Alawite Uprising Shakes Latakia: Sharaa’s Syria Descends Into Chaos

Paul Riverbank, 12/31/2025Latakia reels after sectarian protests and a deadly crackdown, as Syria’s fragile new government struggles to restore order. Amid curfews and rising tensions, minorities remain anxious about their future—underscoring the nation’s unresolved divisions after Assad’s fall.

Within hours, the city center became a battleground. The sharp retort of gunfire echoed down empty boulevards, mingling with the chaos of thudding boots. At least three were killed, and Zain Al-Abideen Azzam Hussein—by most accounts, an innocent bystander—was among them. According to the Syrian Observatory for Human Rights, scenes of confusion and panic unfurled across Latakia’s older neighborhoods as medics tried to tend to more than 60 wounded.

Official broadcasters pushed a different version: state media was quick to blame “remnants of the former regime” for violence that reportedly included attacks on both police units and ambulances. According to government sources, order returned promptly, the perpetrators already rounded up. Yet residents on the ground, reached by phone, spoke of gunfire coming not from protesters, but from security squads and unidentified armed groups—accounts also echoed by international rights monitors.

There’s no hiding the scars. Outside the central market, battered sedans with smashed windscreens and shuttered storefronts hint at the intensity of the clashes. In some quarters, a dusk-to-dawn curfew—imposed almost on impulse—has left the streets eerily deserted by late afternoon. One resident, who gave his name only as Marwan, was left scrubbing soot off his doorstep the following morning. “They say things are calm now,” he muttered, “but everyone’s just waiting, really.”

It’s a fragile calm. These tensions had already been simmering before bullets flew in Latakia. Just a few days earlier, bombers struck an Alawite mosque in Homs, killing eight. With Saraya Ansar al-Sunna, a group linked to Islamic State, claiming responsibility, unease deepened for the Alawite community—people who, until last year, lived with Assad at the helm. Now the Assad clan is in exile, Moscow their reluctant sanctuary, while former jihadist Ahmed al-Sharaa wields power in Damascus.

But old wounds do not heal quickly. Human rights groups have registered fresh waves of sectarian killings; some sources say that hundreds of Alawites have perished in rural massacres since the government changeover. Reassurances from President Sharaa about building an “inclusive” cabinet provide little comfort to the city’s Christians, or the Kurds up north—neither group has thrown much support behind the new regime so far.

On paper, the government insists their security sweeps are focused: recent TV bulletins listed 21 arrests of “provocateurs” and people accused of sowing inter-sectarian strife. Yet on the ground, skepticism lingers. “One minute you hear there is peace, the next a neighbor disappears,” an elderly shopkeeper confided. “All the while, we clamp down shutters by four and hope nothing will happen overnight.”

Not everything has unraveled. Amidst the tension, city squares saw Christmas trees rise again for the first time since Assad’s fall—an unexpected sign of resilience, guarded cautiously by government soldiers. Even so, few voiced outright optimism in the city’s alleys or crowded bakeries. An AFP correspondent caught on the street noted that most minority families still steered clear of political gatherings, jittery about what the future might bring.

For now, Latakia holds its breath at sundown, waiting for the next announcement, the next skirmish, the next rumor. The city has grown used to uncertainty, the air thick with a sense that the story is far from over.

It’s hard to say which came first in Latakia—the uneasy silence or the cracks in shop windows. Late last night, what had been a straightforward call for change spiraled into pandemonium and shattered glass. These were not the type of crowds the city used to see. Instead, people poured into the streets after Sheikh Ghazal Ghazal, a key Alawite religious figure, took to the airwaves. His message was blunt, bordering on desperate: without bold reforms and some form of international backing, the city’s troubles would only deepen.Within hours, the city center became a battleground. The sharp retort of gunfire echoed down empty boulevards, mingling with the chaos of thudding boots. At least three were killed, and Zain Al-Abideen Azzam Hussein—by most accounts, an innocent bystander—was among them. According to the Syrian Observatory for Human Rights, scenes of confusion and panic unfurled across Latakia’s older neighborhoods as medics tried to tend to more than 60 wounded.Official broadcasters pushed a different version: state media was quick to blame “remnants of the former regime” for violence that reportedly included attacks on both police units and ambulances. According to government sources, order returned promptly, the perpetrators already rounded up. Yet residents on the ground, reached by phone, spoke of gunfire coming not from protesters, but from security squads and unidentified armed groups—accounts also echoed by international rights monitors.There’s no hiding the scars. Outside the central market, battered sedans with smashed windscreens and shuttered storefronts hint at the intensity of the clashes. In some quarters, a dusk-to-dawn curfew—imposed almost on impulse—has left the streets eerily deserted by late afternoon. One resident, who gave his name only as Marwan, was left scrubbing soot off his doorstep the following morning. “They say things are calm now,” he muttered, “but everyone’s just waiting, really.”It’s a fragile calm. These tensions had already been simmering before bullets flew in Latakia. Just a few days earlier, bombers struck an Alawite mosque in Homs, killing eight. With Saraya Ansar al-Sunna, a group linked to Islamic State, claiming responsibility, unease deepened for the Alawite community—people who, until last year, lived with Assad at the helm. Now the Assad clan is in exile, Moscow their reluctant sanctuary, while former jihadist Ahmed al-Sharaa wields power in Damascus.But old wounds do not heal quickly. Human rights groups have registered fresh waves of sectarian killings; some sources say that hundreds of Alawites have perished in rural massacres since the government changeover. Reassurances from President Sharaa about building an “inclusive” cabinet provide little comfort to the city’s Christians, or the Kurds up north—neither group has thrown much support behind the new regime so far.On paper, the government insists their security sweeps are focused: recent TV bulletins listed 21 arrests of “provocateurs” and people accused of sowing inter-sectarian strife. Yet on the ground, skepticism lingers. “One minute you hear there is peace, the next a neighbor disappears,” an elderly shopkeeper confided. “All the while, we clamp down shutters by four and hope nothing will happen overnight.”Not everything has unraveled. Amidst the tension, city squares saw Christmas trees rise again for the first time since Assad’s fall—an unexpected sign of resilience, guarded cautiously by government soldiers. Even so, few voiced outright optimism in the city’s alleys or crowded bakeries. An AFP correspondent caught on the street noted that most minority families still steered clear of political gatherings, jittery about what the future might bring.For now, Latakia holds its breath at sundown, waiting for the next announcement, the next skirmish, the next rumor. The city has grown used to uncertainty, the air thick with a sense that the story is far from over.