After fourteen years of civil war, the Syrian Christian community has lost nearly 80 million members. Caught between sectarian violence, chronic insecurity, and disillusionment with the new Islamist regime, those who remain waver between fragile hope and the temptation of permanent exile. An alarming report and poignant testimonies paint a portrait of a community on the brink of extinction.
There are numbers that speak louder than any speech. In 2011, when the first demonstrations of the "Arab Spring" shook the SyriaIn the past, there were nearly two million Christians in this country, the cradle of Christianity. Today, according to the most recent estimates, there are only 300,000 to 500,000 left, a precipitous drop of more than 75%. This demographic hemorrhage, undoubtedly the most brutal in the modern history of Eastern Christians, threatens to erase a presence spanning two millennia.
For it was indeed in Damascus that Saul of Tarsus converted to become Saint Paul. It was in Syria that the disciples of Christ were first called "Christians", at AntiochNearly two thousand years ago, this land was where some of the world's oldest Christian communities developed, still speaking Aramaic, the language of Christ himself. Today, this cradle of Christianity may soon exist only in history books.
How did we get here? To understand, we must delve into a war that destroyed everything in its path: cities, the economy, the social fabric, and with them the hopes of millions of Syrians, from all religious backgrounds. But we must also confront what has happened since the fall of the Assad regime in December 2024, and the dashed hopes of a community that had believed it could turn the page.
The collapse of a thousand-year-old community
From confessional mosaic to general every man for himself
Before the war, there Syria resembled a unique confessional mosaic in the Middle East. Christians They represented between 8 and 10% of the population, spread across a dozen different denominations: Greek Orthodox (the most numerous with around 170,000 faithful), Melkite Greek Catholics (200,000), Syriac Orthodox and Catholics, Armenian Gregorians and Catholics, Maronites, Chaldeans, Assyrians, Latins, Protestants… This fascinating diversity testified to a rich and complex history, where each community had managed to preserve its traditions while participating in the common life of the country.
This coexistence, however imperfect it may have been under the authoritarian Assad regime, nevertheless guaranteed a certain tranquility. Christians They ran renowned schools, high-quality hospitals, and clinics open to all, regardless of religion. They held positions in administration, commerce, and the liberal professions. Their presence was as much a part of the Syrian landscape as the ancient stones of Aleppo or the gardens of Damascus. They were essential players in economic and social life, natural bridges between East and West.
The major Syrian cities all bore the mark of this Christian presence: the Christian quarter of Bab Touma in the old city of Damascus, the cathedrals and souks of Aleppo, the ancient monasteries of Maaloula where Aramaic is still spoken, the Valley of the Christians (Wadi al-Nassara) with its villages clinging to the hills near Homs. Every stone, every bell tower, every liturgical chant testified to this deep-rooted presence.
Then everything changed. When the peaceful protests of 2011 turned into a civil war, Christians They found themselves caught in a vice. On one side, a brutal regime that exploited their fear to present itself as a protector of minorities, using them as an alibi for its supposed secularism. On the other, rebel groups increasingly dominated by radical Islamist movements that saw them as "crusaders" or accomplices of the regime.
The reality, of course, was more nuanced. Many Christians supported neither the regime nor the rebels, preferring to remain aloof from a conflict that wasn't theirs. Some, particularly among the young, had even joined the opposition in the early months, dreaming of a Syria democratic and pluralistic. But the rise of jihadist groups, the arrival of foreign fighters, and the radicalization of the conflict quickly made this position untenable.
The result, as you can imagine, was a mass exodus. In Aleppo, the country's second-largest city and once the beating heart of Syrian Christianity, the Christian population dwindled from 150,000 to... the war to fewer than 25,000 today, of which only 4,000 are between 18 and 30 years old. In Homs, the situation is even worse: Christian neighborhoods have been devastated, their inhabitants scattered to the four winds. In some areas that have fallen into the hands of the Islamic State, such as Raqqa and Deir ez-Zor, the Christian presence has simply been eradicated, with residents given the choice between conversion, immediate departure, or death.
The figures of a disaster foretold
The data is staggering, almost unreal. According to Cardinal Mario Zenari, apostolic nuncio to Damascus since 2008 and the only diplomat of the Vatican having never left his post throughout the entire conflict, Christians which still represented 6,130 of the Syrian population just before the conflict now constitute only 2,130 today. A drop of two-thirds in barely fifteen years.
To measure the scale of the disaster, we must go back in time. At the end of the Second World War, Christians They represented 25% of the Syrian population, or about three million people out of a total of 12 million inhabitants. This gradual decline, initially slow then accelerated, already reflected unfavorable demographic dynamics: lower birth rate, economic emigration to the West, rise of Arab nationalism.
But nothing had prepared the community for the hemorrhage caused by the war civil. According to the Chaldean Bishop of Aleppo, Bishop Antoine Audo, half of the 1.5 million Christians present in 2011 left the country during the early years of the conflict. And the movement has never stopped since. Between March 2011 and the end of 2012 alone, it is estimated that 260,000 Syrian Christians sought refuge in Lebanon neighbor, already economically drained.
Others have joined the diaspora in Europe, particularly in Germany and in Sweden, North America or Australia. Many will never return. For Christian emigration has this particular characteristic: it is rarely temporary. Families leave with the idea of starting their lives anew elsewhere, of allowing their children to grow up in safety, of having a future not punctuated by bombings, shortages and fear.
“Every family has lost one of its members,” summarizes Ibrahim, a resident of Aleppo in his thirties, interviewed by the NGO Open Doors. The war "It has reignited the hidden hatred between Christians and Muslims. Neighbors have become enemies, and in some areas, like Raqqa, the entire Christian presence is dying out." His testimony, gathered after ten years of war, sounds like a cry of alarm.
Those Who Remain: Between Resilience and Exhaustion
Yet some cling on. Driven by a deep-seated attachment to their ancestral land, by profound religious conviction, by a practical inability to leave, or simply because they refuse to give in to fear. These diehards form the last bulwark against the complete disappearance of a presence that is two thousand years old.
Organizations like L'Œuvre d'Orient, which has been working alongside Christians in the Middle East for over 160 years and is present in 23 countries, are trying to empower them to stay. Through projects like the "Hope Centers" in Aleppo, Homs, and Damascus, they offer interest-free microloans to help families restart economic activity and regain their financial independence. The aim is to break the vicious cycle of dependency and dependence.
“The project aims to help Christian families become financially independent to encourage them to stay in their country and contribute to the economic life of their nation,” explains Safir Salim, coordinator of the Hope Center program in SyriaThe approach is pragmatic: rather than one-off assistance, it offers the tools for regaining dignity. A hairdresser who can reopen his salon, a goldsmith who can return to his workshop, a taxi driver who finally acquires his own vehicle after years of handing over half his earnings to the owner.
Vincent Gelot, director of the Œuvre d'Orient for the Syria and the Lebanon, regularly travels the country's potholed roads to meet these struggling communities. “The Syria "It's a ravaged country," he testifies. "It's a country that has endured more than 50 years of dictatorship, 14 years of horrific wars that have absolutely destroyed the country, its cities, its public services." His assessment is unequivocal: the scars are visible everywhere, and beyond the material destruction, it is the social fabric itself that has been torn apart.
These humanitarian efforts, however, are hampered by a catastrophic economic reality. More than 95% of the Syrian population now lives below the poverty line. povertyInflation has made wages paltry. Shortages of electricity—sometimes lasting only two hours a day—fuel, and basic necessities punctuate an exhausting daily life. Queues to buy bread can last up to five hours. Under these conditions, even the most determined eventually doubt their ability to endure.
The fall of Assad and the dashed hopes
December 2024: The end of a regime, the beginning of uncertainties
On December 8, 2024, the world learned with astonishment of the fall of Bashar al-Assad, following a lightning offensive led by a coalition of rebel groups dominated by Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS). In just twelve days, the regime had collapsed like a house of cards, with the dictator fleeing to Russia where he was granted political asylum.
For many Syrians, it was a moment of intense hope. The end of fifty-four years of Assad's dictatorship, the prospect of finally turning the page on a devastating conflict that had left between 300,000 and 500,000 dead, 1.5 million wounded, 5.6 million refugees, and 6.2 million internally displaced. Images of prisoners released from the regime's jails, the horrific accounts emerging from torture centers, confirmed what many already knew: the Assad regime was a killing machine.
But for ChristiansThere was no time for euphoria. For who were these new masters of Damascus who entered the great mosque of the Umayyads as victors?
Ahmed al-Charaa – known by his nom de guerre «Abu Mohammed al-Julani» – had a singularly troublesome past. He had been involved with al-Qaeda in Iraq in the early 2000s after the American invasion, and was incarcerated in the sinister prison from Abu Ghraib where he had rubbed shoulders with other future jihadist leaders, founder of the al-Nusra Front (official Syrian branch of Al-Qaeda) in 2012, long considered a terrorist by the United States, the UN, the European Union and even Russia, with a $10 million bounty on his head.
Certainly, he had carefully cultivated his image in recent years, trading his combat fatigues for a suit and tie, his bushy fighter's beard for the neatly trimmed beard of a respectable notable. In 2016, he had officially broken with Al-Qaeda and renamed his movement Hayat Tahrir al-Sham. He had ruled the Idlib region in northwestern Syria with an iron fist, but without imposing an overly strict application of Sharia law, granting relative freedom of worship to Christians and Druze. But could he truly be trusted?
“We were hopeful when al-Assad’s fall was confirmed,” says Wakil, a Syrian Christian interviewed by Christian Solidarity International. But very quickly, worrying signs multiplied, transforming cautious hope into a deep-seated anxiety.
From the very first days, incidents were reported: Christmas trees set ablaze by masked fighters in Souqaylabiya near Hama, intimidation in Christian neighborhoods, and aggressive Islamist preaching. The new government was quick to condemn these excesses and promised to prosecute the perpetrators—described as "non-Syrians"—but the damage was done. Trust, already fragile, began to crumble.
March 2025: The massacre of minorities
In early March 2025, the situation deteriorated dramatically. In the predominantly Alawite coastal regions—the Shiite community from which the Assad clan originates—violence of extreme brutality erupted. What began as a crackdown on “regime sympathizers” escalated into sectarian massacres of terrifying proportions.
On March 6, suspected supporters of the former regime attacked security forces in the Latakia region. The response was disproportionate and indiscriminate. In three days, more than a thousand civilians were killed, primarily Alawites but also Christians caught in the turmoil. Fighters loyal to the transitional government chanted chilling sectarian slogans: "They are Alawite pigs!" Summary executions multiplied in the villages. Entire families were massacred. Tens of thousands of people fled to other regions.
In Latakia, a large cosmopolitan port city, Christians They barricaded themselves in their homes, terrified. "We've been staying home since the escalation began and have barricaded our doors for fear of foreign fighters entering," one resident told AFP, speaking on condition of anonymity for fear of reprisals. Non-Syrian jihadists, accused of participating in the massacres, openly threatened minorities in videos circulating on social media.
The Orthodox Patriarch of Antioch, John X, made a solemn appeal to interim President Ahmad al-Sharaa during his Sunday homily in Damascus: “Stop the massacres! The targeted areas were Alawite and Christian. Many innocent Christians have also been killed.” The Church, usually cautious in its political pronouncements, broke with its reserve to voice its outrage.
The trauma was immense and lasting. “I am now convinced that emigration is the only solution,” confided Roueida, a 36-year-old Christian woman reached by telephone. “We feel that no one is protecting us.” Gabriel, a 37-year-old craftsman, made the same bitter observation: “I am not reassured about my future, and I don’t dare get married and have children here. Ten years ago, I had the opportunity to leave for Canada"But I thought the situation would improve. Today, I bitterly regret not having seized the opportunity."
The Islamic constitution: the institutionalization of exclusion
As if to drive the point home, on March 13, 2025 – the very day after the coastal massacres – Ahmed al-Charaa signed a new interim constitution for the Syria, intended to remain in force for five years. A text that establishes Islamic law (sharia) as the "primary source of legislation" and stipulates that the head of state must be a Sunni Muslim.
For minorities—Kurds, Druze, Alawites, Christians—it was a rude awakening. Certainly, the text promised to "preserve the rights of all religious and ethnic groups," and a few ministers from minority groups were appointed to the transitional government: a Christian, a Druze, a Kurd, and an Alawite. But how can one believe in these inclusive promises when the fundamental law explicitly institutionalizes a confessional hierarchy?
“Syrians want a secular constitution that gives every citizen the freedom to live without interference from religion or Islamic law,” says Aliyah, a 44-year-old Alawite woman from Jableh. She points out a cruel irony: “Contrary to popular opinion, Alawites enjoyed no privileges under Assad. Like most Syrians, we suffered the consequences of his monopoly on power. Now, we have the choice between starving to death or being killed because of our religious affiliation.” But this is clearly not the path the “new” constitution is taking. Syria »".
Every day, worrying signs of religious intolerance are multiplying: broken alcohol bottles in shops, segregation of men and women on public transport, posters encouraging female students to wear the full veil, preaching of Islam in Christian neighborhoods, destruction of crosses on graves. "It's true that we reacted immediately to all these incidents," Wakil acknowledges, "but minorities are genuinely afraid. We don't know where all this is leading."
The June 2025 attack: the final blow?
The Bloody Sunday of the Mar Elias Church
On June 22, 2025, in the late afternoon, as worshippers at the Mar Elias (Saint Elijah) Greek Orthodox Church in the Dwelaa district, in the southern suburbs of Damascus, attended the Sunday evening liturgy, the unthinkable happened. A moment of reflection and prayer turned into a bloodbath.
An armed man first opened fire from outside the church, then entered amidst screams and panic. Courageous worshippers tried to stop and subdue him. It was no use: he detonated the explosive belt he was wearing under his clothes.
The toll was horrific: 25 dead, more than 60 injured, many of whom will suffer lifelong consequences. Unbearable images circulated around the world: debris of wood and holy icons scattered on the blood-covered ground, families screaming in anguish as they searched for their loved ones lost beneath the rubble. One mother, desperately searching for her son whose phone remained silent, told reporters: "I'm afraid I'll never hear his voice again."
The Syrian Interior Ministry quickly attributed the attack to the Islamic State (ISIS), stating that the suicide bomber was "affiliated with the terrorist group." It was the first suicide attack in the Syrian capital since the fall of Assad, and the deadliest against Syria. Christians since… 1860, the year of the massacres that bloodied Mount Lebanon and Damascus under the Ottoman Empire.
Yes, you read that right: since the massacre of 1860, in a completely different historical context, never Christians of Syria had never suffered such a massacre in a place of worship. Not even during the worst years of the war Civil society, even during the atrocities of the Islamic State, had no church been targeted with such deadly violence within its walls.
The anger of the patriarchs
At the solemn funeral, held two days later in the Church of the Holy Cross in Damascus, the Greek Orthodox Patriarch of Antioch and All the East, John X (Youhanna X), did not mince words. Addressing President Ahmad al-Sharaa directly, he declared with barely contained anger: “We cannot accept that this should happen during the revolution and under your authority. Yesterday, you offered your condolences by telephone to the patriarchal vicar. That is not enough.”
The patriarch insisted forcefully: "The government bears full responsibility" for the protection of Christians. He condemned what he called an "unacceptable massacre." It was a message of rare firmness addressed to a government that is clearly struggling to ensure the safety of minorities despite its repeated promises.
At VaticanThe consternation was equally profound. Cardinal Claudio Gugerotti, Prefect of the Dicastery for the Oriental Churches and a seasoned diplomat of the Holy See, expressed his deepest fears: “Unfortunately, I fear we cannot even imagine what might happen in the coming days. The only certainty is that such a massacre of Christians would mean a tenfold increase in the exodus of Christians from the countries of the Middle East. »
In an even more solemn tone, the cardinal added: “Faced with what has happened, expressing one’s closeness is insufficient. Today, we say that we are with you. In that church in Damascus, they killed us too.” These words, spoken by a prelate usually reserved, conveyed the full gravity of the moment.
THE Pope Leo XIVDuring his general audience on June 25, he condemned the "heinous attack" perpetrated against the Greek Orthodox community and called on the international community not to "turn its gaze away" from this martyred country. This injunction resonated as a call for collective responsibility.
After the attack: fear as a daily companion
In the weeks and months following the Mar Elias attack, the trauma took deep root in the Christian community. Security measures were reinforced at church entrances, with volunteers and government forces tasked with screening worshippers. But paradoxically, these visible measures heightened the sense of insecurity rather than dispelling it.
“Churches were places of peace and security, havens of reflection,” testifies Brother Firas Lutfi, parish priest of the Latin community of Saint Paul in Damascus, whose parish is located not far from the site of the massacre. “They are now perceived as dangerous places, potential targets. The faithful are living in panic; even those who weren’t at church that day are traumatized. We’re seeing a significant drop in Mass attendance throughout the country.”
On July 13, an attempted attack was narrowly thwarted in front of a Maronite church, also dedicated to Mar Elias (Saint Elijah), in the village of Al-Kharibat near Tartous. A car bomb had been spotted before it exploded, thanks to the vigilance of residents and security forces. This was a huge relief, but also proof that the threat remains ever-present and that Christians remain targets.
In Aleppo, Brother Bahjat Karakach, the city's Latin priest, testifies to the changing atmosphere: "The security measures in our churches, the checks, the closed doors, the fear of attacks… All of this creates a constant feeling of insecurity." A concrete result: the Latin Church has significantly reduced its pastoral activities. The annual summer camps for children and young people, a much-anticipated event of the summer, have been simply canceled.
The Latin bishop of SyriaBishop Hanna Jallouf, a Franciscan like Brother Bahjat, summarized the situation with overwhelming figures: "Before the attack, approximately 50% of Christian families were considering emigrating in the short or long term. Today, that number has reached 90%." Nine out of ten families are thinking of leaving: the observation is staggering.
“There’s nothing worse than living in a place where you don’t feel safe,” Jenny Haddad, a 21-year-old civil servant who had just lost her father in the attack, told an AFP correspondent covering the funeral. “I don’t want to stay here anymore. Death surrounds us everywhere. We knew our turn would come.” These were terrible words from a young woman who should have her whole life ahead of her.
Towards a programmed disappearance?
Experts and observers are unanimously pessimistic about the future of the Christian presence in SyriaFabrice Balanche, a geographer and research director at the University of Lyon, a recognized specialist in Syrian geopolitics for decades, observes a sadly familiar pattern: "As seen in the past in Egypt or Iraq, every massacre in a church is followed by a Christian exodus. Families leave, especially young people, and never return."
The Iraqi example is on everyone's mind and haunts the nights of Syrian Christians. After the fall of Saddam Hussein in 2003 and the American invasion, Christians Iraq's population, which numbered 1.5 million, has been reduced to fewer than 400,000 by persecution, terrorism (notably from Al-Qaeda and later the Islamic State), chronic political instability, and sectarian violence. Syria seems to be following the same tragic path, perhaps even more rapidly.
Cardinal Zenari had warned as early as 2019, during a speech in Budapest: if nothing fundamentally changes, Christians could disappear from Syria by 2060. The June 2025 attack, the March massacres, and the ensuing violence seem to have dramatically accelerated this grim timeline. Some are now talking about one or two decades, no more.
«"« Christians"Too geographically dispersed and weakened by intensive emigration during the conflict, they have little protective territory to retreat to," analyzes Tigrane Yégavian, a researcher at the Christian Institute of the East and author of "Minorities of the East, the Forgotten of History." Unlike the Kurds, who control the northeast of the country, or the Druze, concentrated in the Suwayda region in the south, Christians are scattered throughout the country, vulnerable everywhere, a majority nowhere.
In late September 2025, two young Christian men were shot dead in Wadi al-Nassara, the "valley of the Christians" west of Homs, one of the few remaining areas where they constituted a majority. In Qosseyr, not far from there, Sunni refugees who had returned after years of exile accused Christians locals for having participated in their eviction alongside Lebanese Hezbollah during the warThey force them to leave in order to seize their property and homes. The Christian town of Méhardeh, isolated in a predominantly Sunni region, had to pay off neighboring towns to prevent them from fulfilling their desire for revenge.
What hope remains?
Despite everything, despite the fear and despair, some stubbornly refuse to give up. Brother Bahjat Karakach, a Latin priest in Aleppo, insists with a faith that commands respect: “We must be creative, break free from rigid evangelization patterns, and find new paths. We must not let evil have the last word. We believe in the power of God’s grace and in the resurrection"Words that draw from the very sources of..." Christianity, born precisely on this land.
The Church, in its denominational diversity, continues to play a vital social role for the entire Syrian population, distributing food and medical aid, and running schools and clinics open to all without distinction of religion or denomination. Perhaps it is in this selfless and universal service that the best response to hatred and sectarianism lies.
The "Light for Syria" event (Light for the Syria), organized from November 25 to 27, 2025 in Damascus by the Episcopal Committee of Syria Under the chairmanship of the Apostolic Nuncio Mario Zenari, the meeting brought together the main Christian humanitarian aid agencies and local stakeholders to define a common strategic vision. Education, health, employment, reconstruction, interreligious dialogue, Diaspora, governance: the challenges are immense, but the will to rebuild a future remains.
The international community also has a crucial role to play. The European Union, the leading donor of humanitarian aid in Syria With over €33 billion mobilized since 2011, the EU has considerable leverage. Making aid and the gradual lifting of sanctions conditional on concrete guarantees for minorities could tip the scales. The European Centre for Law and Justice (ECLJ) has already mobilized MEPs to urge the Commission to demand these guarantees in any discussion about the country's future.
But time is running out inexorably. Every passing day sees families packing their suitcases, never to return. Every attack, every act of violence, every daily humiliation, every broken cross on a grave, brings the Christian community a little closer to Syria the demographic point of no return.
“We are strangers in our own country,” many Syrian Christians tell journalists and aid workers who come to meet them. This profoundly sad statement sums up their feeling of having become survivors in a land that was their ancestors’ home for twenty centuries, long before the arrival of Islam.
Patriarch John X asked the right question, the only one that matters, at the funeral in June: "We are not asking for privileges. We are simply asking to be able to live in peace and security, like any other Syrian citizen. Is that too much to ask?"
Only time will tell if this request—so basic, so human, so universal—will finally be heard by those who have the power to change things. In the meantime, the bells of Syrian churches continue to ring, ever more quietly, ever less frequently, for a community that dwindles a little more each day. And yet, against all odds, it refuses to disappear without a fight, to fade away without bearing witness, to die without hope.
