After Assad’s fall, Syria’s musicians rebuild from the rubble

In the Damascus Institute of Music’s halls, the sounds of instruments blend into a triumphant cacophony. With soaring brass, strings, wind instruments and percussion coming together as one, there’s a symphonic harmony rarely heard over the past half century.

Taking place in its rehearsal rooms, students practice on traditional Middle Eastern and Western classical instruments under the watchful eyes of their teachers. In the past, the institute’s most talented graduates would leave for Lebanon, the Gulf states, or Europe, where they could pursue careers without fear of censorship.

Less than two months before my visit to the institute, more than 50 years of dictatorship and 14 years of war came to an end. There is currently an air of enthusiasm in Syria, but the country is also at a crossroads, after Bashar al-Assad and his family were pushed out of power in less than a week. Now, artists hope for a new era, where freedom and music are no longer in conflict.

Muhammed Azzawi, a 59-year-old music professor, knows all too well what it was like to be an artist under the Assad régime. ​“To be a successful musician in Syria, you had to be a bad musician,” he says, sitting in the institute’s courtyard. After years of dedicated study of the French horn, Azzawi joined the Syrian National Symphony Orchestra. But talent didn’t matter if you weren’t loyal to the régime.

Throughout the years, Azzawi has seen how loyalty to the régime has often trumped talent. To secure a position in the Syrian National Symphony Orchestra – to advance in any artistic institution – musicians often needed the right political connections or a demonstrated allegiance to Assad. ​“You had to be under their wing, otherwise they wouldn’t let you do anything,” says Azzawi. 

• Read next: How this Syrian filmmaker captured war first-hand

And those who showed dissent, or even had links to others who did, would often be cast aside. Following the 2011 revolution in the wake of the Arab Spring, Fadwa Souleimane – a famous actress, Azzawi’s ex-wife and mother of their child Arwan – joined the opposition. Being from an Alawite background, an ethnoreligious minority in Syria, she was one of the few public figures able to unite Syrians beyond sectarian and gender divides, and ultimately became a key face in the revolution.

The régime did not forgive Fadwa’s activism. Threats forced her to flee to Paris with her second husband, where she lived in exile until she passed away in 2017. Azzawi was expelled from the orchestra and was only called upon on rare occasions. He and his son never saw Fadwa again, and he dedicated a 2020 recording, ​‘Endless Love Vol 2 .. Way To Eternity’, to her.

In an attempt to crush the uprising, a régime of repression quickly took form, with the Syrian Network for Human Rights (SNHR) documenting the killings of over 200,000 civilians at the hands of the Assad régime’s forces, while thousands of political prisoners were taken and millions more displaced. Several members of the Syrian National Orchestra for Arabic Music (a separate group to the Syrian National Symphony Orchestra) were forced to leave the country, reconvening in 2016 for a performance supported by Gorillaz and Blur’s Damon Albarn.

Protesters hoped to follow the example of Egypt, Tunisia, or Libya, where popular movements had managed to topple dictators. But in Syria, they turned into a civil war. ​“Assad separated everyone – families, communities, entire industries,” says Azzawi. ​“But you can’t have good music without freedom.”

Since the régime’s collapse on December 8, many musicians have expressed their desire to rebuild Syria’s music industry, and convince young artists – who have been leaving the country in large numbers – to stay and contribute to the country’s cultural revival. For the first time in decades, they hope Syria can have not only music, but also freedom of expression and creativity.

Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), an Islamist military group and former Al-Qaeda affiliate who fought alongside several other rebel groups, took control of Syria after a week-long military incursion, with Bashar and his family fleeing to Moscow. HTS became the country’s administrator overnight. The régime’s rapid collapse shocked both Syrians and the rest of the world.

• Read next: Syrian National Orchestra to reunite at special London concert

Once they had gained power, many feared that a rigid vision would reshape daily life. Under Assad, the state was officially secular, but that secularism was selectively enforced. While the régime cracked down on overt religious expression that veered too far from its narrative, it often portrayed the uprising as a battle against Islamist radicals, primarily the so-called Islamic State. As a result, devout Sunni Muslims who opposed the régime were often labeled as extremists or ISIS sympathisers, justifying repression under the guise of counterterrorism.

The anxiety that HTS might ban music or disband the institute for students like Salam Bouhamdan, a 23-year-old violinist, was real. Her first reaction was joy, but fear of artistic restrictions quickly set in. ​“We musicians were worried that they would shut down the opera, artistic activities, or music in general,” Bouhamdan tells me.

Yet so far, the rumoured closure of the Opera House has turned out to be false, and many fears about fundamentalist and repressive measures have not materialised, though the new government did modify school curricula and removed certain texts deemed inappropriate.

Azzawi met with the new Minister of Culture, Mohammed Yasin Saleh. He and other professors and industry leaders want to actively participate in rebuilding a fair, inclusive, and corruption-free music scene. ​“We musicians want to take control of how music is made in Syria,” explains Azzawi. ​“Now that we are free, we can set the rules ourselves, we don’t need a government to dictate our direction anymore.”

Beyond crackdowns and repression on protestors, Assad’s régime also suffocated the creative scene. Major institutions such as universities and conservatoires had outdated mindsets, according to students at the Institute, which was reflected in the art they produced. Students and musicians say that moving forwards, they need a free space for creativity and an environment that encourages collaboration, making it easier for artists, ideas, and music to flow both within and beyond their community.

• Read next: Underground cyphers are helping young Kashmiris reclaim their voices

In the past, simply mentioning the word ​“dollar” could land you in prison, and Syrian students claim that cultural exchanges and scholarships were rare or unavailable to them, as host countries feared they would apply for asylum once in Europe. Now that Assad is gone, musicians are not just returning to their instruments, they’re reclaiming music itself as a space for political and cultural renewal. I attended the orchestra’s first performance since the régime fell, and the concert hall was nearly full. 

Behind the musicians, images and messages honoring victims of the dictatorship were projected onstage, turning the performance into a tribute and an act of defiance, something impossible in the past. Across the capital, music has spilled into the streets, with young people singing and performing in the Bab al-Sharqi neighbourhood of Damascus. Singers are openly performing songs critical of the régime, something that would have been unthinkable just months before I was in the city. 

Venue owners, meanwhile, are encouraging young artists to step forward, offering space for them to perform and experiment. A reinvention of Syria’s musical identity, shaped by freedom, memory and protest, has been sprouting in the country. 

One symbol of Damascus’ cultural rebirth is the Al-Rawda Café, a place where people came together before the war – musicians, writers, intellectuals, and politicians. For decades, political parties were formed and heated debates took place over tea and coffee. But with the war’s commencement, the café was infiltrated by informants from the mukhabarat – Syria’s security services – who eavesdropped on conversations and reported any criticism of the régime. Regulars were imprisoned for refusing to co-operate or for supporting the opposition.

Today, Al-Rawda is coming back to life. People are returning after years of exile or forced silence, and their gatherings are filled with cheers, music, and heated debates. For the first time in 14 years, foreign newspapers are spread out on the tables, and people in the café are free to talk. Political conferences and debates are even being held again.

Another priority for veteran artists is stopping the talent exodus, which has potential to accelerate as the country opens up. Abdullah Chhadeh, one of Syria’s most renowned international musicians, spent over a decade in London, where he arrived on a scholarship after graduating from the Damascus Institute of Music.

One of the most acclaimed contemporary players of the qanun, a traditional string instrument, Chhadeh returned to Syria in 2011. 10 years later, he has now opened a concert hall in his own home, giving young artists a stage for the first time. ​“The main problem for musicians is having a job in Syria and earning enough money,” Chhadeh explains to me.

He managed to buy back his parents’ Damascene house, which they had sold, and transformed it into an artistic haven where young creators can dream and perform at home, without having to leave the country. It is located in a Christian neighbourhood and features an interior courtyard with rows of tables and chairs, ancient stone arches, mosaic floors, and contemporary art on the walls behind the stage.

• Read next: As Tbilisi’s famed nightclubs reawaken, a murky future awaits

“If they work as hard as they do in Europe, they will succeed here too,” says Chhadeh. After years spent in Europe and the United States, he always felt something was missing. Now, he has started his own discussions with the Minister of Culture to play an active role in shaping Syria’s new arts and music scene.

It makes for a tense time within the country’s traditional music institutions. Many of the old guard, who were appointed to their positions during Assad’s reign remain in their posts, with others refusing to join them. Azzawi claims that he will not return to the orchestra until he believes that it is inclusive and community driven, in a similar state to how it was before 2011.

“You can’t remove corruption and dictatorship from people’s minds in a few days or weeks, it will take time to return to normal,” Azzawi says. ​“But we’re ready to do it together. That’s why I didn’t flee, I wanted to see how it ends.

Andrei Popoviciu is an investigative journalist. Follow him on X.

Alexandra Corcode is a photojournalist. Follow her on Instagram.

Buy your copy of Huck 81 here.

Enjoyed this article? Follow Huck on Instagram and sign up to our newsletter for more from the cutting edge of sport, music and counterculture.

Support stories like this by becoming a member of Club Huck.