The French daily Le Monde reported that the civil war in Syria, marked by massacres and abuses, has placed the residents of Ma’an in northeastern Hama face to face. The Alawites, who fled when a coalition of Islamist factions based in Idlib advanced and toppled Bashar al-Assad’s regime last December, now wish to return to their fertile agricultural lands. Yet these lands are currently cultivated by Sunni farmers, complicating any attempt at coexistence.
اضافة اعلان
A Return Fraught with Tension
On July 20, Le Monde adds, a General Security car stopped in front of a white stone house in Ma’an. Word spread quickly: the house’s owner, 47-year-old Alawite schoolteacher Alaa Ibrahim—who had previously been displaced to Homs—had suddenly returned to his hometown. But the house had for years been inhabited by Sunni farmer Hassan al-Hussein, who settled there after the fall of Bashar al-Assad’s regime in December. Al-Hussein tried to receive Ibrahim politely, but his mother burst into tears and asked the guest to leave, fearing the scene might escalate in front of the gathering crowd.
Tensions soon flared when a villager, wearing a dishdasha and red keffiyeh, rushed at Alaa Ibrahim shouting: “We buried my father yesterday. We found his body in a well, and you dare come today?” In his eyes, the Alawites who sided with the regime bore collective responsibility for crimes committed by pro-government militias thirteen years earlier.
Another villager, Anwar Bakkour, intervened to shield Ibrahim from the angry, armed townsfolk, telling him: “Why did you come? I told you it was dangerous. Do you want to stir up trouble?” Ibrahim then hurriedly left in his car, leaving security officers in complete confusion.
Pistachios: A Wealth that Fuels Disputes
Ibrahim believes what is happening is nothing more than an attempt to deprive Alawites of their rich pistachio groves—one of Syria’s most lucrative crops. “The Sunnis blame the Alawites for the regime’s crimes and make a fuss to keep us from reclaiming our land. Pistachios are a major fortune, and the Alawites are the largest landowners in Ma’an,” he told Le Monde.
A teacher from a prominent Alawite landowning family, Ibrahim has decided to pursue reconciliation between the two sects so that tens of thousands of displaced Alawites can return to their villages since last December, after fleeing before the advance of Islamist factions from Idlib.
Justice as a Condition for Reconciliation
Since 2011, Ma’an has lived on the front lines of clashes, becoming a fault line between regime forces and opposition factions. Some Alawites, alongside a small number of Sunnis, remained under regime authority, with some joining loyalist militias such as the National Defense Forces, while many Sunnis enlisted in the so-called Free Syrian Army.
The town witnessed bloody massacres in December 2012 and February 2014, forcing most residents to flee. People only began returning in 2018, once the battlefronts shifted toward Idlib. By then, devastation was widespread: trees were burned or cut for firewood, and properties were looted. “We lost nearly half our lands,” says Ibrahim. “The regime confiscated absentee Sunnis’ lands and handed them to loyalist investors.”
Since the fall of Assad’s regime late last year, around 200 Sunni families have returned to Ma’an, only to find their homes destroyed and fields ruined. Many moved into houses left by fleeing Alawites while awaiting a solution. “Those who lost relatives want revenge. No one can guarantee security right now,” says Anwar Bakkour.
Bakkour insists accountability is essential: “Alaa’s brother was in the National Defense Forces, but Alaa himself is a respectable man. We support his reconciliation initiative, but the Alawites cannot return without trials for those responsible for the crimes,” Le Monde quotes him as saying. Hama’s governor, Abdel Rahman al-Suhayan, has since formed a reconciliation council of tribal elders.
Temporary Investment Contracts with Added Obstacles
Le Monde further explains that authorities have suggested Alawite landowners sign investment contracts with Sunni farmers to prevent the local economy from collapsing. Under these deals, owners would receive half the profits and reclaim their land once they return, with compensation provided to the farmer. The company Iktifa, tasked with managing agricultural land after the regime’s fall, supervises these contracts and tries to prevent pistachio groves from falling into neglect. But only a small fraction of Alawites have agreed to sign, fearing manipulation or permanent expropriation.
An Uncertain Future
Still, these contracts face hurdles, Le Monde notes. Some local Bedouins prevent farmers from accessing fields, claiming they lost their homes and lands during the war. “They are destroying our land and forcing us to sell. They want to change the region’s demographic makeup,” says Ibrahim. The authorities acknowledge the problem and have attempted limited security patrols to deter “outlaws,” but they lack sufficient resources.
Nevertheless, the pistachio tree remains a symbol of hope. “Our trees are over forty years old. If we replant, we’ll wait twelve years before they bear fruit again. That’s why we sign contracts temporarily to save what’s left,” Ibrahim says. Local officials have promised all Alawites will gradually return, but true reconciliation ultimately depends on transitional justice and society’s ability to overcome the long legacy of war, concludes Le Monde.
(Agencies)
