In 1927, amid the tightening siege and brutal oppression by the French against the people of the Great Syrian Revoltespecially those from Jabal al-Arab—refugees found a safe haven in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, where they settled for years.

King Abdulaziz bin Abdulrahman Al Saud, despite being preoccupied at the time with unifying the Arabian Peninsula, did not hesitate to open the gates of his land. He welcomed hundreds of displaced families, particularly Druze, and provided them with shelter and protection in the desert of Wadi Sirhan in the north of the Kingdom.

The King’s stance was not based on the Geneva Conventions, nor on the Arab nationalism concepts that later emerged. Rather, it sprang from an inherited Arab moral code—an ethical system preceding international agreements and more deeply rooted than political constitutions—built on aiding the distressed, defending those who seek refuge, and refusing to compromise in the face of injustice.

Today, in the year marking the centenary of the Great Syrian Revolt, Sweida once again faces the same test: a siege aiming to break the will of its people and humiliate their spirits—not by Ottomans nor French this time, but by fellow Syrians who have grown arrogant and tyrannical, violating the noble Qur’anic verse: “We made you into nations and tribes so that you may know one another.”

This siege chokes civilians not only by cutting off food, medicine, water, and essential services, but also by intensifying the isolation of the region through a sectarian incitement campaign—one that has even targeted history itself, attempting to distort its truths.

Sweida—the mountain that has never compromised with injustice, never betrayed a neighbor, and never abandoned its principles—has always kept the flame of resistance alive. Following in the footsteps of al-Basha, its people embraced his lessons of national unity over sectarianism. The governorate has long been known for its balance, patriotism, and avoidance of reckless ventures, yet it has never hesitated to resist oppression and repel aggression.

Sweida stood against assaults on Syrian provinces, refused to partake in the bloodshed of fellow citizens, and declined to send its sons to fight elsewhere. Throughout its history, there is no record of it attacking a neighbor or kin. Weapons were only ever raised to defend land, honor, and people—especially during the most recent attack on July 13.

That assault was fueled by a racist notion—“You are Druze, why are you still alive?”—and the bullet fired in response to the elderly man’s reply—“Brother, I am Syrian”—did not just pierce his heart; it struck deep into the heart of national unity itself, sanctioning the spilling of blood, looting of livelihoods, and violation of dignity.

This campaign did not come from nowhere. Long before the physical attack, there had been a coordinated sectarian incitement against the Druze community, driven and amplified by state media, then furthered by thousands of organized fake accounts, all aimed at dismantling national unity and Syrian identity.

Such an approach found fertile ground in the regime’s intransigence since its rise to power—its refusal to take genuine steps toward building trust among Syria’s communities, its neglect of civil peace foundations, and its exclusion of certain components from governance. It chose a government of one color, one method, and one voice, deaf to all demands that did not align with its singular approach.

King Abdulaziz’s stance toward the Druze during the Great Syrian Revolt was a turning point in a moment of weakness and siege. It was part of an enduring Arab-Islamic tradition—a legacy we see in the Kingdom’s continued support for Arab humanitarian causes. In the face of the challenge Sweida now endures alone, the eyes of the mountain turn toward the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques, King Salman bin Abdulaziz, and his Crown Prince, Mohammed bin Salman, hoping they will stand by the afflicted region after the assaults it has suffered.

Sweida has not asked for money or weapons, nor sought power. It has only demanded partnership in the homeland and space for all Syrian components—natural foundations without which no state can stand. Instead, it has been met with smear campaigns and accusations against anyone who called for such principles—an attack on its very existence and identity.

If the concern for Syria’s future and security is what has driven the Kingdom’s significant economic support, part of which has been manifested in efforts to lift sanctions on Syria, then such concern must also extend to the torn Syrian identity—shattered by years of dictatorship and the destruction of state institutions—through an initiative no less important or necessary than economic aid.

The need to preserve citizens’ dignity and prevent harm before it reaches them outweighs the need for economy and money. The massacres in the coastal region, the events in Sahnaya and Jaramana, and now the catastrophe in Sweida are but direct results of ignoring the demands for civil peace and trust-building, and of refusing the urgent necessity of restoring humanity before reconstruction.

The mountain that once came to you now lies under a suffocating siege that cannot be lifted by food aid alone. The paralysis caused by this disaster—through the theft of livelihoods, the destruction of what could not be looted, and the displacement of over one hundred thousand residents after their villages were burned and plundered—will require years of solidarity and work to heal. Yet there is little hope as long as denial persists, attempting to cover up the disaster.

Stubbornness—denying reality and hanging crimes against civilians on flimsy pretextshas deprived Syria, land and people, of stability and life. Today we witness the beginnings of a scenario we have lived before—step by step, stage after stage—a scenario that destroyed innocent lives and deprived children of their future and education. This makes us anticipate an Arab role in the southern region, perhaps the only lifeline before all Syrians drown.

By Huda Saleem Al-Muhaithawi