Playing the Tribal Card

Long dismissed as relics, Syria’s tribes are now shaping the country’s postwar order.

There is a familiar cadence to the unraveling of state authority in the Middle East. When governments falter, Arab tribes long cast as archaic or peripheral reemerge as indispensable actors. In the absence of functional institutions, it is often tribal networks that step in—maintaining order, ensuring security, and mediating disputes. Their allegiances can determine the survival of regimes or the trajectory of rebellions. We see this in the volatile battlegrounds of Sudan and Libya. But nowhere is the dynamic more revealing than in Syria, where tribal politics continue to shape the country’s fragmented postwar reality.

From Ottoman pashas to French colonial officers, from Baathist strongmen to the Assad dynasty, every authority that ruled Syria reached for the same tool in moments of crisis: the tribal card. These alliances were pragmatic, not ideological. Tribes offered fighters, intelligence, and territorial access. In return, the state provided patronage, recognition, and space to govern their own.

Yet these arrangements were never built to last. Arab tribes, particularly those of Syria’s eastern steppe, have historically prized autonomy over attachment. Their loyalty has always been contingent, their support provisional—strategic actors rather than permanent allies, wary of co-optation but willing to leverage state weakness to secure local power.

The pattern held throughout the 20th century. The Ottomans enlisted tribal fighters to quell uprisings in what is now southern Türkiye and northern Syria. French colonial authorities recruited tribal levies to crush nationalist forces during the Great Syrian Revolt of 1925–27. Later, the Baathist regime revived the practice, arming tribes to check Kurdish ambitions and pacify rural dissent. Hafiz al-Assad famously relied on tribal militias during his brutal crackdown on the Muslim Brotherhood in the 1980s.

Bashar al-Assad followed suit. When the Syrian uprising erupted in 2011, and his regime faced existential threat, he resurrected the tribal playbook with urgency. From the oil-rich plains of Deir Ezzor to the frontlines of Raqqa and Aleppo, tribal auxiliaries were mobilized to defend the regime. Some were bribed, others threatened. Still others saw in Assad’s offer a chance to restore influence lost to decades of centralization.

But loyalties were never uniform. In the early phase of the revolution, many tribal leaders cast their lot with the rebels, driven by hopes of reclaiming autonomy and dignity. Others acted out of necessity—choosing alliances based on survival rather than ideology. Some factions, particularly among younger fighters, were drawn to extremist groups like ISIS and Jabhat al-Nusra, lured by fear, financial incentives, or sheer opportunism.

More than a decade into Syria’s civil war, tribal politics have outlasted foreign interventions, Islamist movements, and the urban revolutionary networks that once commanded global attention. Far from fading, tribes have reasserted themselves as permanent stakeholders in Syria’s fractured landscape.

Today, tribal networks are embedded in governance across all zones of control—whether in areas dominated by Assad loyalists, the Kurdish-led Autonomous Administration in the northeast, or territories under Turkish influence in the northwest. They mediate disputes, manage resources, and in some cases, function as de facto authorities negotiating directly with foreign actors and NGOs.

But the terms have changed. This time, tribes are not content with being temporary enforcers or symbolic allies. They want representation in emerging councils, a share of economic spoils, and a voice in constitutional debates. Their demands are shaped by historical memory and the memories of war. In many areas, tribal leaders now operate less like intermediaries and more like governors, blending traditional authority with modern political leverage.

This is not just a Syrian story. Across the Levant, North Africa, and Sub-Saharan Africa, the erosion of centralized governance has created a vacuum filled by informal power brokers—tribes, militias, religious networks, and business elites. The line between state and society blurs. Tribes are no longer external to the state; they are integral to the splintered structures replacing it.

For Syrian opposition groups and international policymakers, the message is clear: no viable political settlement can ignore the tribal card. That includes the Druze communities of Suwayda, who are experimenting with decentralized self-rule; the Kurdish-led administration in the northeast, struggling to integrate Arab tribal populations; and the beleaguered Transitional Government in Damascus, which must treat tribes as more than symbolic partners if it hopes to maintain its relevance.

How far this dynamic will go remains an open question. Will the tribes find leaders capable of leveraging their strength to entrench local autonomy? Will they rise as kingmakers in an emerging political order? Or will they, once again, be drawn into the familiar cycle of co-optation and betrayal?

One fact is indisputable: the tribal card is back on the table. And this time, the tribes are not just pawns—they are players shaping Syria’s endgame.

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