Sweida, in southern Syria, a province once spared the worst of the country’s civil war, has become one of its most dangerous flash points. What was once an enclave of fragile calm is now a battlefield where sectarian fears, local militias, insurgent networks and outside powers collide. The collapse of Bashar al-Assad’s regime in December 2024 and the rise of a new government in Damascus shattered old arrangements and opened a volatile new chapter.
Before Assad’s fall, Sweida operated in a semiautonomous way by closing itself off from the wider war. Druze community leaders kept up ties with the regime, allowing Damascus to project control through formal appointments, naming heads of security branches and local administrators while, in reality, Druze forces maintained order and kept their men out of Assad’s army.
That system collapsed under the new government. Damascus is now pushing for greater central authority while Druze factions want to preserve the autonomy they fought to maintain. This struggle for control has ignited a dangerous standoff that risks turning Sweida into a new front line.
The latest round of violence began with the abduction of a Druze merchant on the Damascus-Sweida road on July 11. In retaliation, Druze fighters kidnapped Bedouin men, and both sides launched tit-for-tat raids. What began as local reprisals spiraled into heavy battles across the province, drawing in government forces and regional players.
The Bedouins’ call for support was swiftly answered by several tribes, including those from neighboring Daraa and Damascus’ Ghouta region. On July 17, they launched a new offensive, seizing five villages in Sweida’s western countryside and advancing to the city’s outskirts after pushing back Druze forces.
“Suddenly, I saw a group of armed men accompanying a Bedouin neighbor,” recalled Zeid, a 50-year-old engineer, who believed they were members of General Security from Damascus. “They went to the Hinawi family’s house under the pretext of having coffee. But when the door opened, they stormed in and killed everyone inside. They repeated this several times.”
The family, he said, had ties to Damascus, making the killings feel even more indiscriminate. “The bodies of my neighbors were scattered in the streets. For two days, we had no food, no electricity, no water; we were completely cut off.”
The Druze, who make up the overwhelming majority in Sweida and pride themselves on their religious identity and local autonomy, quickly organized self-defense militias. These groups claim they are protecting their communities against Bedouin tribes and government forces. Damascus, which initially entered under the pretext of restoring order, soon turned its guns on Druze neighborhoods after coming under attack from local fighters.
Many Druze leaders accuse certain Sunni tribes, mostly from rural Sweida, of aligning with Damascus or benefiting from its drive to extend power in the south. These suspicions, rooted in decades of disputes over land, security and influence, have deepened mistrust and fueled cycles of kidnappings, executions and revenge attacks.
“There were always tensions between Druze and Bedouin over land or money,” said Rabab, a young journalist from Sweida. “They [the Bedouins] have long asked for more representation in local government, but they’ve always had seats at the table. Since Assad fell, they’ve been pushing harder. What started as random clashes escalated very fast.”
As the fighting spread, Israel turned from warnings to direct action. Israeli leaders vowed to protect Druze communities and block hostile forces from nearing Israel’s border. Drones and fighter jets struck Syrian government armor advancing toward Sweida, then later targeted sites near Damascus as a clear warning. Israel portrayed the strikes as vital for border security and the protection of Druze civilians. Damascus, however, denounced them as blatant violations of sovereignty that inflamed sectarian tensions, especially after Israeli attacks intensified, striking the perimeter of the presidential palace in Damascus and the Ministry of Defense, which was rendered out of service.
Public appeals by Druze citizens inside Israel added pressure. Damascus pulled back some units and accepted temporary ceasefires that handed security to Druze factions. Interim President Ahmad al-Sharaa acknowledged these deals, though most collapsed within days. Israeli involvement divided the Druze: Some saw it as lifesaving, and others feared it would internationalize the crisis and destroy any chance of negotiating with Damascus.
Sheikh Hikmat al-Hajari, a top Druze spiritual leader, became a key voice of opposition to integration into the central government. When Syrian troops entered Sweida, he denounced the operation as a “barbaric campaign” and called on fighters to defend their land, even appealing to Israel and international bodies for intervention. Militias loyal to him set up checkpoints, launched raids and rejected disarmament terms accepted by other Druze elders. Damascus and rival Druze figures accuse al-Hajari’s men of exploiting Israeli strikes to entrench local power at the Bedouins’ expense.
Jalal Noufal, a Syrian psychiatrist who spoke at a sit-in of more than 40 Syrian activists in front of the parliament building in Damascus protesting the violence, explained that “the hate speech we Syrians are living with today is extremely dangerous for us” and urged the government to put in place “real deterrent mechanisms” against it.
“Right now, what stops people from endorsing it, commenting on social media — or even killing — is morality, because there is no real legal deterrent,” Noufal added. “Narratives are easy to circulate, especially those that followed the Israeli intervention. We cannot describe everyone as wanting Israeli intervention; saying so only fuels the killing.”
During the silent sit-in, a car with no plates, something commonly associated with abductions and assassinations in Syria, arrived carrying three men who stood provocatively facing the gathering. This time, they criticized the protesters for not holding any banners in support of the new government. When told that there were no banners supporting any political side, one of the unidentified men replied that all of the protesters owe their freedom to the government for liberating them from Assad, adding that without al-Sharaa, the country would never move forward.
A tribal sheikh from northeastern Syria approached the sit-in with a look of disdain. He walked up to a New Lines journalist and told him to be sure to take a photo of these “worthless people,” referring to the protesters, so he could remember each one of them later, his tone carrying a clear threat of retaliation for their opposition to the violence in Sweida — an act he considers one of defiance against the new Syrian government.
A New Lines journalist also observed a group of pro-government supporters attacking the protesters with sticks and knives, beating them while chanting, “Our leader forever, our Prophet Muhammad.”
When General Security stormed Sweida city, the violence escalated into atrocity. “Since morning, the city has been under random shelling from the west and north,” said Hosam, a Druze resident. “Then the sectarian killings began.” His voice broke as he recounted the massacre of his relatives: “Members of our family, the Radwans, were slaughtered in their guesthouse. Fifteen people were there for a meeting; only one survived by playing dead.”
The humanitarian fallout has been catastrophic. Hundreds have been killed — possibly more than 500, according to various human rights monitors — including Druze civilians who were reportedly executed after government forces retook contested areas. Sweida’s main hospital was overwhelmed, its corridors stacked with corpses and wounded patients lying on the floor after shelling and power cuts shut down lifesaving machines. “The morgue overflowed. Dialysis stopped. Armed men stormed the hospital,” said a doctor, speaking anonymously for fear of reprisal.
Entire neighborhoods were gutted by fire and looting. “Bodies are in the streets, in cars, in homes,” said Reem, a humanitarian volunteer, calling in tears from the province. “Hundreds of houses have been burned. Thousands are in shelters or mosques with no food, no water, no medicine.”
Displacement rippled across the south. Bedouin families, fearing revenge attacks, fled to Daraa and other provinces, while Druze civilians sought refuge from shelling in religious sanctuaries or fled when front lines cut through their towns. Aid convoys have been blocked by road closures and insecurity, leaving thousands without relief.
Many civilians in Sweida, including prominent political activist Maher Sharafeddine, began posting photos alongside al-Hajari to signal their support for his initiatives. Meanwhile, other influential voices on social media, such as Sweida-based influencer Majd Sallam, started accusing the Damascus government of acting like the Islamic State group, after months of urging all sides to avoid sectarian massacres.
As the bloodshed deepened, Mazloum Abdi, commander of the Syrian Democratic Forces, issued an urgent appeal: “We are receiving calls from Sweida asking for safe corridors for civilians and an end to attacks,” he said, denouncing the killings of women and children and assaults on religious symbols as “crimes against humanity.” Syria’s future, he warned, cannot be built on revenge: “After 14 years of war, it is time to end the bloodshed through dialogue and constitutional principles.”
Yet on the ground, the violence shows no sign of ending. Armed Bedouin convoys continue streaming toward Sweida, ignoring government orders to stand down. The president’s promise to hand control of the city to Druze leaders has gone unheeded. Faced with escalating attacks and what they call threats of ethnic cleansing, Druze fighters insist they have no choice but to fight back.
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