Justice or Memory? What Post-War Syria Can’t Afford to Forget

In the aftermath of war, there’s always a question: what comes first, accountability or healing? For Syria, a nation carrying both ancient civilizations and modern-day trauma, the answer isn’t either-or. It’s both. Still, the debate between transitional justice vs. cultural memory has divided policymakers, historians, and survivors alike.

I’ve seen what forgetting does. And I’ve also seen the paralyzing weight of memory left unspoken. When writing my books, from Palmyre pour toujours to Guard Thy Heart, I found myself asking: how do we carry truth without letting it destroy us? How do we honor memory without living inside it forever?

These aren’t abstract questions. They live in the homes of refugees, in the archives of our libraries, and in the ruins of cities like Homs and Aleppo. And they demand honest answers.

Why Transitional Justice Alone Can’t Heal Syria

Transitional justice refers to the legal and institutional processes that seek accountability after mass violence, tribunals, truth commissions, and reparations. For countries like Rwanda or South Africa, these systems played a key role in national healing. But Syria presents a far more fragmented case. There are too many actors, too many layers of harm, and too many political hands in the process.

Accountability matters. But it isn’t enough on its own. For many Syrians, especially those in exile, justice delayed often feels like justice denied. More than a decade after the uprisings, victims are still waiting. War criminals remain in power or comfortably abroad. Paperwork piles up while memories erode.

When justice becomes purely procedural, housed in international courts or diplomatic files, it risks ignoring the emotional and cultural truths people carry with them. That’s why transitional justice vs. cultural memory is a moral debate, not a legal one.

Cultural Memory- The Stories We Carry When Institutions Fail

If justice is about prosecution, then memory is about preservation. Cultural memory is embedded in oral histories, family traditions, poetry, songs, old recipes, and even ruins. It survives in places where courts can’t reach.

I’ve spoken to Syrian parents who teach their children lullabies from Damascus, songs now banned or forgotten. I’ve visited families in Europe who still write the names of destroyed neighborhoods on Eid cards. These are small acts of cultural resistance. They say: “We still exist. We still remember.”

In Palmyre pour toujours, I tried to capture this tension, the idea that memory isn’t passive. It’s political. To remember what has been taken is, in itself, a form of justice. This is why the battle of transitional justice vs. cultural memory is more than theoretical. It defines how Syrians will reclaim their narrative in the years ahead.

Why the Two Must Work Together, Not Compete

We often see transitional justice and cultural memory as separate tracks, one for the courtroom, one for the museum. But that’s a mistake. If justice focuses only on punishment, and memory only on the past, then we miss the opportunity for shared healing.

The two must complement one another. Cultural memory can inform justice by preserving testimonies, documenting local histories, and reminding institutions what’s truly at stake. And justice can protect memory by validating what people lived through, by saying, officially, “Yes, this happened. And it mattered.”

I believe Syria needs more than just political transitions. It needs cultural repair. And that means creating space for both trials and storytelling. For legal reform and poetry. For new constitutions and old songs.

What Happens When We Choose One and Neglect the Other

There’s danger in imbalance. If we focus only on justice, we risk deepening disillusionment. People wait years for court verdicts that may never come. And in the meantime, they feel invisible.

If we focus only on memory, we risk romanticizing pain or stalling political reform. Nostalgia alone won’t rebuild a country. What we need is a synthesis, memory that fuels justice, and justice that protects memory.

The question isn’t whether Syria chooses transitional justice vs. cultural memory, it’s whether we’re wise enough to integrate both.

The Role of Writers, Artists, and Citizens in Preserving Truth

It’s not just up to lawmakers or judges. Every day, Syrians carry the burden of preserving the truth. Writers, artists, filmmakers, musicians, we all document what history might otherwise erase.

I’ve seen murals painted on bombed-out walls, novels that trace the arc of trauma, and short films made with smartphones that hold more truth than official broadcasts. These acts are part of cultural justice. They are not supplemental, they are central.

That’s why in every book I write, even when fiction leads the way, I carry my country with me. Not the politics, but the people. Their resilience, their stories, their memory.

What Syria Teaches the World About Memory and Accountability

Syria is not the first nation to wrestle with this divide, and it won’t be the last. From Bosnia to Colombia, the challenge remains: how do you create a future while honoring a wounded past?

Syria’s lesson is this: don’t wait for peace to start remembering. Don’t wait for institutions to begin healing. Let memory lead where justice cannot go. Let justice catch up when the world is ready.

This is how you rebuild, not just infrastructure, but identity.

Let Us Not Forget, So That We May One Day Forgive

To those outside Syria, the words “transitional justice vs. cultural memory” may sound academic. But to those of us who lived it, they are survival. Memory without justice can become a burden. Justice without memory becomes hollow. But together, they create something powerful: truth that moves, heals, and restores.

Let us not choose between justice and memory. Let us insist on both. For the sake of Syria, and for the stories yet to be told.