What Does the Future Hold for Syrian Television Artists?
By Nour Halabi
Before his passing, the late actor and outspoken Syrian opposition member Amer al Sbay’i once reflected on the future of Syrian drama. He was particularly concerned with the future of artists who were outspoken supporters of the al-Assad regime, addressing them saying, “you may enjoy stardom for now, but tomorrow when the dawn of freedom rises, […] what will you do?” Indeed, on December 8, 2024, the Syrian people awoke to a dawn announcement by the Syrian journalist of Saudi-owned al-Hadath Television, Hussein al-Sheikh, the iconic words that Syrians joke have triggered “6:18 syndrome.”
Syrians inside the country and exiles and forced migrants in the diaspora continually replay journalist Hussain al-Sheikh’s words as they grapple with a surreal reality, one that seemed almost unattainable a few days earlier. As of January 4, 2025, the al-Sheikh’s Instagram clip shared was liked over 32 thousand times on Instagram, replayed many more times, and remixed into songs (الساعة الان السادسة وثماني عشرة دقيقة كاملة _ بالحب بدنا نعمرا سوريا الحلوى وين اجملها | ترند – YouTube) and numerous memes.
As the celebrations of both the fall of the Assad regime and the new year subside, the “6:18 syndrome” is giving way to a gradual sense of recognition of a renewed hope for Syrians. It is in this period that a wave of contention has emerged, rippling through the media and arts sector and calling for a reckoning with the role artists played throughout the years of the Syrian Revolution, as allies of the regime known as shabbiha–or cautiously silent or outspoken opposition members.
The buildup to this moment had been brewing for over a decade, illustrated in the declaration made by the actress Yara Sabri in 2013, welcoming the prospect of acting alongside artists with whom she disagrees politically, but drawing the line at shabbiha (a term used for fervent regime supporters and collaborators, originally referring to the colloquial term used for the model of Mercedes cars that Assad regime issued to its supporters). As the nation ushered in a new year without Assad, cultural producers appeared among the celebrating crowds in Ummayad Square, most notably actress Caresse Bashar. Others, such as Yara Sabri, Humam Hout, and Maxime Khalil, have returned from exile to festive welcomes in Damascus and Aleppo. Meanwhile, Syrian drama creators continue to exclude Shabbiha artists who championed the regime over the past thirteen years.
Notable among them was Sulaf Fawakhirji, the pale-skinned, green-eyed beauty that graced Syrian television screens[1] in iconic shows such as Wilada min al khasira defended Bashar al Assad after outbreak of protests in 2011, declaring:
Let us join hands with the faithful president, the man who called for reform first and before anyone else. While we may differ on many things and demands, but we agree on one thing and that is our love of country and this honorable leader. (Fawakhirji, 2013)
Attacks against Fawakhirji, Suzan Najmeddine and other Shabbiha artists have prompted many regime supporters to issue statements retracting or apologizing for their former stances. Meanwhile, audience response to repenting regime supporters’ statements on social media platforms has been broadly unsympathetic and unforgiving.
Over the last decade, Syrian drama suffered from the deprivation of two of its core strengths: shooting on location and ensemble casts. As the regime destroyed urban areas, and as security concerns rose across the country, filming was increasingly restricted to central Damascus. At the same time, the forced displacement of artists deprived audiences from enjoying the ensemble casts common in Syrian drama of the past, such as Hatem Ali’s iconic Four Seasons, a serial that featured an entire cast of exceptional actors including Khaled Taja, Yara Sabri, Bassam Koussa, Jamal Suleiman. The social fragmentation and political polarization of the post-Assad era will certainly impact the sector’s prospects.
Perhaps nowhere is the fragmentation and deteriorating relationships within the drama field clearer than in the public disagreements playing out in the prominent family of Syrian artists: the Sbay’is, whose member Amer Sbay’i foretold of the dawn of freedom bringing a reckoning to Syrian society and the arts world alike. Amer’s father, the iconic actor Rafic Sbay’i had cut two of his sons out of his will because of their opposition to Assad’s regime. In response to this news, his son the actor Bashar Sbay’i commented that his father’s disappointing decision was emblematic of the “regime’s police state and its role in decimating the social cohesion of the country.” Such ongoing polarization, alongside the emergence of a new leadership in Damascus that has thus far not expressed an appreciation of the arts, and which appears to have conservative leanings, portends a difficult future for the industry.
Since its inception in the 1960s, Syrian television drama has often entered the homes of Arabic speakers around the world and acted as a cultural envoy of the Syrian people, familiarizing audiences with Syrian culture, dialect, cuisine, architecture, music and society. Over the course of over a decade of exile outside of my homeland, I have been struck by Omanis, Egyptians and other Arabs who address me in the Shami dialect, eager to express their fondness for my homeland cultivated over years of consuming Syrian shows from Four Seasons to Bab al Hara. Little do these fans know that Syrian drama has from the outset navigated some of the poorest resource environments and most repressive censorship conditions of any cultural industry. It has weathered multiple geopolitical crises with great impact to purchasing and viewership such as the post-Hariri sanctions and the post-2011 Assad crackdown. I’ll say now what I’ve said before about my countryfolk, I would never bet against the Syrian people, a lesson those who have done in the past have learned the hard way.
[1] It is important to note here that Sulaf Fawakhirji represents an ideal of beauty that is common in Syrian society where colorism and a fascination with blue and green eyes is common.