Syria votes without ballot boxes: parliamentary elections in a fragmented country

DamascusIt's a mild October morning and, in the streets of the Syrian capital, the daily routine progresses Like any other weekend. There are no signs, no rallies, nor the typical excitement of a day before an election. Many pedestrians don't even know that parliamentary elections are being held this Sunday. For others, the event stirs up contradictory feelings: between cautious hope and a skepticism learned after years of war, displacement, and repression.

Unlike traditional electoral processes, Syrians will not directly vote for their representatives. Two-thirds of the 210 seats will be chosen by local committees, and the remaining third will be appointed by interim President Ahmed al-Sharaa. Regions such as Suwayda—which has a Druze majority—and the Kurdish northeast are excluded from the process, leaving 19 seats vacant. These regions, the scene of ongoing protests against economic decline and sectarian violence, feel the lack of real representation. There, participation is perceived more as a formality than a mechanism for change.

Civil organizations and analysts have questioned the lack of territorial coverage, the low female representation and the centralization of presidential power. For many citizens, these particularities reflect both the limitations of the ongoing political experiment and the real fracture of the country after fourteen years of war.

In Jaramana, in rural Damascus, Giulianna, a 27-year-old Druze woman, speaks frankly about the internal divisions that run through her community. "There are many of us who have studied and want a different future, but among us there are wounds and resentments that have not healed. Children have grown up seeing violence and sectarian cleansing; this has become normalized for them. There are people who understand what is happening and want to change things, but they have no voice or guarantees of security. If you speak your mind."

In the suburbs of Qudsaia, in the west of the capital, Mohamed, 34, observes the process with a mixture of hope and caution. He deserted the army at the start of the conflict and spent years as a refugee in Sudan and Turkey before deciding to return. "Before, fear paralyzed me. Now I feel that, although the threats haven't disappeared, things are slowly changing. If this new experiment serves to open a different path, with greater dignity and freedom, that will be great. All Syrians deserve better," he says with a well-earned serenity.

In Babtouma, a Christian commercial neighborhood in Damascus, Ibrahim works at the family confectionery shop with the television on in the background. "We want Parliament to represent all Syrians, not just certain communities. If we young people don't participate, if real spaces for discussion aren't opened, nothing will change. We hope that the new government won't favor one group over another," he says, without hiding his concern about the common favoritism in institutions.

The shift toward a different political culture

A young activist, who prefers not to give her name, sums up the historic moment: "We are crossing a threshold between a dictatorial regime and a society that wants to talk about politics without fear. Before, expressing an opinion was dangerous. Now, little by little, spaces are emerging to debate, listen, and dissent. Feel."

Despite the glimmers of hope, many citizens continue to question the essence of the electoral process. The indirect election, the exclusion of entire areas of the country, and the decisive power of the interim president fuel the perception that this is more of a formal than a substantial reform. Mariam, a Christian from Damascus, puts it clearly: "If a committee is the one who elects the deputies and not the people, who do they really represent? These elections are not for us."

As the vote approaches, life in Damascus continues as usual. There is no electoral atmosphere in the streets or large public debates, but beneath this daily calm stir perceptions, expectations, and accumulated frustrations. This Sunday's elections don't seem destined to transform the system overnight, but rather to gauge the pulse of a society that, after years of war and displacement, is seeking to redefine itself.

More than immediate change, what's at stake is whether this process will open up space for a different political culture, one based less on fear and more on debate, participation, and mutual recognition. In a country marked by fragmentation and erosion, the political transition will depend less on electoral committees than on society's ability to gradually reclaim its place in the public sphere.