DUBAI: For Father Iyad Ghanem, a Catholic priest at the Syriac Archdiocese of Homs and Hama, two of Syria’s four largest cities, this Christmas represents both new beginnings and the end of a dark chapter in Syria’s history.

In the wake of the dramatic developments that led to the ousting of Syria’s long-time President Bashar Assad on Dec. 8, Christians in the country are celebrating Christmas under the transitional government of Hayat Tahrir Al-Sham (HTS) for the first time.

HTS, a rebel group led by Ahmad Al-Sharaa, Syria’s de facto leader, has sought to reassure minority communities, including Kurds, Alawites and Shiites, as it distances itself from its hardline Islamist roots. For many Christians, the end of the Assad era has come as a veritable Christmas gift.

“Our churches are at peace, and we, as clergymen, are free to conduct our masses. Yet, it is too early for the parish to pass judgment on HTS. The atmosphere remains uncertain, and much is left to unfold,” Father Iyad told Arab News.

“Our country and community have endured so much over the past 13 years. With this new era upon us, we must free ourselves from fear, find the voices that were silenced for so long, and eliminate radicalism in all its forms. This is all unfamiliar territory, and we are still adjusting.”

Syria is part of a region often referred to as the “cradle of Christianity,” making it one of the earliest places in the world to host a Christian community. In the town of Maaloula, a handful of villages still speak Aramaic, the ancient dialect of Christ, to this day.

Once numbering over a million, Syria’s Christian population has dwindled to just 3 percent owing to the prolonged war that began in 2011 and the rise of Daesh in 2014. The violence and persecution left them vulnerable, forcing a large-scale exodus to Western countries.

Rassem Sairafi, a Christian from Homs, said he is optimistic about Syria’s future and hopes for a democratic and free nation.

“Many educated Syrians are returning from abroad. If they are included in the new government, I believe we will be in safe hands,” he told Arab News.

“Historically, Syria’s Sunni majority has been moderate. It was only during the war that began in 2011 that sectarianism took root. Hopefully, we can leave that behind and ensure we do not replace one dictatorship with another.”

The Assad regime left Syria in ruins. Its legacy is starkly evident in decimated infrastructure, a deeply entrenched corrupt political system, and a bankrupt economy that has pushed 90 percent of the population below the poverty line.

In a report for the US public broadcaster PBS on Dec. 12, correspondent Simona Foltyn said: “Streets are getting busier by the day and shops and government institutions are slowly returning to work.

“The opposition has taken over government institutions in the capital, Damascus, and has begun the task of governing the country, using its experience in Idlib as a blueprint. But administrating a whole country, as opposed to a province, is quite a different matter, and it remains to be seen how easily it can be scaled.”

She added: “Apart from the joy and relief, the mundane but vital work of making a country function is job number one for many.”

With Assad’s fall, Christians face additional uncertainty as a religious minority about their fate under the country’s new rulers. They feel that their future hangs in the delicate balance of a new era and constitution.

The Christian community, like all Syrians, endured severe hardships under Assad’s regime and so regards the new government with a mix of caution and optimism.

“We are nervous because we are unsure. We do not know what the future holds,” said Rawaa, a Christian from Damascus. “But we are aware of HTS’s history. While their recent legislative decisions are comforting, we remain eager to see if they will uphold these commitments over time.”

Despite being hailed as Syria’s “liberators” and Al-Sharaa’s recent efforts to rebrand himself — shedding his military persona as Abu Mohamad Al-Jolani to adopt the image of a statesman — the country’s stability and economic recovery remain precarious.

HTS is still designated as a terrorist group by the UN, US, EU, and UK, among many others, as it started as a splinter group of Al-Qaeda, which it broke away from in 2016.

Once confined to the overcrowded and impoverished northwestern region of Idlib but now acting as the self-imposed caretaker government in Damascus, HTS faces the daunting challenge of rebuilding a nation devastated by years of corruption and mismanagement under Assad.

In an effort to stave off chaos, Al-Sharaa has taken steps to restore basic services in some areas, called for the preservation of state institutions, and promoted the vision of an inclusive society and a peaceful transition to new governance.

Senior leaders of the transitional government continue to meet with representatives of various religious communities, emphasizing their commitment to protecting minority rights as part of broader efforts to reassure both Syrians and the international community.

Both Father Iyad and Rawaa voiced their aversion to the use of the term “minority” when describing their community, insisting they are an integral part of Syria’s fabric and one of the essential components that define the country.

This year, across various parts of the country, only churches have adorned their doors and squares with Christmas decorations — a gesture that Rawaa interprets as a sign of hope for the future. However, celebrations remain subdued. Many, including Rawaa’s family and friends, are opting for private gatherings.

“My neighborhood hasn’t put up Christmas decorations since the war began 13 years ago, and this year is no different,” Rawaa told Arab News.

“But it’s not out of fear of HTS. It’s because of the shortages we face and the hardships we endure. We lack electricity, fuel, and financial resources. The population is struggling, and the festive spirit is hard to find in such conditions.”

“Our celebrations will be within our homes, with close family and friends,” Rawaa said. “This is a new experience for us. While there has been no persecution from HTS, we are proceeding cautiously. The transitional government has promised to launch awareness campaigns to combat radicalism if necessary. Time will tell if they fulfill that promise.”

Mary Bitar, a Christian from Damascus, saw reason for optimism amid the adversities in the lead-up to Christmas.

“People are out and about. No one is being harassed. We may lack Christmas lights because of the electricity shortages, but our hearts are full, and we remain hopeful,” she said.

In his comments, Father Iyad emphasized that isolated acts of terrorism must be addressed before they escalate, citing a recent incident in Hama where armed men desecrated a Christian graveyard and set crosses in town squares ablaze.

“Small factions that align themselves with HTS must be controlled,” he told Arab News. “Those seeking to sow chaos must be stopped. We will not tolerate any radicalized behavior.”

Despite these challenges, Father Iyad remains steadfast in his message of hope. “My wish is for unity — a just legislation that provides equal rights to all Syrians. A peaceful, beautiful Syria for everyone.”

ISTANBUL: In a dim one-room apartment in one of Istanbul’s poorest neighborhoods, 11-year-old Atakan Sahin curls up on a threadbare sofa with his siblings to watch TV while their mother stirs a pot of pasta.
The simple meal is all the family of six can look forward to most evenings. Atakan, his two younger brothers and 5-year-old sister are among the one-third of Turkish children living in poverty.
“Look at the state of my children,” said Rukiye Sahin, 28. “I have four children. They don’t get to eat chicken, they don’t get to eat meat. I send them to school with torn shoes.”
Persistently high inflation, triggered by currency depreciation and unconventional economic policies that President Recep Tayyip Erdogan pursued but later abandoned, has left many families struggling to pay for food and housing. Experts say it’s creating a lost generation of children who have been forced to grow up too quickly to help their families eke out an existence.
According to a 2023 joint report by UNICEF and the Turkish Statistical Institute, about 7 million of Turkiye’s roughly 22.2 million children live in poverty.
That deprivation is brought into stark focus in neighborhoods such as Istanbul’s Tarlabasi, where the Sahin family lives just a few minutes’ walk from Istiklal Avenue, a tourism hot spot bristling with brightly lit shops and expensive restaurants.
Meanwhile, the Sahins eat sitting on the floor of their room — the same floor Rukiye and her husband sleep on while their children occupy the room’s sofas. In the chilly early December night, a stove burns scraps of wood to keep them warm. They sometimes fall asleep to the sound of rats scuttling through the building.
Atakan spends his days helping his father scour dumpsters in search of recyclable material to earn the family a meager income.
Poor children in Istanbul also earn money for their families by selling small items such as pens, tissues or bracelets at the bars and cafes in the city’s entertainment districts, often working late into the night.
“I can’t go to school because I have no money,” he said. “We have nothing. Can you tell me how I can go? On sunny days, when I don’t go to school, I collect plastic and other things with my father. We sell whatever we find.”
The cash helps buy basic foodstuffs and pay for his siblings to attend school. On the days Atakan can attend, he is ill-equipped to succeed, lacking proper shoes, a coat and textbooks for the English class he loves.
The Sahins struggle to scrape together the money to cover the rent, utilities and other basic expenses as Turkiye’s cost-of-living crisis continues to rage. Inflation stood at 47 percent in November, having peaked at 85 percent in late 2022. Prices of food and nonalcoholic drinks were 5.1 percent higher in November than in the previous month.
Under these circumstances, a generation of children is growing up rarely enjoying a full meal of fresh meat or vegetables.
Rukiye and her husband receive 6,000 lira ($173) per month in government welfare to help toward school costs, but they pay the same amount in rent for their home.
“My son says, ‘Mom, it’s raining, my shoes are soaking wet.’ But what can I do?” Rukiye said. “The state doesn’t help me. I’m in this room alone with my children. Who do I have except them?”
The picture of children rummaging through garbage to help support their families is far from the image Turkiye presents to the world: that of an influential world power with a vibrant economy favorable to foreign investment.
Erdogan is proud of the social programs his party has introduced since he came to power more than 20 years ago, boasting that the “old days of prohibitions, oppression, deprivation and poverty are completely behind us.”
Speaking at the G20 summit in November, Erdogan described Turkiye’s social security system as “one of the most comprehensive and inclusive” in the world. “Our goal is to ensure that not a single poor person remains. We will continue our work until we achieve this,” he said.
Finance Minister Mehmet Simsek, tasked with implementing austerity and taming inflation, said the 17,000 lira ($488) monthly minimum wage isn’t low. But he has pledged to raise it as soon as possible.
Although the government allocates billions of lira to struggling households, inflation, which most people agree is far above the official figure, eats into any aid the state can give.
In districts such as Tarlabasi, rents have risen five-fold in recent years due to gentrification in central Istanbul that puts pressure on the housing market for low-income families.
Experts say welfare payments aren’t enough for the millions who rely on them, forcing many parents to make impossible choices: Should they pay the rent or buy clothing for the children? Should they send them to school or keep them home to earn a few extra lira?
Volunteers are trying to ease the cycle of deprivation.
Mehmet Yeralan, a 53-year-old former restaurant owner, brings essentials to Tarlabasi’s poor people that they can’t afford, including coats, notebooks and the occasional bag of rice.
“Our children do not deserve this,” he said, warming himself by a barrel of burning scrap wood on the street. “Families are in very difficult situations. They cannot buy food for their children and send them to school. Children are on the streets, selling tissues to support their families. We are seeing deep poverty here.”
Hacer Foggo, a poverty researcher and activist, said Turkiye is raising a lost generation who are forced to drop out of school to work or are channeled into vocational programs where they work four days and study one day per week, receiving a small fraction of the minimum wage.
“Look at the situation of children,” she said. “Two million of them are in deep poverty. Child labor has become very common. Families choose these education-work programs because children bring in some income. It’s not a real education, just cheaper labor.”
Foggo points to research showing how early childhood education can help break cycles of poverty. Without it, children remain trapped — stunted physically and educationally, and condemned to lifelong disadvantages.
UNICEF placed Turkiye 38th out of 39 European Union or Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development countries in terms of child poverty between 2019 and 2021, with a child poverty rate of 34 percent.
The tragic consequences of this destitution occasionally burst into the public arena.
The deaths of five children in a fire in the western city of Izmir in November happened while their mother was out collecting scrap to sell. The image of their sobbing father, who was escorted from prison in handcuffs to attend his children’s funeral, caused widespread outrage at the desperation and helplessness facing poor families.
It is a situation Rukiye fully understands.
“Sometimes I go to bed hungry, sometimes I go to bed full,” she said. “We can’t move forward, we always fall behind. ... When you don’t have money in your hands, you always fall behind.”
Her eldest son, meanwhile, clings to his childhood dreams. “I want my own room,” Atakan said. “I want to go to school regularly. I want everything to be in order. … I’d like to be a football player one day, to support my family.”