The air in Sweida still carried the stench of death. Four days after a ceasefire was declared, the southern Syrian city seemed frozen in horror: charred cars, shuttered stores, and bullet-riddled homes, with the rare pedestrian moving cautiously through streets patrolled by armed men.
In this Druze-majority province, more than 1,200 people have died in just one week of sectarian fighting. The bloodshed began on 13 July after a Druze man was kidnapped by Sunni Bedouin. In retaliation Druze militias abducted several Bedouins. Long-simmering tensions between the two communities then erupted into violence.
On 15 July President Ahmed al-Sharaa’s government deployed elements of the Syrian army and General Security forces into Sweida, officially to “restore order”.
Bedouin tribal fighters, claiming to support their “oppressed brothers”, also entered Sweida. Widespread abuses against civilians followed. Israel launched air strikes. The army withdrew. A US-brokered ceasefire went into effect on 21 July.
Just beyond the first Syrian forces checkpoint and the makeshift post manned by the Syrian Civil Defence (White Helmets) lies a no man’s land. A giant Druze flag flutters nearby. Several men in military gear linger around it. They smile broadly. It’s one of the first visits after the ceasefire was announced.
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Inside the city, queues stretch endlessly for bread and fuel. “We’re under siege,” says Hosam, 22. “Lack of power, lack of food, lack of medicine. We’re just trying to survive now.”
On Tuesday, a fourth humanitarian convoy of 22 trucks entered Sweida, carrying food supplies, fuel and medical kits. But severe shortages persist, especially in water, electricity and medicine, while sporadic clashes continue to unsettle the fragile ceasefire.
In a nearby neighbourhood, Deema, 41, stands quietly in front of her family’s ancestral castle. She carries a delicate beauty. The portrait of her grandfather in traditional Druze attire is shattered. Her voice is steady as she recounts the day her husband was killed.
‘Shut up or we’ll kill you’
On 16 July, the day after Syrian forces entered Sweida, her husband Ali and six other male relatives were executed in the town square. A video of the killings, uploaded by one of the perpetrators, shows the men walking in a line, hands behind their heads, surrounded by armed men – some in military fatigues – before being shot dead in broad daylight in Tishreen Square.
But the video doesn’t show what came before: the eight-hour ordeal Deema and the other women of the house endured as hostages.
“They surrounded the house at 6.15am,” she recalls. “We tried to hide upstairs. They dragged the men away. When we started crying, one said, ‘Shut up or we’ll kill you.’”
Armed men kept arriving at the house in groups, every thirty minutes. They ransacked the home, stole jewellery and hurled insults.
One man, whom Deema identified as a Bedouin, told her: “I’ll stay the night and rape you.” Another asked: “Should we kill all the women?” Someone replied, “No, one of them is beautiful.”
“They called us Druze pigs. Said we hate Sunnis. That they were here to kill us all.”
At 3pm, Deema escaped with her children while their captors were distracted. “I can’t stay in this house. I sleep at friends’ places now. A single gunshot, and I collapse,” she says.
Moatasem, a childhood friend of the family, drove the bodies to the hospital.
Lowering his voice, he says: “There were dozens of bullet wounds in each body. And I saw at least 10 more corpses on the road when we drove to the hospital.”
Hosam Saraya, 35, who had come from the US to visit after the fall of Bashar al-Assad in late 2024, was among those executed. “He wanted to start a charity here,” says Moatasem.
‘They shot at me while I ran’
At the city’s main hospital, the second floor is filled with wounded.
In one room, six patients lie in narrow beds. A 19-year-old, Safi Dargham, stares blankly, his face disfigured. A bullet entered through his ear and shattered his jaw. He was hit in the leg, arm and head – while looking for bread for his family.
“I didn’t have a weapon,” he says. “They just shot me. I recognised some of them – Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham, some had Islamic State symbols,” he adds in reference to HTS, the now-dissolved militant group, previously headed by Sharaa, that overthrew Assad’s government.
“I saw a tank. They shot at me while I ran.”
Safi is a film enthusiast who runs a small production studio. His father, who worked in a shoe factory, was killed the same day.
“My trust in this government? Less than zero,” he says.
In the bed next to him lies Wael Radwan, 63. He was among 21 men gathered in the madafeh – a traditional guest room used for hospitality – when gunmen stormed in.
“We offered them coffee, as tradition demands,” he says, voice trembling. “One of them sneered, ‘You Druze pigs. No coffee with you.’ Then they opened fire.”
More than half were killed. A video shows their bodies bleeding out on the floor, unarmed and dressed in civilian clothes.
“I believed in the revolution,” Wael says. “I marched every week against Bashar al-Assad for one year and four months. We wanted a government that protects all of us as Syrians. Not this. Not slaughter.”
Children, women, body parts
South of the city, Bassem Abou Saab drives to the top of Mount al-Rahha. There, in a makeshift mass grave, 20 metres long, he helped bury more than 100 bodies.
“There were children. Women. Body parts. I’ve barely slept since,” Abou Saab says. The blood is still there, stains marking the road.
Several Bedouin families also suffered violence as Druze militias carried out retaliatory attacks. Homes were looted or set on fire, some families forcibly expelled by Druze militias. Government troops suffered losses as well, with around 400 killed in the week of fighting.
‘We offered them coffee, as tradition demands. One of them sneered, ‘You Druze pigs. No coffee with you.’ Then they opened fire’
– Wael Radwan, Sweida
One teenager from the Bedouin community, a 17-year-old who asked not to be named, was evacuated from Sweida by the Syrian Arab Red Crescent. “We escaped death,” he says softly. “We thought they would burn us alive.”
He is now in Izraa, 30km away, with 40 other families who were forcibly evacuated. They’re now housed in a school, sleeping in classrooms turned into dorms.
Bedouin witnesses say they were beaten, rounded up in mosques, and threatened with execution. Some showed mobile footage of neighbours being shot in the street. In Shahba, a mixed village in Sweida, and surrounding towns, Bedouin families described summary executions, arson and mass expulsions.
Abdulraz al-Jawarin, a 40-year-old man from Shahba, lost six family members and 20 people on his street. “They killed my mother while she ran,” he says, showing her picture. “She was trying to escape. They shot her.”
Displaced Bedouins have no idea whether they will be able to return home, fearing reprisals from Druze militias.
It could all start again
The UN high commissioner for human rights, Volker Turk, cited “credible reports” of extrajudicial killings and kidnappings committed by all sides: the army, Bedouin militias, and local Druze forces. US Senator Marco Rubio condemned the violence and urged Damascus to “hold perpetrators accountable – including within its own ranks”.
According to Syrians for Truth and Justice (STJ), a Syrian rights organisation, the same pattern seen in the recent massacre of Alawite civilians along the coast may have been repeated in Sweida.
In March, armed opposition factions carried out a brutal attack on several Alawite-majority villages along Syria’s coastal region. Dozens of civilians were killed, including women and children, in what human rights monitors described as a targeted sectarian assault.
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“Beyond the likely involvement of state security forces in the massacres as in the coastal massacres, in Sweida the government allowed convoys of Sunni Arab tribal militiamen to pass through official checkpoints into the city,” says STJ director Bassam Alahmad.
On 22 July, a government commission published the findings of its inquiry into the coastal massacre, naming 298 individuals suspected of killing civilians – but according to SJT’s director, it avoided acknowledging the state’s institutional responsibility.
Yassin al-Haj Saleh, a Syrian writer, analyst and long-time dissident during Assad’s government, tells Middle East Eye: “This isn’t an accident. It happened twice. Either the state has lost control, or it’s complicit. In both cases, it’s a disaster.”
Sharaa thanked the Bedouins’ “heroic stance” on 19 July but urged them to leave Sweida city as they “cannot replace the role of the state in handling the country’s affairs and restoring security”.
“We demand they now respect the ceasefires,” he adds.
Saleh says this may be a point of no return as one of the biggest challenges for Syria is the disarmament of groups after 14 years of civil war.
‘We escaped death. We thought they would burn us alive’
– Bedouin teenager
“[Sharaa] talks about disarming groups not registered with the Ministry of Defence, while thanking armed groups outside the state. What message does that send to others? To the Kurds? To the Druze? To anyone else who carries weapons in the country?” says Saleh.
“It’s a green light for everyone. It’s legitimising chaos. I see no indications that he’s trying to stop the extremists.”
Bedouin tribes remain at the border, ready to re-enter Sweida.
Inside the city, the ceasefire holds – but only barely. Most men carry weapons, their pockets filled with ammunition. Sporadic gunfire echoes from the outskirts. Everyone knows that it could all start again.
