
When fighters from the Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) faction that led the overthrow of Assad in December made references to Muawiya at Bab al-Saghir, their words echoed centuries of conflict, reflecting how deeply these historical and sectarian divides continue to shape Syrian identity and politics today.
“Zaynab will not be taken captive twice!” was a slogan frequently repeated by Iranian and Lebanese Hezbollah Shiite fighters during their ruthless campaigns to support Assad against his people during the Syrian civil war. They were referring to the seventh-century Battle of Karbala, the source of so much animosity between Sunnis and Shiites. After the battle, the Umayyads took surviving women and children captive, including Ali’s daughters Zaynab and Umm Kulthum — both granddaughters of Muhammad. The captives were eventually transferred to Damascus. Every year, Muslims, particularly Shiites, commemorate the anniversary of Zaynab’s death on the 15th day of the Muslim month of Rajab, in 682. However, important questions remain. Where did she die? And where was she buried?
Some accounts suggest that Zaynab died in Medina, while others believe she passed away in Syria. There are also claims that she was exiled to Egypt and died there. For instance, the ninth- and 10th-century Persian Islamic scholar, historian and Quranic commentator al-Tabari claims that her grave lies in Cairo.
But for many, the answers are not up for debate. To the south of Damascus, in an area known as al-Sitt (“the Lady”), stands the Sayyida Zaynab Mausoleum. Some historical sources indicate that this was originally dedicated to Zaynab’s sister, Umm Kulthum. Over time, the shrine has transformed into a major religious site attracting millions of visitors annually, mostly Shiites, despite the ongoing debate as to whether or not Zaynab is indeed buried there.
I planned to visit the shrine but was prevented after the Islamic State group attempted to carry out an explosion at the site in January 2025, leading to heightened security measures. Thankfully, this attempt was thwarted by the current government intelligence authorities. Some of my sources believe that Iran and some of their Syrian loyalists were behind this plot to incite sectarian unrest.
As the Syrian people’s uprising against Assad began to move in a sectarian direction — especially after Iranian, Iraqi and Lebanese Shiite militias heavily and brutally aided Assad’s forces against civilians — the Sayyida Zaynab site gained new significance. The surrounding area was transformed into a military complex for Shiite militias, who argued that their intervention in Syria was to protect their holy sites and people. Many innocent civilians have died in the past 14 years as a result of such slogans and beliefs.
That argument, however, was not merely rhetorical — for many of these militias, it was, and remains, a core ideological conviction. Even after Assad and his allies were defeated on Dec. 8, some Iranian and Iraqi militias insisted on staying in Syria, still claiming the need to protect Shiite shrines. The militias’ refusal to leave even after their ally’s defeat underscored how religious symbolism has been weaponized as justification for long-term foreign presence.
To many Syrians, this was seen not as religious devotion but as an ongoing occupation. In my conversations with locals, I often heard the same bitter phrase: “If the Iranian Shiites care for these graves so much and are so concerned that they keep interfering in our country, they should dig them up and relocate them to Iran.”
That these shrines act as flash points for sectarian sentiments, even violence, is very much in evidence today. On April 23, Syrian security forces took down red Shiite flags one day after they had been raised on the domes of the Sayyida Zaynab Mausoleum, arguing that they posed a public safety risk. This action sparked outrage among Shiites, who perceived it as an act of Sunni aggression. Conversely, Sunnis interpret the flags as symbols of the Shiite axis in Syria over the past decade and the atrocities carried out by the Assad regime with that axis’s backing.
Reacting to this incident, one journalist commented on X about the fact that massacres were committed all over Syria under this kind of imagery. “The banner of ‘Ya Zaynab’ [‘O Zaynab’] has transformed from a religious slogan into a symbol of occupation and destruction, behind which hide the killers who tore Syria apart in the name of sectarianism, hatred, and loyalty to Iran — the evil neighbor and source of terrorism,” he wrote.
Similarly, on May 14, a Shiite mosque in Aleppo was transformed into a Sunni center for Quran studies. Both of these actions by the new Syrian government were controversial with Shiites throughout the region, and such acts carry significant implications for Sunni and Shiite religious, social and political dynamics.
Oddly enough, there is precedent for the proposal to dig up and relocate graves. In early 2015, as the Assad regime lost control of the eastern and northern regions of Syria, a Turkish military convoy comprising 39 tanks and 57 armored vehicles, and carrying 572 Turkish soldiers, entered Syria to recover the remains of Suleyman Shah, who died in the 13th century, along with Turkish troops who had been guarding the shrine.
Suleyman Shah, who lived from approximately 1178 to 1236, was the grandfather of Osman I, the founder of the Ottoman Empire. He drowned in the Euphrates while swimming and was buried on the banks of the river, close to where he died. Suleyman’s mausoleum was built beside the river where he was laid to rest. The shrine was rebuilt in the 19th century by the Ottoman Sultan Abdulhamid II.
The tomb was recognized as Turkish territory under a Franco-Turkish Agreement of Oct. 20, 1921. Later, Article 3 of the 1923 Treaty of Lausanne affirmed that the Turkish-Syrian border would be established in accordance with that earlier agreement. Under this treaty, which officially dissolved the Ottoman Empire and delineated the borders of the new Turkish Republic and neighboring states, the tomb site remained under Turkish ownership. The treaty granted Turkey the right to station guards, fly its national flag and maintain the shrine, which it regarded thereafter as sovereign Turkish territory.
The remains of Suleyman Shah have made two journeys north along the Euphrates River. From 1236 until 1973, the tomb was located near the Qalaat Jaabar castle in what is now Syria’s Raqqa governorate. In 1973, the remains were moved 50 miles north because of flooding anticipated from the creation of Lake Assad in 1974. One might wonder why the Turkish authorities did not relocate the remains of Suleyman Shah to Turkey in 1973 instead, given that they had the right to do so.
The remains made a second journey north when the site faced the threat of attack by Islamic State militants in 2015. On the night of Feb. 21-22, 2015, Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan ordered a military operation, codenamed “Shah Euphrates,” to relocate the remains to a site in Syria closer to the Turkish border.
This time, the tomb was moved into Turkish-controlled territory, a mere 197 yards inside Syria, just north of the Syrian village of Ashme and less than 1.2 miles southeast of the Turkish village of Esmesi. Yet again, this is on Syrian land, which raises the question: Why didn’t they move it to Turkey for good?
The answer is that the shrine gives Turkey a justification for intervening in Syria. After all, the Turkish government technically did not violate any international law or sovereignty by sending troops to Syria to protect what is, according to the Treaty of Lausanne’s terms, its own territory.
It was nearly impossible to find the grave of Ahmad ibn Taymiyya. When we finally found it, we debated whether it really was his grave, as it did not mention the name Ibn Taymiyya, by which he was well known, both during and after his lifetime.
As someone who wrote a graduate thesis and published peer-reviewed research on the 13th-century Muslim scholar Ibn Taymiyya, I can confidently say he is quite a contentious figure, and some modern followers of his work can be even more so. This is particularly true because some of his work has been wrongly interpreted as a manual by modern jihadists.
It is worth noting here that, during my earlier years in Syria, I had little intellectual curiosity about Ibn Taymiyya’s writings. Even if I had wanted to read them, most of them were banned in Syria at that time. It was only while pursuing my master’s degree in the U.S. that my academic interest in him grew, partly due to the debates about him in some of my graduate seminars, and then because of the emergence of the Islamic State and other jihadist groups during the Syrian uprising and their enthusiastic use of some of his writings.
The Assad regime despised Ibn Taymiyya, particularly for his views on the Alawite sect. In 1317, Ibn Taymiyya issued his third fatwa (legal opinion) against Syria’s Alawites (then known as Nusayris), saying, “These Nusayris should be fought as long as they resist until they accept the law of Islam.” This third fatwa was more significant than the other two he wrote about the Alawites, as Ibn Taymiyya made clear in it that they should be fought and defeated. But what is usually overlooked when interpreting this fatwa is the historical context. It came after a bloody Alawite uprising that took place on the Syrian coast in 1317. In other words, we have historical evidence to suggest the religious opinion was sought to combat the Alawites, illustrating the depth and length of the rivalry between Sunnis and other sects in this region.
The text of the “istiftaa” (“request for fatwa”) pertaining to this fatwa opens with a description of the Alawites as a group of herders following the Nusayri doctrine, holding conflicting beliefs about a central figure — viewing him as God, a prophet or the Mahdi (a messianic figure in Islamic eschatology) — and demanding prostration before him, revealing their heresy, defiance and hostility toward the Prophet Muhammad’s companions. The person seeking the fatwa then asked: “Are we obliged to fight them and kill their warriors? Are we permitted to hold as captives their children and to take their property?” Numerous modern scholars have concluded that Ibn Taymiyya’s primary fatwa against the Alawites was based on an incomplete and secondhand understanding of the sect, and that his legal reasoning rested on the erroneous belief that they were Ismailis.
After being relatively marginalized for centuries, Ibn Taymiyya began to gain attention as his Hanbali school of Islamic thought regained prominence in the modern era, mainly through the Wahhabi movement and the Saudi state. In Syria, Ibn Taymiyya’s fatwas took on renewed political importance when the secular ruling Baath Party seized power. The party’s leadership aimed to contain the country’s sectarian history and conflicting religious identities by promoting an Arab national identity instead of a religious one; Ibn Taymiyya’s work was perceived as fomenting sectarian divisions. Furthermore, Syria was dominated by the Alawites after 1970, with the rise of Hafez al-Assad (Bashar’s father) to power, leading to increased scrutiny of the sect’s beliefs. All of these factors were evident in the concerns of Syrian Alawite leaders as they strove to portray themselves as a legitimate Muslim sect.
This renewed political and sectarian significance increased further after the victory of the Islamic Revolution in Iran in 1979. The resulting competition between Iran and Saudi Arabia for influence sharpened a Sunni-Shiite divide in the Muslim world, prompting renewed attention to historical theological rulings on sectarian splits. To add insult to injury, Assad sought out a close relationship with Iran’s Khomeinist theocracy during the 1980s, and the two countries remained staunch allies until the fall of the regime in 2024.
Throughout the search for Ibn Taymiyya’s grave, I found that most people were unaware of or misinformed about its location. One suggestion led us to the Sharia College campus at Damascus University, but the students there couldn’t provide any insights. A particularly striking account came from a man who remembered being yelled at by his friends when he asked about wanting to visit it himself, a few days earlier. “Why would you want to visit the shrine of Ibn Taymiyya?” they asked. “He ignites sectarian disputes.” These remarks highlight both the tension surrounding Ibn Taymiyya’s legacy as well as the deep concerns some have regarding sectarianism in Syria.
After a few attempts, we met a middle-aged man who worked in a Damascus University administrative office, who led us to the place. As we approached, he began reciting the opening verse of the Quran at the small hidden shrine. When we expressed our gratitude, he replied, “No, thank you! I gained a good deed by guiding you here.” He then added, “Pray for me,” before abruptly leaving.
The shrine was hidden in a small backyard surrounded by tall buildings. Some were part of the Damascus University Hospital of Obstetrics and Gynecology complex, while others belonged to the university’s head office. The burial site consisted of three graves, positioned side by side in a small area between a garbage dumpster and a large fuel tank. A sign in Arabic named the site as “The Sufi graveyard,” describing it as “The resting place of the scholars: The jurisprudent Ahmad Taqi al-Din, also known as Abu al-Abbas,” as well as Ibn Kathir and Ibn al-Salah.
Ibn Taymiyya is here referred to not by his well-known nickname but by the lesser-known name Abu al-Abbas, a deliberate act by the Assad regime to conceal his true identity. It is also noteworthy that the site is labeled a “Sufi graveyard,” despite Ibn Taymiyya’s well-documented critiques of Sufism. Furthermore, the individual graves were themselves unmarked, making it impossible to determine which of the three individuals was Ibn Taymiyya.
It is true that the majority of Syrians today, who are predominantly Sunni Muslims, do not necessarily hold the Alawites accountable by Ibn Taymiyya’s standards; instead, they adhere to the belief that one must either stand with the majority under one flag as Syrian citizens or align with Assad, Iran and Israel. At the same time, many Alawites have unfortunately embraced the sectarian propaganda spread by Assad, Iran, Iraq and Hezbollah, who have diligently worked to incite fears among the Alawites, Druze and Shiites, drawing on language and historical evidence such as that of Ibn Taymiyya and constantly repeating the Karbala story. We have clearly witnessed this since the collapse of Assad’s regime.
On Dec. 26, 2024, Syrian Alawite protesters across the country expressed their anger in response to a short video recorded weeks earlier that showed the shrine of al-Hussein ibn Hamdan al-Khasibi on fire. It is believed that the incident occurred around Dec. 8, 2024, when Assad fled the country. The footage depicts armed men speaking Uzbek, who are reportedly connected to HTS. Officials from HTS stated that the incident took place before HTS had fully taken control of Aleppo.
The 10th-century al-Khasibi is regarded as the foundational figure of Alawite beliefs. “He played a pivotal role in shaping the sect’s doctrines and establishing its literary heritage,” wrote Kamal Shahin for this magazine. “To this day, his most renowned work, ‘Al-Risala al-Rustabashiya’ (the latter being a Persian term meaning ‘be upright’ or ‘straightforward’), remains central to educating young male adherents in Alawite rituals.”
Shahin notes in the same article that shrine restorations began in 2017, sparking considerable controversy in Syria. This initiative was commissioned by Col. Suhail al-Hassan, known as “the Tiger,” who is now one of the individuals most wanted by the new Damascus government for his support of the Assad regime. Two months after the full recapture of Aleppo’s eastern neighborhoods, al-Hassan visited the shrine. Images on social media showed him with members of his “Tiger Forces” and their associates, gathered around the shrine, which holds sacred significance for Alawites.
These were deliberate efforts to construct and promote an Alawite symbol to contribute to the region’s sectarian mix. But the locals of Aleppo in fact contest the shrine’s identity, much as the identity of Muawiya’s grave is contested. They claim that it belongs not to al-Khasibi but to Sheikh Shams al-Din Muhammad al-Rifai al-Ahmadi, who is commonly referred to as “Sheikh Yabraq.” Nonetheless, the restoration of the shrine has received support from Iran, highlighting broader initiatives by Tehran to restore significant Shiite religious sites in Syria.
This heightened focus on shrines and sectarian symbolism in the Alawite-Sunni rivalry reemerged recently in a highly charged incident. This time it was due to the visit of the controversial Sunni Salafist cleric Adnan al-Arour to the grave of Hafez al-Assad in Qardaha, Assad’s hometown, in May 2025. On Dec. 11, 2024, just days after the Assad regime fell, a faction of the rebel forces set the tomb housing this grave ablaze. Al-Arour had lived in exile in Saudi Arabia for 53 years before recently returning to Syria. He left Syria for several reasons, including security threats, due to his outspoken and public positions against the Assad regime, considered “incitement against the state,” putting him on the security services’ wanted list.
Standing by Assad’s burned and dug-up tomb, al-Arour addressed the grave: “There was an incident between you and me 55 years ago, and I challenged you afterward. Your only weapon was polytheism [‘shirk’], and here I am today at your grave, you tyrant. Indeed, we have found what our Lord promised us to be true — victory. So I ask God to hold you accountable and to take vengeance for the orphans, the wounded and the poor.”
Video footage of al-Arour’s visit was circulated widely across social media platforms, amplifying the impact of his words and drawing renewed attention to the legacy of the Assad regime and its opponents. The visit also emphasized the profound symbolism and politicized significance of shrines in Syria, illustrating how sectarian narratives and historical grievances continue to shape the country’s fractured political and religious landscapes.
These contested sites have been and continue to be sources of sectarian identities and conflicts, but it doesn’t have to be this way. By reclaiming their history from those who have exploited it, ordinary Syrians have an opportunity to heal divisions and build new trust after years of suffering. If they succeed, they may yet create a future in which historical shrines and symbols unify rather than divide, finally allowing Syria’s diverse communities to live peacefully together under a common identity.
Such reconciliation is far from easy, but ordinary Syrians increasingly understand its necessity. No longer willing to accept historical symbolism as a perpetual source of division, many now challenge narratives imposed by regimes and external powers. In doing so, they assert their collective voice, hoping at last to overcome conflicts deeply rooted in history. At the same time, as the excitement of those two HTS soldiers in Bab al-Saghir Cemetery showed, many will continue to cling to the past to reassert their identities and politics.
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