From love poems to saints whose love for one another was as profound as their faith, queerness is woven into the history of the Levant. In this post, we cover some of Syria's hidden queer legacy.

How does a society collapse to the point where neighbors come to see each other as an existential threat and extermination as a reasonable solution? But an equally important question to ask ourselves is how to bring a deeply traumatized and divided society from the brink of genocide to reconciliation? In remembrance of the 1860 massacres of Damascus، we shed light on what led to them, how the authorities handled the aftermath, and how the conflict reshaped identities. Although these events receive little to no attention, understanding their origins help us see sectarian hatred not as an inevitable force of Levantine history but a result of specific political and economic developments over time.

Hanna Diyab, born in Aleppo in the late 17th century, was a Syrian storyteller whose imagination shaped some of the most famous tales in world literature—including Aladdin and Ali Baba. Yet for centuries, his name was erased from these stories. When Diyab recounted his tales to the French orientalist Antoine Galland in Paris, they were published as part of Les Mille et Une Nuits (One Thousand and One Nights)—but without crediting him. His life reflects a larger story: how the West often consumed and reshaped Eastern stories through an exoticizing lens, turning complex local narratives into simplified “Oriental fantasies”. Reclaiming Diyab’s story is not just about giving credit—it’s about re-centering voices, challenging orientalist storytelling, and understanding what it means when your story is told for you, rather than by you.

Reality under AssadIt is widely perceived among Syrians that the Alawite community benefited from the Assad regime, largely because the Assad family traces its roots to an Alawite clan from

Once the guardian of Palmyra’s majestic ruins, Khaled Al-Asaad paid the ultimate price for refusing to betray the ancient city he loved. A towering figure in Syrian archaeology, Al-Asaad spent over 40 years unearthing Palmyra’s secrets, bringing global recognition to its history through his mastery of ancient languages and collaboration with international scholars. When ISIS overran the city in 2015, he hoped his presence might shield its soul. Instead, he was tortured and executed, a martyr to cultural memory. His story is a stark reminder that, in Syria, history itself has become a battleground. Amid ongoing looting and destruction, preserving heritage is no longer symbolic; it is survival.

Aleppo is one of the oldest continuously-inhabited cities in the world, a testament to resilience. Time and again, it has been destroyed by war, invasions, and natural disasters—yet each time, it was rebuilt. From ancient trade routes to its role as a cultural and commercial hub, Aleppo has adapted and thrived. Even after devastation from the Mongols, Tamerlane, and powerful earthquakes, its people preserved their heritage while shaping a prosperous future. Today, and despite the toll of war and the 2023 earthquake, Aleppo stands once more at the threshold of renewal. It is not merely a city that survives—it is a symbol of endurance, hope, and the unwavering power of rebirth.

The truth is: most of us know nothing about each other, even though we are of one country, speak one dialect, and share the same food—and even the same sorrow. We don’t know how people from other regions grow up, nor which religions and sects represent them. Years of fear and isolation have planted distance between us and turned us into strangers to one another. In the end, ignorance became a form of protection, and estrangement the natural result of distance. Yet, this might be a new beginning—a chance to understand ourselves and one another. Despite the pain of conflict, it is not always the end. The sociologist Lewis Coser sees that conflict can be a chance to break down walls and face each other with honesty. When we ask the hard question about identity, belonging, injustice, and oppression, we begin to reopen the book of Syria, page by page. The new Syria should recognize all of its narratives and components, rather than a duplicated version of the past. True understanding is not a luxury but a necessity to proceed, and diversity is not a burden but the wealth that could build a homeland that embraces everyone.

Syria’s economy lies in ruins, and Turkey has stepped in—but is it to rebuild or to dominate? With Turkish goods flooding Syrian markets, local industries are struggling, and key resources are flowing north. Is this recovery or economic capture?

Dayfa Khatun ruled Aleppo (1236-1242) at a time of political upheaval, navigating complex power dynamics and preserving the city’s stability. As a Kurdish princess from the Ayyubid dynasty, she navigated the complex political landscape of the time, using diplomacy and strategic alliances to maintain the city’s independence while avoiding costly military conflicts. Her leadership was instrumental in ensuring Aleppo’s stability and prosperity. Dayfa Khatun also made significant contributions to the city's cultural and architectural development, commissioning important schools and fortifications. Her reign challenges the commonly held belief that medieval Islamic politics was exclusive to men and underscores the longstanding presence of Kurds in Syria, who have been an integral part of its history for centuries. Dayfa's legacy reminds us of the crucial contributions women played in shaping the history of their time, despite being largely overlooked in historical narratives.

Syrian dubbing wasn’t just a tool for dialogue, but an entire art that added a new soul for international works. Due to the professional acting, the fluent Arabic spoken, and the careful attention to lip syncing and cultural adaptation, Syrian dubbing became an identifying feature of the Arab entertainment industry. Its voices are still ingrained in the memories of generations, bearing witness to a golden age of creativity in vocal works.

Any problem or crisis can be resolved as long as we do not deny its existence, for when we disregard it, or are in denial of it, we set it up to become eternal, and we have had enough of eternal problems…

Aghabani tablecloths, embroidered with gold or silver threads, are a cherished part of Syrian culture, passed down through generations. Tracing back to Syrian-Ottoman history, Aghabani embroidered fabrics are particularly renowned among the men and women from Damascus and its outskirts, the city where this art has been practiced for over 200 years. Once gracing a Damascus dining table, this vintage beauty now adorns our home, symbolizing heritage, family, and the timeless art of Syrian craftsmanship. Embroidering Aghabani textiles to make tablecloths or clothing is a skill passed down from generation to generation, mainly among Syrian women. Women bring their selected fabrics to woodblock printers that have a variety of designs to choose from. The selected designs are printed on the fabric with washable blue ink as a guide for the embroidery, which is usually done using a special Aghabani sewing machine with gold or silver viscose threads. The finished fabrics are then washed, ironed, and ready for sale in shops.