Feminists or not, the door is closed to all women

A few months ago, at a women’s meeting in Aleppo following the announcement of the parliamentary election results, the room was alive with debate and analysis. Some participants spoke about the weakness of women’s electoral campaigns; others lamented the absence of meaningful party backing. A number complained that their male colleagues had abandoned them after making hundreds of promises to support their candidacies. Meanwhile, others pored over the numbers: how many women had actually made it into parliament, and from which provinces?

Yet the stark reality that emerged from the results was this: in several provinces, not a single woman had been elected.

At that precise moment, a conservative woman seated across the room made a brief remark that brought the heated discussion to a sudden halt: “It seems the problem isn’t between us women. The problem is that society itself is patriarchal.”

The remark was striking. This very woman had previously been among the fiercest critics of that argument. She had long insisted that talk of a “patriarchal society” was part of an overly militant feminist discourse. In her view, the problem lay not with society itself, but with the way the issue was framed.

For many years, debates about women’s issues in Syria seemed to revolve around a clear divide between two narratives: the feminist one, and a more moderate “women’s” approach. The difference is not only linguistic (nasawi vs nisa’i). 

Feminists argued that Syrian society reproduces patriarchal structures through its political and social institutions, excluding women from positions of decision-making. In their view, the problem is structural: unfair laws, weak political representation, and a broader cultural assumption that politics is a man’s domain.

Many conservative women, however, were wary of such language. For them, describing society as patriarchal was less an accurate diagnosis than a confrontational discourse that risks alienating many. The problem, they argued, was not society itself but a feminist rhetoric that disregarded social traditions or imported Western concepts that do not belong to the local context.

This disagreement was not merely theoretical. Within Syrian civil society, on social media, and even inside initiatives led by women themselves, debates about women’s issues sometimes took on the air of an existential conflict among women.

The same questions surfaced repeatedly. Who has the legitimacy to represent women? Who determines which issues should be prioritised? Should feminist discourse speak plainly about full equality in rights and power? Or can advocacy for women operate within a conservative social framework that sees no contradiction between empowering women and preserving their role within the family?

For a long time, this disagreement was presented as the central battle. Yet political developments have shifted the debate and subjected it to a very different test.

After the fall of the regime, many Syrian women believed a new chapter in the country’s history was being written — and that they would inevitably be part of it.

Throughout the years of the revolution, Syrian women played critical roles in society. They entered politics despite immense pressure, led humanitarian initiatives, managed social support networks, and created spaces for civic dialogue at a time when state institutions were crumbling. In many areas, women also assumed social and economic responsibilities they had rarely held before.

It seemed only natural that this presence would be reflected in the structure of the new state.

Yet the political reality told a different story. When the government was formed, only a single female minister made it into the cabinet in a country where women make up more than half the population. It was a clear indication that politics remains, to a large extent, a male-dominated arena.

Even so, Syrian women did not lose hope. Many believed that parliamentary elections might open the door to broader representation. In many political systems, elections allow new faces to enter public life. Activists and community leaders assumed that women’s visibility in civil society could translate into political capital at the ballot box.

But the results proved deeply disappointing. Female representation was not merely weak — in some areas it was entirely absent. Entire provinces sent not a single woman to parliament.

At that moment, the old debate between feminist and “women’s” discourse suddenly seemed irrelevant. Women who had spent years arguing over the best language for defending women’s rights found themselves confronting a far deeper problem: The political arena itself remains closed to women regardless of which discourse they adopted. 

Those who once countered calls for women’s rights by arguing that people were dying under bombardment and millions were languishing in refugee camps — that there was no time for “elite” issues such as women’s rights — now say that Syria is in a transitional phase, and that the priority must be security and economic stability before anything else. Old excuses have been replaced with new ones. 

The irony is that this postponement, whether voiced by critics of feminism or by supposed allies of women’s causes, leads to exactly the same conclusion: an endless wait.

Wait until the state is fully rebuilt. Wait until regional conflicts subside. Wait until every other urgent problem has been solved. As though women’s participation in politics were a luxury that could safely be deferred.

Yet the most urgent task today is to confront some honest questions. Will Syrian women — ardent feminists and conservative women alike — continue to wait until their revolutionary partners decide that the time is right for their participation?

And will the debate now shift yet again, this time into a more constructive debate over who exactly is keeping the door shut, and who might finally open it? That’s the question that all women – of whatever persuasion – should now be united in asking.