The Syrians' fear of reviving a regional war: "Every day that passes without violence returning is a gift"

DamascusIn Damascus, the memory of war is not abstract; it is found in half-rebuilt buildings, in empty neighborhoods that have not yet been able to regain their former inhabitants, in shops that open every morning with the hope that the economy will improve. It also filters into daily conversations, where the conflict is no longer evoked as a past event, but as a possibility that could emerge from any corner.

The Syrian capital has regained a relative normality. Traffic once again saturates the main avenues; in the cafes, always crowded in the evening, people discuss football, inflation, work deadlines, and money. At first glance, Damascus seems to have turned a page. However, this feeling, light, almost fragile, is based on a decision made at the highest levels of power and shared by a significant part of society: not to re-enter a regional war.

To the west, the road leading to the Masnaa border crossing continues to be a constant thermometer of what is happening beyond. An hour from Damascus, the Lebanese Bekaa Valley stretches towards the horizon, and with it the echoes of Israeli bombings against Hezbollah positions, which are so frequent that they are even heard in border areas. For now, the war has not dragged Syria into the conflagration.

This Saturday, Avichay Adraee, spokesperson for the Israeli army, warned that, from then on, this border crossing would become a military target: "As Hezbollah uses the Masnaa border crossing for military purposes and for arms smuggling, the IDF intends to launch attacks against the border crossing in the near future," he wrote on X.

"We know the war is there. We feel it every day," says Samer from his stall of mobile accessories in Shaalan, a popular Damascus neighborhood that has been undergoing a major transformation for years, sometimes too slowly. "But here, in Syria, for now, it hasn't arrived yet. That's the difference," he adds.

This perception of separation, of being on the sidelines, marks the way many Syrians think about the present. For them, the war has not ended, but it has ceased to be the center of their daily lives. Nevertheless, the fear remains that, suddenly, normality will be shattered again.

Sporadic attacks

To the south, there is pressure but it remains contained. In the provinces of Daraa and Quneitra, along the Golan line, punctual bombings, limited incursions, and episodes of cross-border fire have occurred in recent weeks, reflecting the spread of the conflict in the region, although it does not translate into an open front within Syria. Some of these episodes have taken place in areas with a presence of Druze communities, adding a political dimension. Nevertheless, on the ground, the dynamic continues to be one of calibrated interventions, more aimed at setting limits than at provoking a direct escalation.

Further northeast, the war takes another form. In this area, where American forces remain deployed after years of alliance with the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF), the conflict manifests through indirect attacks. In March, several bases were targeted by rockets and drones launched by pro-Iranian militias from Iraq, in what is interpreted as an attempt to pressure the United States within the framework of tensions with Iran. This is not a Syrian front in the classic sense, but an extension of the conflict that uses the territory to project power.

“Of course, it worries me,” exclaims Lina, an engineering student at the University of Damascus, in the Mezzeh neighborhood, who smiles every time her future is mentioned. “It’s not that Syria is entering the war, but that the war will end up entering here,” she continues. After fourteen years of conflict, many young people who are now beginning to think about studying or working abroad or within the country feel that this future can be broken prematurely. “We have learned not to take anything for granted,” she adds. “Every day that passes without violence returning feels like a gift, but we all know that it can happen at any moment”.

Pressure on Hezbollah

This mix of caution and desire for normalcy helps to understand the position of the interim president, Ahmed al-Sharaa, who has insisted that Syria will not participate in the conflict except in case of direct aggression. It is the line they have maintained despite pressures, including proposals to get involved in containing Hezbollah from Lebanon.

Over the past few weeks, American representatives and diplomats, in discreet contacts with their Syrian counterparts, have suggested that Damascus could play a role in political and military pressure on Hezbollah, and the possibility of a deployment in eastern Lebanon with other forces has even been evaluated. Nevertheless, Al-Sharaa has responded with caution and firmness, avoiding commitment and recalling that any direct involvement could further destabilize a country that has not completed its reconstruction process nor healed its own internal wounds, after more than a decade of war.

On the street, this logic translates into simpler terms. “People here don't think about who wins or who loses – says Abu Fadi, a taxi driver in the center–. They think about not letting this start again.”

This memory conditions the perception of the present. Even as bombings occur along the border with Lebanon, as the south remains under intermittent pressure, and as attacks in the northeast remind us that Syria could be the scene of an indirect war, the country maintains a line that is not so much of neutrality as of calculated containment.

In Damascus, this fragility is not expressed in grand declarations, but in a form of daily prudence, in the feeling that everything depends, simply, on maintaining this balance for one more day.