Syria’s Gender Divide Intensifies: Equality in the North, Patriarchal Pushback in the South

QAMISHLI, Syria — A crowd of women gathered in protest outside Damascus’ old Hijaz train station one cold morning last December. Syria had just emerged from more than a decade of civil war, and the Assad regime that had ruled for half a century was no more. The demonstration was led by Syrian feminists like Sawsan Zakzak, a longtime political activist who had spent decades fighting for a constitution that recognized gender equality. A woman near her held a placard that read, “Our rights are not negotiable,” aimed at the new government.

Within minutes, men shouting that the new rulers deserved a chance attacked the crowd, as security forces looked on. It was a stark reminder that the end of the Assad government did not automatically bring freedom, especially for women.

Nearly a year later, post-Assad Syria remains divided between two incompatible visions. In the north and east, women lead local councils, courts and security forces under Rojava’s Autonomous Administration, where gender equality is embedded in law via a 50% quota for women across all levels of government. In Damascus, however, the new government, controlled by the Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) is consolidating its power, excluding women from governance, and reintroducing conservative codes that restrict their public roles. 

Over the past 10 months, initial hopes for a new Syria have given way to a reality of fragmentation. Power vacuums have emerged, and in Damascus and much of central Syria, conservative religious forces and Islamist-leaning factions have reclaimed influence. Key transitional bodies and provincial councils contained few or no women. Nationally, high-level appointments have favored figures aligned with conservative views on gender. Even after October’s legislative elections, only six women were elected out of 140 seats (with 70 seats as yet to be chosen by the president) — a drop from 24 female legislators in the previous Assad-era parliament. 

Members of independent women’s organizations describe administrative pressure, short-term licensing that limits their freedom to operate and increased surveillance and scrutiny by local authorities. They note a complete lack of protection by security agencies during protests or public activities, leaving them vulnerable to attacks. Veteran activist Zakzak tells Truthdig that threats, ideological pressure and selective enforcement are shrinking public and political spaces for women.

Across the Euphrates River to the north, however, a radically different order persists. In the Autonomous Administration of North and East Syria (AANES), a Kurdish-led coalition governs through a decentralized model rooted in gender equality, local councils and multiethnic representation. Women’s academies train community leaders, and civil laws guarantee rights to divorce, inheritance and protection from domestic violence — reforms unthinkable elsewhere in Syria.

In contrast to the result of October’s elections, according to 2024 data from the AANES, women in this part of Syria hold 50% of seats in both the People’s Assembly, or parliament, and the Executive Council, which implements laws. Out of 97,863 employees across 212 administrative institutions and bodies, 51,522 are women, representing 52% of the workforce. Leadership structures also follow a co-chair system, with 153 institutions jointly headed by a man and a woman.

This geographical and ideological divide now defines post-Assad Syria. In the south, Damascus’ new government invokes Islamic jurisprudence as a key source of legislation, which could support discrimination against women. In the east, Rojava’s feminist experiment struggles to preserve and expand revolutionary gains. Between them stands a population exhausted by war, unsure whether the new government and the new constitution that will be written will bring equality or a new form of repression.

Amid these differences and developments over the past year, the Syrian government and the AANES managed to hold negotiations and reach an agreement in March. The talks reflected an effort to de-escalate tensions, and meant important recognition of the AANES’ governance model, including its guarantees for women’s rights and ethnic representation. For Damascus, it was a way to reassert state centralization without granting autonomy — a strategic pause rather than reconciliation.

And so the contrast between the two visions remains stark. Women in Damascus are being pushed out of workplaces and public life, while in Rojava women co-command defense units and Women’s Justice Councils adjudicate cases of abuse and forced marriage.

But in other regions of Syria, through spaces such as the recent Women’s Alliance conference, activists are now citing the Rojavan model as an example for national reform to guarantee women’s participation in decision-making. 

Unifying Syrian women

“We consider the Rojava model, led by women, a model for all of Syria,” Aisha Hasso, administrative officer of the diplomatic relations committee of the Syrian Women’s Council, told Truthdig over a crackling phone line from Aleppo. “Our goal is to unify Syrian women and ensure they play a role in shaping Syria’s future. But the new regime has excluded women from the Constitutional Declaration, from government and from the People’s Assembly.” The Syrian Constitutional Declaration is a temporary, interim constitution signed in March this year.

Formed in 2017, the Syrian Women’s Council brings together feminist activists, civil society leaders and grassroots organizers from across Syria’s fractured landscape. Their mission is urgent: to ensure women are not sidelined in rebuilding the country after decades of dictatorship and war.

Despite the women’s council’s broad network and regular meetings with the U.N. Office for Syria, Hasso described a more restrictive environment post Assad. Permits for activities like regular meetings or forums are now limited to six months, event content is censored by the Ministry of Social Affairs, and pressure from religious hardliners continues to grow. 

Since Assad’s fall, the council has expanded across Damascus, Latakia, Sweida and Homs, organizing women’s rights workshops and community dialogues. In December 2024, it opened its office in Damascus to assert its intent to participate directly in post-Assad reconstruction and constitution-drafting efforts.

Yet progress remains fragile. That same month, the Syrian transitional government appointed Aisha al-Debs as head of a new Women’s Affairs Office within the Political Affairs Department — the first woman in the new administration. Initially celebrated, the appointment quickly became controversial. In her first media appearance, al-Debs stated, “A Syrian woman’s natural instinct is her home and her husband, and she must not transgress the nature with which God created her.” Social media erupted with outrage. Activists condemned her words as a betrayal of women’s rights. Al-Debs dismissed criticism, insisting she would “not give space to anyone who disagrees.”

“The government wants women who obey, not women who lead,” Hasso said, pointing to al-Debs as the model of submissiveness the authorities are trying to impose on Syrian women.

The council is organizing a national women’s conference to be held by the end of this year in Damascus to unite feminist organizations and civil society around justice, representation and participation. “The imposition of a strict, extremist regime is growing, and women face a great danger. But our unity is our defense,” Hasso said.

Sharing the Rojava model across Syria

In an effort to connect women across the country, north and east Syrian activists joined the Syrian Women’s Council in Damascus in February for a workshop on women’s legal rights. The gathering was brief but symbolically powerful, acting as a bridge between women excluded from decision-making in the capital and those shaping governance in Rojava during the war.

Atiya Youssef, a member of the North and East Syria Social Justice Council, explained how women in Rojava had written laws in 2014 that prohibit polygamy, underage marriage and honor killings, while guaranteeing women’s equal inheritance and testimony in court. 

“Sharing our experience is not just about the law itself,” Youssef told Truthdig. “It is about demonstrating that women can lead in all aspects — politics, security and social life — and that legal frameworks can make that participation real, even in the face of entrenched traditions and opposition.”

But even in Rojava, implementation of such regulations has been uneven. While fully applied in the Jazira region, expansion into Arab-majority areas like Raqqa and Deir ez-Zor has faced resistance, with critics invoking Islamic law to justify rejection. Nevertheless, AANES women continue training and raising awareness. They hope their legal framework can serve as a nationwide blueprint, but realize that would depend on women collaborating across the different regions of the country and defending the framework from pushback.

Two women with decades of struggle, from different parts of Syria

The fight for women’s rights in Syria is a long battle, going back decades. Sawsan Zakzak, in Damascus, knows this well, challenging political parties and legal inequalities, as well as advocating for women’s participation since the 1980s. “Then, we had no voice in politics, no protection from violence and no basic rights,” she told Truthdig.

In 2020, she was also a part of an important initiative to design strategies to combat gender violence in Syria. Working with 250 Syrian activists and gender and legal experts from over 100 organizations, she helped create a roadmap to protect women and ensure they were included in all parts of life in Syria.  

The current government has sought to roll back those gains. Zakzak described recent elections as a “stark” regression and a “troubling sign” for women’s political participation. She said women’s participation remains symbolic; appointments are based on loyalty rather than merit. Only one ministerial post is held by a woman, and the Constitutional Declaration contains a single, minimal statement recognizing women’s rights to education and work.

“The government wants women to be symbols, not leaders,” Zakzak said. “We face threats, exclusion and violence — but our struggle is to lay the groundwork in Syria so that women are never sidelined again.”

At 62, Ilham Omar shares Zakzak’s age, but her activism has been in Rojava. She too has spent decades fighting for women’s rights, and has faced imprisonment and torture by Assad for that, leaving her with scars on her back and legs. Yet she has seen the fruits of her labor: the creation of Mala Jin (or Women’s House), now a network spanning 112 locations across north and east Syria, including 24 in Qamishli alone — four specifically serving Syriac women. These spaces provide legal guidance, education about women’s rights, training and mediation.

In a modest office in Qamishli, families — men and women — sat quietly, seeking mediation or advice. While I interviewed Omar, her secretary paused to ask for guidance on a dispute. Omar moved among the families deliberately, her body showing the fatigue of decades of struggle, her face marked by exhaustion yet determined.

After Assad, the Women’s Houses have played an even more vital role. Omar and her colleagues expanded their efforts by opening new Women’s Houses in villages and towns in north and east Syria that were newly liberated after Assad’s fall. With the shutdown of many official institutions — such as courts and government offices — in Qamishli and Hasakah, people have increasingly turned to the Women’s Houses to resolve disputes.

Omar opened the first Women’s House in Qamishli in March 2011, and in September this year alone, her central office handled 102 cases, resolving more than half. “We are now preparing to open a Women’s House in the coastal areas and Suwayda,” she told Truthdig. “We want to transfer our experience across Syria, even if it costs our lives. ”

The Women’s Houses are more than offices; they are a frontline of social transformation, where communities are learning to normalize women’s leadership, with men often seeking guidance first from the houses.

“When the war began, we, as the women’s movement, held the revolution [in 2011, in Rojava] with one hand and carried society with the other,” Ilham reflected, referring to women’s roles both on the front lines, and in organizing daily life in their communities where state institutions had collapsed due to the conflict. “We paid a heavy price for that.”

Her story is personal and emblematic, a testament to resilience, continuity and hope. It demonstrates that even under oppression, persistent effort can yield transformative outcomes — a reminder that the seeds sown in struggle can bloom amid postwar uncertainty.

Building a future together

As Syria moves into its post-Assad chapter, stakes for women have never been higher. Across the fractured landscape — from Damascus across the Euphrates to Rojava — women’s voices are both marginalized and rising, shaping the future even as the past casts long shadows.

The feminist movement faces two interconnected challenges, defending the human rights already won and securing new rights. As a newly elected parliament prepares to write a new constitution for the country, Zakzak and Youssef noted that the women’s movement has prepared a proposal for it that involves reforming the Personal Status Law, and strengthening women’s rights and representation. To reaffirm this commitment, Syrian women are planning a major demonstration on March 8, International Women’s Day.

Many women in both parts of Syria have a collective vision for their country, where women lead, laws protect and communities flourish. The road ahead is fraught, and threats are real. Yet their perseverance is indicative that the future  — though uncertain — is not without hope.