Fault lines abroad
How Syria’s transition is reshaping its German diaspora

The recent violence in Suwayda has brought the Syrian diaspora in Germany into the public eye as never before. Prior to the Assad regime’s overthrow in December 2024, there were occasional, small-scale protests against the regime, pro-Rojava rallies, and even smaller gatherings of regime supporters. But Assad’s fall brought thousands into the streets. Syrians across Germany celebrated the end of a dictatorship that since 2011 had forced 14 million Syrians to flee their homes in search of safety. The mood was euphoric. The rallies were peaceful and driven by a shared sense of hope for the future. 

Continued violence in Syria, however, has exposed political and social fault lines and has been echoed in Germany. In Berlin and Düsseldorf groups of an estimated 300-400 supporters of the Syrian transitional government under President Ahmad al-Sharaa clashed in July with members of the Kurdish and Druze communities and with other protestors. Accounts of who started the confrontations vary, but in Berlin a small group chanted inflammatory slogans against Druze and Alawites while praising Sunni tribes, members of which had committed serious human rights violations in Suwayda.

Incidents such as these within the over 1.2 million-strong Syrian community in Germany have been extremely rare. Every community includes radical elements, and focusing too narrowly on this fringe risks pouring fuel on a fire that remains, for now, small. What matters far more are the deeper currents shaping the Syrian diaspora in Germany: a community in the midst of reconfiguring its relationship to an emerging new state back home that most of its members had once fled in despair. These trends offer insight into the mood and direction of the second largest Syrian community abroad (after that in Turkey) — young, growing, and already playing a meaningful role in German society.

Better to understand the underlying debates, Syria in Transition spoke with a range of Syrians living in Germany: activists, members of community organisations, and politically unaffiliated individuals. The portrait that emerges is not meant to be statistically representative. That would be difficult to achieve even through large surveys. Expectations influence what people are willing to say, as several interviewees emphasised. In the Syrian context, it reflects a deep yearning — especially among Sunni Arabs — to protect the dignity they feel was partly restored with Assad’s fall. Other communities, such as the Kurds or Druze, express their own fears. For them, the fall of the regime could mark the beginning of a new chapter of marginalisation and persecution.

Reclaimed dignity
Many of the debates within the Syrian diaspora reflect broader international discussions. At the heart lies an unresolved question: what kind of state should Syria become, and who has the right to shape it?

Among many Sunni Arabs — who often define themselves simply as “Sunnis,” merging religious and ethnic identity — there is widespread hope for a democratic model loosely inspired by Turkey. They envision a state that embraces Islamic values, but not necessarily strict Sharia law. They imagine a society rooted in Islamic principles but without excluding minorities. Islam, they say, stands for diversity, and this is something they want to demonstrate to the world. At the same time, many believe in the legitimacy of a Sunni-led majority culture and the “soft dominance” that comes with it. The question of how to square the circle of an implicit claim to power and equality for minorities remains unanswered. 

Conversations with Sunnis often involve a narrative that they have suffered for decades, not only in Syria but across the region. In the West, they say, Sunni Arabs have often been stigmatised and cast as the modern barbarians. The fall of Assad marks, in their view, a long-overdue turning point. They now see themselves as having the right and duty to rebuild the Syrian state in their own image. Some admit that resultant harm to other groups is deeply unfortunate but frame it as collateral damage that, at a small scale, may be unavoidable. Others deny outright that minorities are being harmed, or suggest that the Sharaa government is not repressive towards anyone. For them, the eight months since Assad’s fall have proven the good faith of Syria’s new rulers.

The precious state
One word keeps surfacing in these conversations: al-dawla (the State.) Many feel that Syria, after years of chaos, finally has a government capable of rebuilding a shattered nation. This, in itself, they argue, grants it legitimacy. When the new state uses force, as it did in Suwayda, it is seen by some as an unfortunate but understandable assertion of state sovereignty. In this context, support for Sharaa is often explained as having less to do with his person and more to do with what he represents. He is regarded by many as the man who liberated Syria from Assad; but more importantly, he is seen as one of their own. His faith, his beard, his conservative demeanor are the key elements of the typical Sunni ‘barbarian’. That he rose to become a recognised president is a source of immense pride. 

What Sharaa may or may not have done in the past is often dismissed as irrelevant. Most diaspora members haven’t been closely following the details of what happened in Syria at least for the past 5-6 years. They remember that the northwest was controlled by an array of armed groups, some more Islamic than others; but what matters is that those groups eventually united and marched on Damascus. “It’s like Sunnis found their MAGA caps, just with the shahada on it,” said one interviewee wryly. 

This pride, however, is fragile. “There’s no second chance,” several interviewees opined. If the Sharaa project fails, Syria as a unified state could collapse entirely. One person recalled meeting a Sunni who said he didn’t like Sharaa, but would be ready to sacrifice his soul for him because now it is about Syria’s survival. 

Disillusionment and doubt
There are also voices of deep disillusionment. Many Syrians, especially those who mingle in progressive urban political or social circles, feel that early hopes have given way to disappointment. One woman in her early twenties, living in western Germany, said she was ashamed of the optimism she had felt during the first few months after Assad’s fall. She now sees the Sharaa government as authoritarian and increasingly sectarian. The fears of minorities, she believes, are entirely justified. Her parents, who are from Idlib province, had planned to return to Syria, but after the escalation in Suwayda, they cancelled their appointment with German immigration officials. 

Stories of repression, kidnappings, and targeted killings are spreading quickly through diaspora chat groups. Many blame Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) and its affiliates, while others point to corrupt remnants of the old regime. “No one knows the facts,” remarked the owner of a family business in his thirties, who has lived in Germany since the early 2000s and is of Kurdish origin but not aligned with the Rojava movement. He added: “People’s interpretation of who’s responsible depends entirely on their political perspective.” This polarisation abroad highlights the absence of a genuine national dialogue in Syria. In its absence, the security dilemmas facing communities in Syria are reproduced within the diaspora. As long as people fear that their newfound dignity could be taken from them, or that they will be the losers in the nascent state, they feel compelled to adopt a posture of preemptive defence. 

The level of identification with Syria plays a major role in that regard. Those who feel more connected to Germany, or who have emotionally distanced themselves from Syria, tend to be less drawn to these defensive reflexes. Many - younger Syrians in particular – have focused on integration: learning the language, seeking citizenship, pursuing education or employment. Some even stopped following Syrian news altogether – although this turning away has rarely been final.

Community and political organisation
Even if Syria experiences economic recovery, most exiles are unlikely to return. For many, Germany has become home – citizenship or not. Among those who haven’t yet secured citizenship, fear about the future is widespread. Most risked everything to reach Germany, and they don’t want to leave, and certainly not without a passport.

The emotional bonds, tied to pain, history, and intergenerational memory, however, remain strong. Like many other displaced communities, Syrians in Germany appear deeply political. Syrian associations have existed in Germany for decades, originally founded mostly by students and businesspeople. The wave of refugees since 2015 has sparked the creation of new organisations. These newer groups are more diverse, reflecting the country’s complex social fabric, and include a significant Kurdish presence. Most are motivated by a desire to support Syria’s reconstruction.

Efforts to build structured representation are emerging. In early 2025, the “Syrian Community in Germany” was founded. Its flagship project so far has been coordinating with Syria’s Ministry of Health to send doctors from Germany to assist in urgent humanitarian work. Without claiming to represent the entire diaspora, the group aims to strengthen internal organisation. To the surprise of no one, even its name sparked controversy, as other Syrian groups objected to what they saw as a claim to speak for all. This again reflects the pluralism and internal conflict that also hampered the formal opposition during the war. “That’s okay,” one of the founding members said. “What matters is the work being done. And with so much need, there’s room for many initiatives.” 

Whether the Syrian diaspora in Germany can become as cohesive and professionally organised as, for example, the Turkish community, remains an open question. Some believe it’s possible, but only with support from both German institutions and the Syrian government. At present, Syria doesn’t even have an ambassador in Berlin. The path forward will be long.

What happens in Syria doesn’t stay there
The internal dynamics of the diaspora are inseparable from developments in Syria. At a migrant organisation in Germany, a serious conflict recently erupted between Syrian Arabs and Kurds in response to the violence in Suwayda. It was the first time in the organisation’s history that tensions had flared so openly. Relations between certain communities had previously been cordial, but tensions are now rising. At the same time, new alliances are forming. Activist Druze and Kurds are increasingly seeking not only passive solidarity but active coordination.

Between less politically active diaspora members, especially older Syrians, there has traditionally been little contact via ethnic- or sectarian-based associations. This might present an opportunity for a measure of grassroots dialogue that might send positive messages back home. Presently, it’s the other way round, with the shock waves of what happens in Syria shaping currents within the diaspora.

The diaspora’s fault lines aren’t just ethnic or religious. Within Sunni Arab communities, for example, the figure of Ahmad al-Sharaa is driving a fresh wedge between secular-liberal and religious-nationalist circles. The rhetoric mirrors wider polarised debates in Western societies. Liberal Sunnis are derided by conservatives as “cute Sunnis” (similar to ‘woke’ in Western discourses); while they, in turn, brand devout Sharaa supporters as the “new shabiha.” 

The fall of Assad has reawakened old debates without yet producing any new consensus. Diaspora communities, however, have a habit of outlasting the regimes that drove them away. Beyond the fault lines, Syrians all share the experience of suffering and fear of losing what’s left, what they’ve built, or what little hope they’ve found. The diaspora in Germany can lean on the values and experiences of their new home to find common cause beyond sect and slogan. In doing so, they may yet help shape not only the future of their fractured homeland, but their own place in the country many of them now call home.