From Bashar al-Assad to Mojtaba Khamenei

The most important lesson of Syria’s experience is not that hereditary republics necessarily fall quickly; it is that the contradiction they planted at the heart of the republic remains alive

From Bashar al-Assad to Mojtaba Khamenei

In the early 1990s, Bashar al-Assad was living in London. His days were spent in laboratories, his spare hours in cafés and nightclubs. The ‘doctor’ did not see himself as a political figure, still less as a ruler. He was the president’s second son. At the time, the designated heir was his elder brother, the ‘knight’ Basil, who had been carefully groomed for power in the barracks of the army and the lexicon of the party. Yet the car crash that took Basil’s life on the airport road in 1994 suddenly opened paths no one had anticipated.

Bashar was summoned home from London. He was quickly initiated into the school of succession, adorned with honours, and furnished with a vocabulary suited to his new rank. When the elder Assad died in 2000, the chair did not pass to a vice-president, the ranks did not go to his military commanders, and the offices were not left to his party comrades. The constitution itself was altered to fit Bashar, clearing the way for him to assume the presidency.

In practice, Syria became a hereditary republic—a jumlukiya. This was far more than a technical amendment to the text. It was a decision that changed the course of the state. The enthronement drove a wedge into the regime itself, even as its founding comrades had already begun to drift away. In 2011, protests erupted and were swept into torrents of blood, mounds of skulls, and seas of severed limbs. After more than a decade of war, collapse, fragmentation, and isolation, the younger Assad fled in 2024, bringing to an end a dynasty that had held the ‘republic’ hostage for more than half a century.

Today, Iran stands at a similar turning point. After more than three decades in power, Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei was killed on 28 February in a joint American-Israeli strike. Days later, the Assembly of Experts announced the appointment of his son and gatekeeper, Mojtaba, as Supreme Leader. Thus, the office passed from father to son within a system whose founding narrative rested on the rebellion of the ‘founding guide’, Khomeini, against dynastic monarchy half a century ago.

The appointment of Khamenei’s son, who lacks religious legitimacy, reflects the balance of power within the regime. The Revolutionary Guard has grown into a formidable military, economic, and political force, and now stands as the most powerful actor in the equation. For this reason, some believe Mojtaba may assume a role akin to the one once associated with Bashar in his early years: the public face of a system steered by the entrenched centres of the old guard.

Even if Mojtaba remains in power for many years, the manner of his accession will leave a deep political wound within this Islamic jumlukiya

London link

The irony is that the paths of both heirs run through the same city. Bashar spent years in London as a student before being called back abruptly to Damascus. Mojtaba, too, spent periods in the British capital in the middle of the first decade of this century, staying there for several months for investment and medical treatment.

London, which in both cases served as a place of passage and treatment, became the opening chapter in a larger political story. The differences between the two systems, however, remain profound, even if an alliance once bound them together. Syria is not Iran. The president is not the Supreme Leader. The 'leader of the march' is not the Wali al-Faqih.

Yet the flaw in hereditary succession lies less in the office that is inherited than in the nature of the heir himself. Power passes not to a man who has forged himself through competition or experience, but to a son born into privilege, wealth, and influence, far removed from trial, intrigue, and ordeal. When such an heir suddenly finds himself at the summit of the state, he must govern a complex regime amid mounting challenges before he has truly tested the limits of power or reckoned with its dangers.

This paradox does more than expose a flaw. It opens fissures within the regime itself. Authoritarian systems are rarely sustained by one man alone, however central he may be to the balance of forces. They rest on a broad alliance of officers, bureaucrats, security chiefs, party functionaries, and interest groups. These were the people who built the regime alongside the 'first leader' and the 'Supreme Guide', and who expected, or persuaded themselves, that they would remain partners in its future.

Yet when power passes to the son, comrades are reduced to subordinates, partners become subjects at the heir's court, generals retreat into the corridors of the barracks, and the ambitious discover that their illusions have been stripped away. From that moment, silent fractures begin to spread within the regime, as personal ambition curdles into humiliation and exclusion.

Hereditary republics often appear stable on the surface while remaining brittle behind their walls

The veneer of stability

This is why hereditary republics so often appear stable on the surface while remaining brittle behind their walls. They seem strong because power has been concentrated in the hands of a single family. Yet that very concentration disturbs the web of balances that once kept the regime coherent and its enmities contained.

History, however, does not always move along a single path, and regimes do not reproduce themselves in identical form. Bashar al-Assad, who at the start of his rule appeared little more than a provisional heir, managed to remain in power for 24 years. The Iranian system, shaped by a deeper ideological foundation than the Syrian one, may well succeed in consolidating this transition and reproducing itself once more.

Yet even if Mojtaba Khamenei remains in power for many years and survives attempts on his life, the manner of his accession will leave a deep political wound within this Islamic jumlukiya. Every dynastic transfer in a system that proclaims itself a republic reopens the most troubling of questions: legitimacy.

The most important lesson of Syria's experience is not that hereditary republics necessarily fall quickly. It is that the contradiction they planted at the heart of the republic remains alive, even when everything appears still.

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