by Diala Abou Matar
Are “European people with blue eyes and blond hair”—as Ukraine’s former deputy chief prosecutor put it (Ajana et al. 2024)—more worthy of sympathy and international support? When covering the Ukrainian refugee crisis in 2022, television reporter Philippe Corbé said, “We’re not talking here about Syrians fleeing the bombing of the Syrian regime backed by Putin; we’re talking about Europeans leaving in cars that look like ours to save their lives” (AMEJA Statement). The French news reporter’s words were swiftly translated and thrown into the digital whirlwind of social media outrage that followed similar statements made by Western journalists. On platforms like X (formerly Twitter), responses ranged from indignation to irony and humor. However, the issue is larger than hollow retweets, as it goes beyond the selectivity of our solidarity with oppressed people that users flagged.
Both Ukrainians and Syrians are resisting Russian aggression, yet the discourse surrounding refugees from each country exposes a clear Orientalist binary. The “civilized” Ukrainians are portrayed as fighters for democracy, directly contrasted with the “Other”—the “uncivilized” Middle Eastern victims. Despite sharing the same aggressor, the type of language used by these Western journalists depicts Syrians as perpetual victims of war and instability. In the words of Dr. Mustafa Bayoumi, their oppression is depicted as a “natural state of people of color” (“They are ‘civilized’ and ‘look like us’“). Nowhere is this more evident than in the erasure of Middle Eastern women’s roles in revolution and resistance in favor of reducing them to helpless victims (Muhtaseb 2020). This narrative not only limits the global understanding of their reality but materially distorts it.
For instance, Orientalist misrepresentations have significant sociopolitical consequences for Syrian women. Firstly, by portraying Syrian women as perpetual victims, media narratives erase their active roles in resistance—whether through community organizing, political activism, or daily survival under oppressive conditions. Secondly, these misrepresentations shape public opinion and refugee policies, tangibly impacting the lives of Syrian women. Traditional media shapes “citizens’ understanding of what the arrival of these refugees will likely suppose for their respective country” (“The Refugee Crisis’ Double Standards“). This manifests in the experiences of displaced Syrian women who are disproportionately affected as they tend to have fewer financial resources but primary childcare responsibility. The UNHCR’s report “Woman Alone” highlights the discrimination, vulnerability to exploitation, and violence Syrian refugee women face in search of housing and employment. Many of them were professionals—engineers, pharmacists, or teachers—before displacement, yet struggle to be recognized beyond their status as refugees. Additionally, “dominant gendered constructions present women as more vulnerable asylum seekers than men, often reducing women to the status of passive victimhood” (“Disrupted Families“). One woman, formerly financially stable in Aleppo, reflects: “My role as a woman has completely changed. I was independent and strong in Syria” (“Woman Alone“). The obstacles they face are not simply byproducts of war but are exacerbated by an international discourse that strips them of agency. It is crucial to challenge these limiting narratives and recognize that their lives do not exist in a vacuum of victimhood—they lived rich lives before the war and continue to fight for a better future in and outside Syria.
Further, the endurance of these misrepresentations is not accidental. While mainstream media largely ignored the political activism of Syrian women, Kurdish female fighters were prominently featured in Western magazines, often framed as feminist icons. This strategic selectivity in the media aligns with Western geopolitical interests. Outlets like Time and The Guardian published interviews with these Kurdish women, emphasizing their defiance against patriarchal norms (“Meet the Women Taking the Battle to ISIS“). However, the romanticized coverage of Kurdish female fighters as symbols of gender liberation can reduce their struggle. By presenting it as one of individual empowerment rather than a collective fight for self-determination, it further marginalizes the spectrum of women-led activism across Syria.
The West’s portrayal of Syrian women traps them in a narrow narrative of helplessness, ignoring their histories of resistance and revolution. Whether it is on cobblestone streets in Damascus or in tents of refugee camps, Syrian women continue to fight not just for survival, but for autonomy and recognition. To confine them to victimhood is to erase their agency and rewrite their struggle. If the world is willing to acknowledge Ukrainian women as resilient survivors, why does it deny that same sympathy to Syrian women? Challenging these biases is not just about fair journalism. It’s about the reality of resistance itself: how women exercise it, and which women are granted the agency to resist.
WGS340 WOMEN & REVOLUTION IN THE MIDDLE EAST 