The risks behind the Damascus–Sweida prisoner swap

Dangerous precedent

Prisoner exchanges are not inherently problematic. In many conflicts, they serve humanitarian purposes by allowing detainees to return home and by opening channels for dialogue between adversaries. In fragile contexts, they can help prevent escalation.

But such exchanges are not exempt from legal constraints, especially when state actors are involved. Basic standards must apply. Those being swapped should be individuals lawfully detained, whether combatants captured during hostilities or suspects held under recognised legal procedures.

They should not include civilians imprisoned without charge solely to facilitate negotiations. Holding civilians solely for use in an exchange is widely regarded as unlawful. When states engage in such practices, the line between detention and hostage-taking begins to blur.

Recent remarks by Sweida's governor, Mustafa Bakour, suggest that this line may already have been crossed. In a televised interview on Syria TV, Bakour addressed the fate of individuals taken during the mass violence in Sweida in July last year.

He acknowledged that during clashes between Druze fighters and Sunni Bedouin tribes, hostages were taken on both sides. Authorities later persuaded tribal groups to hand over some detainees to state custody. Yet rather than releasing them, the government transferred these civilians to Adra prison near Damascus.

When pressed on why these individuals had not been released, Bakour stated that they were being held under what he described as "precautionary detention" until hostages held by armed groups in Sweida were released.

Crossing a line

In effect, individuals who had already been victims of kidnapping were transformed into detainees of the state itself. The shift in custody did not alter the underlying dynamic. It merely relocated it.

There has been no official disclosure of how many individuals were held in this way. However, Reuters has reported that as many as 140 Druze civilians were detained in Adra Central Prison without formal charges. According to the same report, 36 were released by the government last October. One of those freed said he received no documentation confirming either his detention or release, only around $90 and a new mobile phone.

Defenders of the government's approach argue that the authorities were navigating an impossible situation. If the state had simply released detainees while armed factions continued to hold government personnel, it would have appeared weak. At the same time, leaving civilians in the hands of tribal militias risked exposing them to torture or further violence.

These pressures are real. In fragmented post-conflict environments, state actors often face situations in which every available option carries risk. But such constraints do not remove the need for legal boundaries. They make them more important. The question is not whether difficult choices must be made, but whether those choices remain anchored in a framework that distinguishes lawful authority from coercive expediency.

By the government's own account, many of those detained in Adra were not criminal suspects. Their detention was driven by strategic considerations rather than legal necessity.  That distinction is not technical; it is foundational.

Slippery slope

Since the fall of Bashar al-Assad's regime in December 2024, Syria's transitional leadership has repeatedly promised to break with the abuses of the past. Unlawful detention and the use of civilians as leverage were central tools of the old regime. Replicating any of those practices—regardless of the justifications—risks eroding the credibility of that commitment.

Such actions undermine the very foundations of the rule-based system the transitional authorities seek to rebuild. Unlawful detention may seem expedient in moments of crisis, but it ultimately erodes the legal foundations of the state. More importantly, the danger lies not only in the act itself, but in its normalisation. Measures adopted in times of crisis create precedents that, in turn, justify further exceptions.

The consequences extend beyond legal concerns. They shape how citizens perceive the state and its role. A state's primary obligation is to protect its citizens, especially those who have already been victims of violence. When individuals come to see that detention can be used as a tool of negotiation by the authorities, trust in state institutions begins to erode.

These risks are particularly acute in Sweida. The province remains outside full government control, and mistrust of Damascus runs deep within the Druze community. Using Druze civilians as leverage in prisoner exchanges risks reinforcing that mistrust. Even if the government's objective is to secure releases or prevent escalation, the method sends a clear signal about how power is exercised.

For communities already wary of central authority, such actions are unlikely to be seen as a pragmatic necessity. Instead, they risk confirming fears that the state remains willing to subordinate individual rights to political calculation.

Risky fix

The release of the 86 detainees is, without doubt, welcome news for their families. But the legally questionable means used to secure the exchange should not be overlooked. Short-term decisions can carry lasting consequences if they undermine institutional credibility.

Transitions are shaped as much by early precedents as by formal reforms. Practices adopted in moments of crisis often become embedded in institutional behaviour, shaping how authority is exercised long after the immediate pressure has passed.

In Syria, the central challenge is not simply to restore order, but to define its character. Will the emerging system be grounded in predictable rules and accountable institutions, or will it continue to rely on ad hoc measures driven by shifting political needs?

Allowing civilians to be used as bargaining tools points clearly to the latter. It signals that legal protections remain contingent, liable to suspension when the stakes are deemed high enough.

If Syria's new authorities are serious about building a legitimate and durable political order, they must draw clear limits around what is permissible, even in moments of crisis. Without such safeguards, the new Syria risks inheriting some of the very practices it urgently needs to leave behind.