In 2007, during one of my visits to Adra Prison, I sat across from my friend Fayez Sara—then imprisoned for his role in the “Damascus Declaration.” His words that day have stayed with me ever since. With a calmness that belied the weight of his chains, he said:
“This prison is no longer a place of reform. It has become a factory for manufacturing criminals. A regime that fears honest opposition is a weak regime. A true authority welcomes criticism because it learns from it.”
I left that meeting burdened with sorrow and reflection. Soon after, I wrote an article titled “A Meeting with Fayez Sara in His Prison,” describing the prisoners’ suffering, the closure of the prison library, and the indispensable role of opposition as a mirror for those in power. Days later, I was summoned by the notorious “Palestine Branch” and accused of promoting the Damascus Declaration, supporting Fayez Sara, and insulting the political leadership.
Fayez’s words were not merely political commentary; they were a moral stance. To speak such truth from inside a prison, within earshot of its guards, was an act of profound courage.
I recall this story today because the dilemma it exposes has not disappeared. It has simply changed its clothing.
The New Silence, the Old Logic
Today, some defenders of Syria’s new government urge us to remain silent about its missteps, insisting that we must “give it time.” Yet that time is often used to normalize violations and legitimize transgressions. Silence becomes complicity. Turning a blind eye becomes an invitation to evade accountability rather than confront the truth.
A familiar refrain echoes once again—one we heard for decades under the deposed Bashar al-Assad:
“Let us give the leadership time; it is facing a conspiracy.”
As if time alone can build justice, uproot corruption, or correct a failing course.
The unspoken demand is that we surrender the tools of critique and accountability, transforming citizens into a chorus of “silence-encouragers” who treat those in power as a sacred project beyond evaluation or reproach.
This is how wrongdoing becomes normalized. When we are asked to be patient, we are, in fact, being asked to reward the authority for ignoring its people—not for listening to them.
Proponents of this narrative warn that criticism might “destabilize the experiment,” or that “circumstances do not allow for debate.” They promote the illusion that nations are built through silence, not through confronting mistakes.
Time Alone Does Not Build a State
History teaches us otherwise. Building a state requires more than time; it requires a clear vision, transparent governance, and a political culture that subjects power to scrutiny—not praise.
An authority has every right to ask for time to work. But it has an equal duty to endure criticism and to demonstrate tangible results that justify that time. Without this, waiting becomes a collective delusion.
Countries that have transcended authoritarian patterns offer a different model. In Germany, for example, the state funds investigative journalism—not as an adversary, but as a partner in improving public performance. Organizations like CORRECTIV and other independent investigative initiatives receive state support to expose environmental, political, and administrative failures. Critique there is not a conspiracy; it is a contribution to cleansing the state of corruption.
A nation’s strength is not measured by its lack of mistakes, but by its ability to acknowledge and correct them.
The Irony of Our Region
The irony is stark. While many countries actively fund the exposure of their own shortcomings, some voices in our societies rush to beautify flaws and attack those who reveal them. Instead of embracing the free voice, they pursue it and brand it a threat. Intellectuals are pushed toward silence in the name of “preserving stability,” when true stability is never built on denial, but on accountability.
We must distinguish between constructive criticism and nihilism; between an opposition that seeks correction and one that seeks destruction. But we must not empty criticism of its meaning under the guise of realism or gradualism.
There is no gradualness in core values.
There is no neutrality with injustice.
There is no postponement of truth.
The Most Dangerous Silence
The most dangerous practice of all is domesticated silence—when accepting mistakes becomes a measure of “national loyalty,” and critique is treated as a threat to civil peace. In that moment, we lose our compass. Instead of demanding that the authority listen, we become the ones silencing critical voices.
I do not write to spread despair. I write to anchor hope in awareness. A leader’s willingness to hear criticism is not a concession; it is a condition for the state’s survival and vitality.
A state that does not listen to criticism walks slowly toward erosion.
A leadership surrounded by a wall of silence is always surprised by the explosions it never saw coming.
This article was translated and edited by The Syrian Observer. The Syrian Observer has not verified the content of this story. Responsibility for the information and views set out in this article lies entirely with the author.
