'We fear we're next': Druze in Damascus lock doors after fighting in Syria's south

In Jaramana, the largest Druze-majority district of Damascus, fear has taken root. Shops once buzzing with late-night customers now close before sundown. Streets grow silent after dark.

Behind closed doors, families speak in hushed tones, watching videos from Sweida on repeat – scenes of charred homes, collapsing hospitals, and bodies pulled from the rubble.

A ceasefire may have halted the gunfire in Syria’s south, but the dread is still spreading north.

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“We don’t trust this quiet,” said Khaldoun, a 35-year-old mechanic. “After what happened in Sweida, we’re locking our doors earlier. We hear rumours that more militia groups are coming. We’ve seen how fast things can change.”

Last week’s brutal assault on Sweida, one of Syria’s last remaining Druze strongholds, left more than 500 people dead – among them fighters from both sides, women, children, and civilians. Entire neighbourhoods were stormed by tribal militias and pro-government fighters.

Mortar shells struck residential blocks, and water tanks were reportedly poisoned by attacking groups. The main hospital was overwhelmed and partially destroyed, unable to treat the wounded or store the dead as electricity and refrigeration failed. Witnesses described the city as a war zone, with bodies left to rot in the streets and entire families missing.

Bassel, a 24-year-old medical student from Sweida now living in Damascus, told The National: “Who are we supposed to mourn first? The numbers are too large to comprehend.

“The bodies of our people, our families, our friends … scattered everywhere. The world moved on while we drowned in blood, buried under attack. We won’t forgive. No one should stay silent in the face of injustice.”

For the Druze of Jaramana, the aftermath is more psychological than physical – but no less traumatic. Known for its complex relationship with the Syrian state, Jaramana is home to thousands of people originally from Sweida.

The ties between the two communities are social, religious and deeply personal. So when Sweida burnt, Jaramana felt the heat.

“There is no doubt that the escalation in Sweida will have consequences here,” said Salman Katbeh, a political activist in Jaramana. “Our priority was to prevent the unrest from spilling over. We didn’t want a bloodbath. Community elders worked hard to keep things calm, especially with the younger generation. But we’re all walking a tightrope.”

As rumours of retribution swirl, local leaders in Jaramana have tried to prevent provocations. “There were protests,” Mr Katbeh said. “The Syrian flag was taken down temporarily, but then put back up. You can’t stop people from reacting emotionally – you can only try to keep it under control.”

In private, the fears are more specific. “If some groups can’t go fight Israel,” Mr Katbeh continued, “they might turn their guns on us instead. We reject the idea that Israel’s strikes were somehow ‘because of the Druze’. That kind of narrative is dangerous and false.”

On Tuesday night, Israel bombed several sites around Damascus, killing at least 15 pro-government personnel and levelling parts of the Ministry of Defence. The strikes added another layer of complexity to an already combustible situation.

As missiles lit up the sky, residents in Jaramana huddled indoors – uncertain whether the war outside was coming home. “It’s like we’re surrounded,” Bassel said.

“From the sky, from the ground, even from our neighbours. When Israel bombs us, we expect fear. But now we fear our own.”

The Syrian government’s response has been cautious. President Ahmad Al Shara addressed the nation on Thursday, insisting the Druze remain “an integral part of Syria’s social fabric” and rejecting any notion of separatism.

Mr Al Shara said the state had delegated the task of securing Sweida to local factions and religious leaders – a decision he described as a “national safeguard” to avoid wider conflict.

But in Jaramana, those reassurances ring hollow.

“The damage is already done,” said one Druze resident, who asked to remain anonymous. “We no longer know who to trust – the army, the militias, the neighbours. If Sweida was punished for being neutral, what does that mean for us?”

Druze boycott

Economic warfare has followed the physical violence. A coalition of Damascus-based merchants aligned with pro-government circles announced a full boycott of Sweida, accusing its people of treason and collusion with Israel. Hawala networks were severed, money transfers frozen, and Druze merchants blacklisted from city markets.

According to Syria analyst Aymenn Tamimi from the Middle East Forum, the fallout reflects something deeper and more systemic.

“The events in Sweida have sent shock waves through Syria’s Druze population,” he told The National. “What we’re seeing now is a mix of political retribution, localised power struggles, and weaponised sectarianism. The Druze in Damascus are especially vulnerable – not just physically, but socially. They’ve lived in a delicate balance, but that balance is eroding quickly.”

More than 100 bodies remain unburied or unidentified in Sweida. The main hospital is barely functional, its medical staff running on no sleep, with no space in morgues and no supplies left. Thousands remain displaced. As tension simmers, the fear of further escalation hangs over Druze communities like a cloud that refuses to lift.

And while political actors debate responsibility, people in Jaramana are preparing for the worst.

In the end, these are not isolated tragedies – they are cries from a country at war with itself, as the Druze of Damascus brace for what they pray won’t come next.

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