Syria’s First Elections Since War Offer Fragile Glimpse of Democracy

Nearly a year after rebels toppled Bashar al-Assad's iron-fisted regime, Syria took a tentative step toward rebuilding with its first parliamentary elections on Sunday. The vote, held amid tight security and without direct public ballots, filled 140 of the 210 seats in the People's Assembly – the unicameral body now charged with drafting a new constitution, elections law, and roadmap for the nation's fragile transition after 14 years of brutal civil war. The remaining 70 seats will be handpicked by interim President Ahmed al-Sharaa, whose Hayat Tahrir al-Sham group spearheaded the December 2024 offensive that ended the Assad dynasty's 50-year stranglehold.

Polling stations buzzed with an unfamiliar energy across much of the country, from the ancient souks of Damascus to the coastal hills of Latakia. Security forces ringed the sites, while inside, some 6,000 electoral college members – local notables and community leaders from 60 districts – slipped into booths to scribble names on ballots. These lists were sealed in boxes, then dramatically drawn and tallied in public spectacles attended by candidates, journalists, and observers from the Syrian Bar Association. No universal suffrage here: the indirect system, justified by officials as a practical necessity amid millions displaced and documents lost to the chaos of war, drew mixed reactions. Critics decried it as a velvet glove over an authoritarian fist, potentially entrenching al-Sharaa's allies, while optimists hailed it as a vital first brick in democracy's foundation.

Elections hit snags from the start, postponed indefinitely in the Druze-majority Sweida province and Kurdish-held northeast territories controlled by the Syrian Democratic Forces, where simmering disputes with Damascus boiled over into boycotts and clashes. In these excluded zones, residents voiced frustration over being sidelined in a process billed as inclusive. "We're rebuilding Syria, but without us?" one Sweida activist muttered to reporters, echoing broader fears that the vote could deepen fractures in a mosaic of sects and ethnicities long pitted against each other under Assad's divide-and-rule playbook.

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Initial tallies, trickling in Sunday evening, painted a stark picture: scant representation for women and minorities, with early counts from Idlib, Deir Ezzor, and rural Damascus showing zero female victors so far. Across the board, only about 14% of the 1,578 candidates were women, clustered unevenly – thriving in a quarter of districts but scraping single digits in half. No quotas safeguard spots for the fairer sex or underrepresented groups like Alawites, Christians, or Kurds, leaving al-Sharaa's appointments as the likely backdoor for diversity. "This assembly risks looking like a men's club from the Sunni heartlands," warned a Damascus-based analyst, pointing to a winner-takes-all setup that could sideline the very pluralism needed to heal war scars.

Yet, for many who queued under the autumn sun, the day felt like a personal triumph. In Damascus, where 490 hopefuls vied for just 10 seats among 500 college voters, Lina Daaboul, a 42-year-old physician, cast her inaugural ballot after months of homework. "I turned them down at first – who wants to touch the old regime's dirty assemblies?" she confessed, eyes alight. "But this? It's duty. I pored over bios, grilled contacts on their reps, sat through endless debates. Standing in that line, heart pounding – it was freedom's first taste." Daaboul's story rippled through the capital's cafes, where Assad-era "elections" – rubber-stamp affairs dominated by his Baath Party – were the stuff of bitter jokes.

The contrast couldn't be sharper. Under the Assads, ballots were theater: 250 seats, two-thirds reserved for loyalists, results preordained amid threats and bribes. Now, with parties dissolved and candidates running as independents, the air hummed with unscripted vigor. Lara Eezouki, a national elections committee member in Damascus, beamed as boxes unsealed. "All sects, all voices – history's first where the box truly decides, not the palace." Rim Yajizi, a sharp-tongued lawyer and People's Assembly hopeful, nodded fiercely. "The debates! The open salvos! Under Assad, we'd whisper; today, we roar."

In Aleppo's storied Al-Nasr Amphitheatre, 220 contenders scrapped for 14 spots before 700 electors, many like Ibrahim Halabi, a 33-year-old ex-soldier turned defector. "2011 protests broke me – I ditched the uniform when the crackdown turned slaughter," he said, voice thick. "This? No goons, no scripts. Just us, choosing our path." Halabi's generation, scarred by barrel bombs and sieges, saw the vote as therapy – a chance to rewrite the script of a war that displaced 13 million and killed half a million.

Latakia, once an Assad bastion and Alawite enclave, tested the transition's mettle. Three Sunni candidates triumphed, a seismic shift in a province haunted by March 2025's sectarian bloodletting: revenge killings claimed hundreds of Alawite civilians after Assad die-hards ambushed new-regime forces in Tartus. Tensions linger like coastal fog, but newly minted lawmaker Rola Daya, a uprising veteran who fled after her cover blew, struck a defiant note. "They called Latakia 'stable' before? Lies," she shot back. "Wounds fester; transitional justice is our scalpel for civil peace." Daya, who handled logistics for rebels until peril forced exile, now shoulders "heavier chains" in victory. "Laws for all – that's our covenant."

From the National Library Centre in Damascus, al-Sharaa – the ex-al-Qaeda operative turned statesman – watched the choreography unfold, then addressed the nation. "Pending laws await to forge prosperity," he intoned, flanked by aides. "Syria's rebuild is ours collectively – every hand must lift." His 30-month assembly term buys time for the heavy lifting: economic liberalization, treaty ratifications, and groundwork for full polls, perhaps years away. Analysts eye his ally-stacked caretaker cabinet – gripping defense, foreign affairs, interior – warily, wondering if the vote burnishes his image or builds a new throne.

As night fell, with 20% women's quotas likely filled via al-Sharaa's picks and minorities' voices faint, Syria exhaled. The war's ghosts – leveled cities, refugee tides, foreign meddlers – loomed, but Sunday's hum offered a whisper of normalcy. For Daaboul, queuing in line was poetry; for Halabi, redemption. Yet, as boxes emptied and coalitions formed, the real test beckons: Can this parliament bridge divides, or will it echo Assad's hollow halls? In a land of olive groves and olive branches, the ballot's ink may yet decide.

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