By Dr. Adnan Bouzan

We are living through a historical moment that can be described as the peak of the reproduction of hegemony. U.S. imperialism no longer exercises its influence through direct occupation or grand slogans, but rather through the management of chaos, the recycling of proxies, and the exploitation of local divisions to the greatest possible extent. In this context, tragedies are no longer isolated events; they have become links in a single system, administered with cold calculation, where losses and gains are measured in the language of markets rather than that of values or principles.

What happened in Ashrafieh and Sheikh Maqsoud cannot be separated from this broader framework. These events are not merely fleeting clashes or field-level mistakes, but a revealing moment that exposes the true nature of the struggle over Syria and the role it has been assigned: an open space for experimentation and a field for political and security investment in which the interests of Washington, Ankara, and Tel Aviv intersect—each according to its own tools and calculations. Here, matters are not managed with a logic of solutions, but with a logic of attrition; no one seeks genuine stability, because stability would end the function of proxies and close the market of conflict.

The authority ruling in Damascus, regardless of how its names or rhetoric may change, has ceased to be a sovereign actor and has instead become an operational façade for projects larger than itself. It is granted a margin of movement insofar as it serves the required balances, and its legitimacy is withdrawn the moment it steps outside the prescribed script. In this sense, “governance” is transformed into a temporary function rather than a social contract, and the state comes to resemble a security services company run from abroad, while society is left to bear the political and human cost alone.

Within this landscape, Kurdish regions appear as a constant target—not because they constitute a problem in themselves, but because they represent a dangerous counter-model to the prevailing logic of hegemony: an experience that seeks, despite all its shortcomings and limitations, to build a local political will outside traditional sectarian and nationalist alignments. This is precisely what the regional and international systems cannot tolerate. The existence of a different model, even if fragile, opens the door to uncomfortable questions and threatens entrenched narratives about the “inevitability” of either despotism or chaos.

It cannot be denied that what occurred constituted a painful loss, but loss here does not equate to defeat. True defeat lies in surrendering to the narrative the adversary seeks to impose: a narrative of impotence, internal blame, and the dismantling of trust between society and its leadership. What was achieved on the ground, despite the severe imbalance of power, was sufficient to expose the scale and limits of the conspiracy and to break its momentum toward something broader and more dangerous. In asymmetric wars, outcomes are not measured solely by the land that is lost, but also by what is prevented from happening.

It is a mistake to place the burden of what happened solely on local leaderships, as if the decision were purely internal or the battle were balanced. What the fighters—men and women alike—confronted was not a single party, but a complex network of regional and international interests that converged at one moment, benefiting from the world’s silence, complicity, and moral double standards. And yet, the will endured. This, in itself, is a political fact that must not be underestimated or treated lightly.

History is not written only through moments of clear victory, but also through moments of steadfastness that prevent political and moral annihilation. Every genuine liberation experience passes through phases of retreat and withdrawal, yet it endures as long as memory remains alive and will is not broken. What is sought today is the exhaustion of this will and the pushing of society toward self-flagellation instead of reading the scene as it truly is: a struggle over existence and decision-making, not over a single battle or one neighborhood.

In an era of flexible imperialism, where wars are waged through soft and hard tools simultaneously, political awareness itself becomes a form of resistance. Holding fast to one’s own narrative, away from the propaganda of the temporary victor, is the first condition for opening any future horizon. What has not yet been defeated is meaning—and as long as meaning endures, the battle has not been settled.

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