I wish Ambassador Tom Barrack’s optimism were enough to heal Syria. In his essay last month, “Syria and Lebanon Are the Next Pieces for Levant Peace,” he imagines a region turning from conflict to commerce, from war to wealth. That vision speaks to all who have suffered through years of destruction. But those of us who know Syria’s realities understand a harder truth: prosperity without security is like building a house on sand.
In Syria’s Christian Valley — a place I once knew for its quiet beauty and hospitality — fear has replaced the sound of church bells. Snipers have killed residents without reason. Families have sold their homes after nights of intimidation. Cemeteries have been desecrated; graves of loved ones stand shattered. Every story carries the same refrain: people no longer feel safe in the land that once gave them peace.
This is not about economics. It is about fear, about the absence of a state that protects all its citizens equally — Christian, Muslim, Yazidi, or Druze. For the mother who hides her son from armed men at the checkpoint, or the shopkeeper who wonders if his business will survive the next militia visit, the question is not whether foreign investment will come. The question is whether they will live to see another Sunday.
Security is not a technical issue; it is the heartbeat of reconstruction. A nation can rebuild its bridges and power plants, but if it cannot rebuild trust, those bridges will only connect ruins. Peace cannot be enforced by paperwork or conferences. It must be lived — through justice, professional policing, and accountability for those who harm civilians.
Christians and other minorities survived for centuries in Syria because there once existed a simple, if fragile, social contract: the state guaranteed a measure of protection. That contract collapsed during the war. Today, in too many areas, armed groups and foreign patrons decide who may stay, who must leave, and who may reclaim a home. Rebuilding under those conditions will only widen the gap between the powerful and the powerless.
True renewal begins when Syrians can walk to church or mosque without fear, when no family is forced to sell its home under threat, when cemeteries are again places of memory and not desecration. Only then can prosperity have moral meaning. Without this, Christians in particular face an existential threat in Syria. During the war the Christian population dropped by half.
Ambassador Barrack’s vision of a region united by opportunity is noble. But opportunity cannot replace safety, and growth cannot substitute for justice. The first step toward a durable peace is ensuring that all Syrians are safe in their communities. Recent negotiations between the various Syrian communities and the Syrian Interim Government have stressed the importance of local police forces. This is promising- and crucial. Syrians, especially ethnic minorities, cannot live in fear of being targeted by foreign fighters in their own communities.
The people of Syria are tired of slogans. They want something deeply human: to live without fear, to send their children to school, to rebuild their towns without paying a bribe or fearing a bullet. These are the real foundations of peace. When the rule of law takes root, prosperity will follow naturally. If we reverse that order, hope will once again sink into the sand.
The Christian Valley stands as both a warning and a symbol. Beneath its green hills lie the echoes of a plural Syria — a country where neighbors of different faiths once shared the same destiny. Preserving that spirit is not only a moral duty; it is the only way to ensure that any future prosperity endures.
Security before prosperity. Justice before reconstruction.
Only on solid ground can Syria — and its ancient communities — truly rise again.