By Dr. Adnan Bozan
In the wake of the gradual collapse of Syria's centralized state structure, the resulting vacuum unleashed more than geographical and military chaos—it ignited long-postponed questions about identity, sovereignty, and the nature of power itself. The country turned into a field for conflicting ideological and political experiments, which—lacking a unifying national reference—quickly devolved into competing authoritarian projects, each claiming to represent the revolution rather than serving its goals. In these grey zones, what emerged was not just the absence of the state, but something even more troubling: the rise of warring authorities that claimed to stand in for the state while dismantling its foundations from within.
Among these projects, Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), led by Abu Muhammad al-Julani (Ahmad al-Shara), stands out as the clearest example of what can be called a "disguised alternative authority" or a "religious state without citizens." It is a project that does not seek to rebuild the state on civil or contractual foundations but rather reproduces the logic of domination, ideological guardianship, and exclusion under religious banners. In this sense, HTS does not represent a transition from despotism to freedom but rather a shift from centralized nationalist authoritarianism to a fragmentary religious tyranny—one that bears traits of the Ba'athist regime in even harsher forms, cloaked this time in a legal-religious discourse that neither acknowledges the rights of others, nor accepts diversity, nor understands citizenship beyond the bounds of obedience.
The collapse of the central regime created a political vacuum that should have been filled by democratic forces capable of expressing the revolution’s demands and translating them into new legislative and institutional structures. But what happened in northern Syria—particularly in the Idlib region—was the complete opposite. The vacuum was filled by an authority based on symbolic and physical violence, which imposes its legitimacy through politicized religiosity rather than civil contract. And although it claims to represent the “Sunnis” as a major social component in Syria, it, in fact, represents only a radical ideological faction—an extremist, terrorist group that has reduced political Islam to its most closed and exclusionary version.
What is dangerous about this transformation is not merely that it fails the goals of the revolution, but that it produces a distorted narrative of the state itself: transforming it from a shared space into a prize; from a mechanism for protecting diversity into a tool for enforcing conformity; from an institution of sovereignty into an ideological apparatus that obeys the fatwa of the emir, not the principles of law. This is the heart of the crisis: an authority that claims to be an alternative while lacking the legitimacy of the state, its vision, its legal apparatus, and any humanistic conception beyond obedience.
From this standpoint, the dilemma of the Islamist project in Syria—as embodied by HTS—lies not only in its repressive nature, but in its foreclosure of any possibility for political transformation. It restructures social and political relations along strict religious lines, thereby draining the revolution of its emancipatory essence and returning the people to a position of subjugation—this time in the name of “Sharia” rather than “nationalism.”
This paper attempts to deconstruct Julani’s discourse not merely as an ideological critique, but as a model for how the armed opposition has failed to produce a genuine alternative to the state. It also analyzes how Islamic authority turned from a promise of salvation into a new tool of enslavement, and from a political gospel into a social nightmare that reengineers society to fit a group, not a nation.
In a time when borders are breached and meanings erased, it is not enough to reject the regime—we must also reject its replicas, even when they raise the banners of “revolution” or “Sharia.” A revolution that does not liberate itself from all forms of tyranny cannot build a state—it can only reproduce the tragedy.
I. Defeat as a Missing Consciousness: Denial as a Tool of Authority
In fractured political systems, failure is not only measured by battlefield losses or territorial setbacks—it is primarily gauged by the political actor’s ability to confront defeat as a moment for critical awareness and re-evaluation. Yet in the discourse of Abu Muhammad al-Julani (Ahmad al-Shara)—as in the discourse of many modern authoritarian figures—this ability is completely absent. In its place, we find a dangerous technique: denial, not as a passing reaction, but as a fully integrated political structure.
In his latest media appearance, Julani does not acknowledge any political defeat, social isolation, or even geographic contraction. He speaks as though he were the true representative of the revolution, the leader of a liberation project, and the voice of a supposed majority. This systematic denial does not stem from ignorance of reality, but from a conscious determination to override it through fabrication—producing an alternative narrative that justifies his continued grip on power, even at the expense of truth and logic.
We are witnessing a familiar scene in the history of totalitarian regimes: transforming defeat into a deferred symbolic victory; turning criticism into betrayal; redefining crisis as a necessary “transitional phase.” It is the same technique the Ba’ath regime used after the defeat of June 1967, when it claimed that preserving the “unity of the internal front” was more important than recovering lost land, and that the “resilience of the regime” was victory itself—even if geography was lost and meaning collapsed. The only difference is that Julani replaces nationalism with Sharia, while preserving the same essence: prioritizing power over homeland, the group over the people, survival over transformation.
What must be understood here is that denial in this context is not merely an escape from reality—it is the construction of an alternative reality, in which facts are reinterpreted to serve the survival of the ruling apparatus. Defeat is not acknowledged as failure, but reframed as part of a divine “purification” process—as if suffering were fate, not the result of disastrous political choices. Thus, a discourse is created that is immunized against critique and designed to numb the public, convincing them that “salvation is near” and “truth will prevail,” as long as the leader—Julani—remains at the top of the pyramid.
The gravest danger in this denial is that it creates an entire political culture based on institutionalized falsehood—one that does not tolerate questions or allow for accountability. Acknowledging defeat would undermine the image of the “infallible leader,” embarrass the claim of “religious legitimacy,” and open the door to questioning the very legitimacy of violence. Therefore, Julani—and those like him—cannot admit failure, even if they wanted to, because doing so would instantly invalidate their authority.
We are not speaking here of partial denial, but of a comprehensive strategy upon which the post-truth “legitimacy” of HTS’s rule is built. A fictional image of victory is crafted and reinforced through charged rhetoric, polished media appearances, and the constant invocation of external enemies (the former regime, Kurds, Christians, Alawites, Druze, the West…) as perpetual excuses for failure—turning every internal crisis into an external conspiracy.
The result is a despotic political mind that lays the groundwork for the next defeat even before the current one ends. A mind with no project for liberation—only for maintaining control. A project that turns every dissenter into an “infiltrator,” every critic into an “apostate,” and every questioner into a “conspirator”—a scene that, in essence, mirrors the mindset of traditional Arab regimes that ruled their peoples through denial and were felled by one defeat after another.
Unless this systemic denial is dismantled and exposed, it will not merely produce a new authority that resembles the old one—it will suffocate any genuine alternative project, burying the seeds of revolution beneath the rubble of rhetorical grandstanding and counterfeit slogans. For awareness of defeat is the condition for any future victory, while its denial merely paves the way for a deeper, more devastating loss—one that erases meaning itself.
II. Deconstructing the “State” Discourse of Islamist Forces: From Tawhid to Fragmentation, and from Society to Emirate
What is presented today as a “state project” in the discourse of jihadist Islamist forces—particularly Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS)—is, in essence, a form of power without a state, a system without a society, and an identity without citizenship. Julani’s discourse does not engage with the concept of the state as a legal-institutional framework grounded in contractual legitimacy, pluralism, and rights. Instead, it redefines the state as a supra-ideological entity that rejects accountability and recognizes only ideological loyalty and religious belonging.
Within this discourse, the state is transformed from an inclusive framework for all citizens into a mechanism of faith enforcement aligned with Salafi-jihadist doctrine. The concept of sovereignty is reduced to the authority of the emir, rather than the rule of law. This vision is not exclusive to HTS; it overlaps with what we have previously seen in the experiences of the “Islamic State” (ISIS) and the “Islamic Emirate” of the Taliban, where the state is stripped of its modern civic essence and reduced to a blend of weaponry, fatwas, and patriarchal hierarchies.
HTS, as reflected in the practices of its leadership, is not moving toward building state institutions, but rather toward entrenching a quasi-emirate entity run with the mentality of a closed sectarian group. It imposes its authority through a complex alliance between military force and “religious legitimacy,” which is invoked to justify every decision—from the imposition of dress codes, to the suppression of protests, to the closure of civil society organizations, and the elimination of intellectual and political opponents.
What we witness here is the systematic dismantling of the meaning of the modern state. The legislative authority is replaced with the “Sharia Committee,” judicial independence is abolished in favor of “Courts of Creed,” community policing is dissolved and replaced with the “Hisbah,” and media is reduced to a propagandist platform with no room for debate or critique. No political parties, no unions, no pluralism, no free press—in short: no political society, only subjects under the command of the “legitimate ruler.”
What is even more dangerous is that Julani cloaks this model in the rhetoric of “defending the Sunni majority,” while in reality, he diminishes this majority, reducing it to an imagined sect that is spoken for but never heard. Rights are discussed on behalf of Sunnis, but no one asks Sunnis themselves whether they accept this authoritarian model or desire a closed religious state. They are imprisoned within a narrow, monolithic vision that leaves no room for dissent or diversity, even within their own community.
If the Ba’athist regime once practiced repression in the name of “Arab unity” and “national identity,” HTS reproduces the same logic, only now in the language of “true creed” and the “Salafi method.” Instead of being a state that shelters all Syrians, it becomes a sectarian fortress—excluding Kurds as separatists, Christians as infidel dhimmis, Alawites as doctrinal enemies, and Druze as a “suspicious” sect. In this sense, Julani’s discourse does not escape the structure of the exclusionary security state—it simply reproduces it in the form of a ferocious religious state.
This approach not only fails to build a state—it aborts the very idea of a homeland. For the state, in its political and philosophical definition, is not founded on creed but on law; it is not managed by clan logic, but by contractual logic; it is not based on the notion of a “saved sect,” but on the plurality of sects, equal in rights and obligations.
When deeply unpacked, the project advanced by Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham reveals itself as a replica of the same regimes that the Syrian people revolted against—only it carries a doubled danger: it promises not just authoritarianism, but sanctified authoritarianism, wrapped in fatwas, reinforced with rifles, and shielded by a puritanical, closed discourse that neither argues nor reflects.
If this model continues to spread, Syria’s future will not be that of a unified state, but a mosaic of religious and sectarian "sultanates," where the revolution is reduced to hollow slogans, the people are ruled in the name of God rather than in their own name, and all doors to any genuine democratic horizon are slammed shut.
III. Nationalism Between Rhetoric and Practice: Who Betrays Whom?
It is striking that Julani accuses others of treason, while the discourse and practices of Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) on the ground embody a fundamental betrayal of the very idea of the homeland. When Syria is fragmented into religious emirates and spheres of influence funded by foreign powers, and when its people are subjected to an authority that denies the meaning of pluralism and national identity, we are not witnessing liberation, but rather a disguised form of tyranny.
Who has truly abandoned national sovereignty? Is it not the one who replaced political negotiation with intelligence bargains? Is it not the one who deals with foreign factions as tools of leverage and intimidation? One who secretly negotiates with Israelis in Azerbaijan, and seeks Turkey’s intervention to expand his influence, holds no legitimacy to speak on behalf of Syria or Islam.
Nationalism is not a slogan broadcast in news bulletins—it is a daily stance, measured by real choices, not lofty rhetoric. And the one who ties his project to powers beyond the borders and suppresses dissent at home in the name of “Liberating al-Sham” is no less dangerous than the regime that once ruled through slogans of “unity, freedom, and socialism.”
IV. The Transformation of the Elite: From Enlightenment to Justification
One of the most alarming transformations in the Syrian scene is that segments of the intellectual elite—who were once the voice of enlightenment—have, in many cases, become mouthpieces for the new authority. Some figures who once symbolized critical democratic discourse have today become instruments for justifying repression under labels such as “political realism” or “protecting the revolution.” When an intellectual like Burhan Ghalioun or a politician like George Sabra implicitly affirms the legitimacy of HTS, it signals that the collapse is not merely political—but deeply rooted in the intellectual fabric of the opposition itself.
History has shown us how some intellectuals have shifted from advocates of freedom to apologists for authoritarian regimes. But in the Syrian case, the scene is even more tragic: a shift from justifying nationalist despotism to legitimizing religious authoritarianism; from the rhetoric of “resistance” to the rhetoric of the militia. As if the revolution were merely a bridge from one dictatorship to another.
V. Between Revolution and Counter-Revolution: Who Stole the Syrian Dream?
From its very first moment, the Syrian revolution was more than just a protest against tyranny—it was an existential rebellion against an entire way of life: against a culture of fear, against the historical paralysis that had shackled Syrians for decades. It was not a moment of simple demands, but an eruption of collective consciousness—an extraordinary awakening in which the Syrian individual sought to reclaim their voice from the systems of silence, their presence from the prison walls, and their destiny from prepackaged political fate. It did not seek a new form of authoritarianism, but a new meaning of living—a homeland that resembled its people, not its prisons.
Yet, as this dream began to take shape, it was besieged by the forces of counter-revolution in various guises: from the regime that tried to suffocate it with bullets and torture, to armed factions that hijacked its spirit and turned it into a tool of domination, to regional and international powers that saw in it not a call for freedom, but an opportunity to settle scores. The revolution that began in the name of freedom was reduced to projects of power, and its arena turned into a battlefield of warlords, foreign intelligence, fantasies of caliphates, the ambitions of emirates, and the bargaining tables of negotiations.
Who stole the revolution? The answer is not limited to the regime that responded to popular demands with tanks—it extends to all who claimed to represent the revolution and lost its compass: those who appointed themselves as spokespeople of the people while striking deals in hotel rooms, those who replaced the slogans of the squares with the slogans of their organizations, those who turned the struggle into a political investment and the dream into a sectarian or partisan project. The counter-revolution is not confined to the presidential palace—it exists in every entity that transforms a human liberation movement into a project of domination, whether religious or political.
We are witnessing a scene in which betrayal intersects with ignorance, and where foreign agendas mingle with domestic tragedies. A scene where Syria’s map is divided among contradictory loyalties, and no one speaks in the language of the homeland. Militias speak of “liberation” while they repress their own people. Regimes speak of “sovereignty” while they mortgage decision-making to external powers. All sides compete to represent “Syria” while Syria is murdered daily by the very ones claiming to defend her.
The Syrian dream is not reducible to slogans or banners. It was a moment of truth in which a human being stepped out of themselves to demand a more just world. And when this dream is assassinated—by hands from within even before those from without—we are not merely facing a counter-revolution, but a complete negation of the revolution as both act and value.
And here stands the Syrian individual—torn between exile, camp, and ruin—asking once again: Who stole your dream?
And the bitter, terrifying answer is:
The dream was stolen when the revolution became a commodity,
the struggle became a performance,
and Syria became a map of interests… without a people.
Conclusion: The Result—Without Embellishment
The Syrian revolution stumbled into one of its gravest traps when it mistakenly assumed that opposition to the regime automatically equated to alignment with freedom. This illusion opened the door wide for forces that had nothing to do with the revolution’s principles or the people's dreams to infiltrate the heart of the uprising and reshape it in their own image—not in the image of the homeland envisioned by the people. Thus, the tyranny of the center was replaced by the tyranny of the margins, and the collective dream became a battlefield for competing authoritarian projects—alike in oppression, differing only in rhetoric.
Today, we are not merely facing disappointment, but a radical reversal of the very meaning of revolution. Those who were supposed to protect the spirit of the revolution have become its executioners in the name of “liberating the Levant.” Those expected to expel tyranny have ended up reproducing it in new form: hollow religious discourse, security deals with foreign powers, and an iron grip over the people. Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham, in this context, is not a passing deviation in the revolution’s course—it is a glaring expression of a moral and intellectual collapse, where authoritarianism replaces liberation, the sacred displaces the political, and fear supplants hope.
The problem is not just in the group itself, but in everyone who promotes it as a "de facto authority" or a "viable partner" in a political solution. Normalizing authoritarianism—no matter its disguise—is a betrayal of the revolution's essence. And whoever justifies this in the name of political realism or temporary necessities is complicit—knowingly or unknowingly—in slaughtering the very meaning for which Syrians once took to the streets in spring.
The bitter lesson proven by experience is that a revolution is not merely a clash with a regime; it is a complex process of dismantling the deep structures of tyranny within society, politics, religion, and culture. Those who see in al-Jolani’s project only a "local force" ignore that it is part of a broader system that generates violence and reproduces closed ideologies under false banners of "empowerment" and "liberation."
What is being committed today in the name of the revolution is no less horrific than what the regime committed in the name of “unity and socialism.” Both silenced the human voice. Both replaced the nation with a banner, the citizen with a subject, and criticism with obedience. But the more dangerous difference is that the new tyranny claims legitimacy in the name of revolution, of the people, and of religion—simultaneously.
The harsh truth that must be stated without embellishment is this: a revolution does not triumph merely by toppling a regime, but by overcoming its own illusions. The most dangerous enemies are not always those we fight on the outside—but sometimes those who infiltrate us from within and plant the seeds of subjugation under the guise of liberation.
At its core, a revolution is not a banner to be raised, nor a weapon to be brandished, nor a faction to be funded. It is a moral and aesthetic state of consciousness—one that either renews itself, or perishes. And consciousness that refuses self-critique cannot prevail. A revolution that does not hold its own children accountable before its enemies is destined to be reoccupied… from within.