Enough with empty slogans - we need a national narrative

The fall of Assad does not guarantee the political transition so many longed for. Nor does the disappearance of the old order miraculously produce a unifying national narrative. On the contrary: when a coercive system collapses, what often follows is dangerous vacuum. Syria is confronting that vacuum now.

The urgent task is to interrogate the very idea of the state. Who represents it? Who defines its meaning? What are its symbols? These are questions that cannot be answered through showy PR branding exercises or carefully staged television appearances.

The Canadian philosopher Charles Taylor argued in his essay The Politics of Recognition (1992) that identity is formed through dialogue with others. Individuals and communities come to understand themselves through the recognition they receive — or the denial of it. When recognition is withheld, identity itself is distorted. The result is resentment, alienation, and sometimes violence.

In a complex and multi-ethnic society like Syria, a unifying national identity cannot be imposed by erasing sub-identities. It cannot be forged by pretending plurality does not exist. It must begin with recognition, with acknowledging the dignity and legitimacy of different communities within a common political framework. Syria’s current crisis lies in the absence of such mutual recognition. Trust between communities is fragile, and agreement on basic political principles remains partial and contested. Rights are often discussed as if they were administrative concessions granted from above. Without mutual recognition and a stable framework of rights, there can be neither lasting stability nor genuine solidarity.

There is also an uncomfortable historical reality to confront. The failure to construct an inclusive national narrative did not begin with the current authorities in Damascus. It began earlier, when the Syrian opposition — in its many strands — failed to produce symbols capable of replacing those of the regime.

When images of Bashar al-Assad were torn down, when slogans vanished from walls and the regime’s symbols receded, a vast symbolic space opened. That void demanded something capable of binding Syrians together. Instead, the absence of a shared narrative about both the past and the future has itself become a source of tension. At the root of Syria’s divisions lies a neglected question: how are Syrians to live together? Will the future be defined by endless clashes of slogans and identities? Or will there be the courage to break the circle of fear and draft a new, inclusive social contract?

Assad’s security state succeeded in emptying Syria of the very meaning of statehood. It transformed the country into a theatre of slogans, then into a hollow shell — a state stripped of purpose and credibility. It proclaimed “one Arab nation” while entangling Syria in regional power projects and subordinating national interest to that of Iran.

Historically, the Syrian state was built upon force and domination. The challenge today, therefore, is not merely to replace the head of the power structure but to transform the philosophy of power itself. As Jean-Jacques Rousseau insisted, a legitimate state rests on the general will of its citizens.

Other societies have faced similarly perilous transitions.

In South Africa, the end of apartheid brought real fears of civil war. Yet under the leadership of Nelson Mandela and others, the country chose reconciliation over revenge. Crimes were acknowledged through public processes. A constitution recognised ethnic, linguistic and cultural diversity. State symbols were redesigned to include everyone. 

In Bosnia and Herzegovina, the Dayton Agreement ended war through an imperfect and fragile settlement. Yet it explicitly recognised ethnic and religious plurality and guaranteed representation for constituent communities. That framework, however cumbersome, enabled a minimum of stability and gradual coexistence.

In Rwanda, after genocide, national identity was reconstructed around citizenship rather than ethnicity. Ethnic labels were removed from public discourse; local justice mechanisms sought accountability; a new conception of the “Rwandan citizen” took root. Contexts differ, and none offers a ready-made blueprint. But they share a common thread: lasting peace requires mutual recognition.

Today, perhaps the only broadly shared symbol in Syria is the revolutionary flag — raised by diverse communities throughout the years of uprising and increasingly regarded as belonging to all Syrians. 

But symbols alone cannot sustain a national narrative. What Syria ultimately requires is something far more demanding: a genuine political and cultural settlement between its diverse communities, and between society and those who govern it. At present, such a settlement does not exist. There is no broad agreement on a common political framework or a shared vision of the state. Without it, talk of “national unity” risks becoming yet another empty slogan.

And slogans are precisely what Syria can no longer afford.