Once Again, Ordinary Syrians Suffer

I never imagined that after more than 14 years of war, Syria would once again find itself entangled in a confrontation it neither began nor can control. The latest escalation between Israel and Iran is not just a geopolitical crisis. For Syrians, it stirs familiar and unsettling patterns of fear, uncertainty and helplessness. Once again, foreign powers trade fire, and once again, Syrian soil experiences the fallout.

As a Syrian who lived through the long nightmare of war, I watched Iranian forces and militias bolster the Assad regime, crush dissent and leave deep scars in communities. Iran’s presence in Syria has never been neutral. Its interventions prolonged the war, empowered repression and brought new layers of suffering to already devastated areas.

A friend of mine, a resident of the Karm al-Zeitoun neighbourhood — a Homs district that witnessed appalling violence in January 2012 — told me that Iranian-backed militias had committed massacres in his hometown.

“I cannot sympathise with Iran today in its war with Israel,” he continued, “but I am certainly not a supporter of Israel.”

So for many Syrians, the current Israeli strikes on Iranian targets feel like a kind of revenge. There is a bitter satisfaction in seeing the architects of so much of our suffering now forced to face consequences. And yet, the situation is not so simple - because it is Israeli missiles that are falling, and it is Syrian land that is being hit.

For years, Israel has conducted airstrikes in Syria, often targeting Iranian military infrastructure and supply routes. While these attacks may weaken the regime’s capacity for violence, they also violate our sovereignty and kill civilians. We have been caught in a terrible contradiction: relieved when Assad’s military assets are destroyed, yet heartbroken to see our country bombed again and again.

I remember how Syrians reacted in those early years when Israeli missiles hit regime arms depots — weapons we knew would be used against civilians in opposition-held areas. There was happiness, even hope. But alongside that came grief. Not for Assad’s losses, but for what it meant that we needed a foreign army to weaken our dictator. It was a deep reminder of our powerlessness.

This new war, between two foreign powers, once again makes Syria a battleground. And once again, it is ordinary Syrians who suffer.

Just a few weeks ago, a woman in Safita in the countryside of Tartous city was killed after an malfunctioning Iranian drone crashed, setting fire to her home. One of the citizen journalists who reported on the incident noted that the Syrian government failed to even acknowledge the incident. Her death was absorbed into the silence that has long surrounded the crimes committed by Iranian forces and their allies in Syria.

Some Syrians feel that what is happening to Israeli civilians now — airstrikes, fear, hiding in shelters — is a small taste of what Palestinians and Syrians have endured for decades. There is a dark irony in watching one of the region’s most powerful states experience vulnerability. But even in this, feelings are mixed.

We do not forget what Israel has done in Gaza, Lebanon or the Golan. We do not forget the decades of occupation and destruction. But we also do not forget what Iran has done — in our towns, in our prisons, and in the shadows of our revolution. 

Hosam, an Idlib resident who witnessed untold injustice and devastation during the Syrian war, told me, “Finally, the Israelis are, for the first time, living a small fraction of the pain they’ve inflicted on Syrians, Lebanese, and Palestinians — especially in Gaza over the past two years. 

“At the same time, the Iranian regime is now facing the consequences of its terrible interference in Syria, Iraq, and Lebanon. This is divine justice.”

His words capture a sentiment that is common, though often unspoken: that those who fueled violence in the region are now tasting the consequences — however partial or brief.

And through it all, Syrians continue to show an extraordinary resilience — even humour. Some joked online about collecting and selling scrap metal from downed fuel tanks dropped by Israeli jets. One post said, “At least now the war has a silver lining — we can recycle it.”

But behind the jokes is real fear. The Israeli army has already entered parts of Quneitra Governorate, raising the spectre of a new ground escalation. Our infrastructure is in ruins and another war on our soil — even if indirect — could be catastrophic.

Syrian activist Ahmad Abazid warned that these actions may be laying the groundwork for new permanent military bases within Quneitra. 

“All of this,” he noted, “has gone unnoticed by both the Syrian authorities and the wider public.”

There is also concern about the broader regional fallout. This conflict is not just military. It is emotional. It is generational. It reopens wounds for people already displaced, traumatised and grieving.

And yet, amidst all this complexity, some Syrians try to hold a principled line. They know that most Iranians, like us, are victims of authoritarianism — of a regime that suppresses dissent, jails women and silences protests.

“It is heartbreaking seeing Iranian citizens fleeing their country to Turkey because of the war,” said Hala, a Syrian teacher who was displaced to Turkey for eight years before returning, told me. 

“It triggered my trauma — I was in the same position. It’s always the civilians who pay the highest price in wars.”

Her words are a quiet reminder that beyond politics and power struggles, it is people — mothers, children, teachers, workers — who carry the heaviest burden.

This is the tragedy of our region. Our lives are shaped by governments that do not speak for us. We are used by powers that do not protect us. And we watch each other suffer while knowing we are more alike than we are different.

The war between Iran and Israel is not a new war for Syrians. It is just the latest chapter in a very old story — one in which we rarely make decisions yet always pay the price.