Parishioners rise as the archbishop raises his hands. Between his fingers, pointing towards the dome, the man raises a golden cross in the direction of a huge fresco of the Virgin Mary. The dozens of attendees, all attentive, cross themselves. “We are optimistic and believe that things can get better. We are waiting for a releasefor us and for everyone. We are optimistic and we trust that those who have just taken over the Government will provide the city with water and electricity. This will change our souls and lives for the better,” preaches Archbishop Denis Antoine Shahda, the leader of the Syriac Catholic Church in Aleppothe second city of the Arab country.
Everyone listens carefully. “Most of our problems will be solved. Now we can all speak freely, fearless. We can talk. The wall has fallen and we want a future with more development that benefits us all. We hope that what they are promising us is true. We want justice and peace and freedom to speak what we think,” the man continues before giving his blessings to the local Christians.
The parishioners leave, and return to their day of work. It’s Sunday, which in Syria is equivalent to Monday, so we have to give up: the weekend, here, is Friday and Saturday. “At first, when the Hayat Tahrir al Sham (HTS) militiamen arrived, we were afraid and didn’t know what to do. But when we saw them, and saw how they interact with us, we started to feel more comfortable. They have treated us well, and they didn’t “They haven’t done anything bad to us. They haven’t threatened us or treated us badly at all,” says Lilian, a Syriac Catholic from Aleppo.
A Christian church in the Syrian city of Aleppo. / BILAL AL HAMMOUD / EFE
Its history dates back to the very beginning of Christianity: it was from present-day Syria – and, of course, Israel, Palestine, Lebanon and the southern coast of Turkey – from where Christianity began its expansion throughout the world. Before the Syrian civil war, nearly one and a half million Christians lived in the Arab country, fragmented between Catholics, Orthodox, Maronites, Armenians and Protestants. Now, after the war, there are around 300,000 left.
In Aleppo, where the war has left traces and destruction everywhere, the decline has been even more pronounced: in 2011, 250,000 Christians lived in the Syrian economic capital. Today there are just over 20,000 left. They, now, live in happiness at the end of the regime of Bashar al-Assad and the fear of what may come next.
on a honeymoon
The mass has ended, and Archbishop Shahda sits on the throne. Around him, his faithful await an audience. “Assad did not persecute Christians, but there was another type of persecutionto all: corruption, lack of political freedom. There was no freedom. There was only freedom to pray. But nothing more. Now people have started talking. Before you couldn’t, because there was a lot of fear that someone loyal to the previous government would come here to listen and then denounce you,” says Shahda in impeccable Caribbean Spanish: this archbishop was, from 1979 to 2001, assigned to Maracay, Venezuela. .
Two members of the church of Saint Francis of Assisi in Aleppo talk after a religious service. / OZAN KOSE / AFP
A week after the fall of Assad and the victory of the revolutionaries, Syria has thus entered a honeymoon period. Everyone, regardless of which side they were on two weeks ago, celebrates and speaks freely. The celebrations continue and will continue for a while: the complicated part will come later.
“You have to give them time to see how they will maintain the security and how they are going to act as rulers. They have only been in Aleppo for 15 days. You have to respect that too. So, if they maintain their good intentions, if they come prepared to change the lives of citizens… then bless God!” Shahda continues and laughs. Her companions follow her in their laughter.
But the problems are many: Aleppo – and all of Syria, at war for 13 years – lacks a channeling system for agua clean, and the hours of electricity a day can be counted on two fingers of one hand. The reconstruction Syria—and the recovery of a broken country—will be a matter of years. And the minoritiesfaced with the new (temporary) government of HTS, they fear being separated.
¿Vertical u horizontal?
“What we do not want, as a Christian community, is to be classified as a minority. We want to have a citizenship at the same level than all the other people, all the entities that are in Syria. If they treat us as a minority, if they mark us as a minority, that will mean that power has only one color and that it decides to allow minorities to exist. We don’t want that,” says George Sabe, superior of the Marist community of Aleppo.
They, the Christians of Syria, do not seek the respect and tolerance of the majority, says Sabe, because respect is vertical. They want to relate horizontally with the new Syrian Government; sit with it, participate in it, dialogue with it.
“We don’t want to be second level citizens and that they treat us well because they want to have a good image with the West. This is why the next few months will be very important. Now I am neither an optimist nor a pessimist. I want to see what is going to happen. These years of war and insecurity have taught me that it is better to think and live day by day. Today they treated me well. Let’s see tomorrow.”
Subscribe to continue reading
