Prayers with no thoughts by Emma Schneider

There is a peculiar sound that follows a suicide bomb. It is not the blast itself but the silence that follows. The silence of ruined pews and broken faith. The silence of splintered icons and the sudden stillness of prayer mid-sentence. The silence of a promise betrayed. That is the sound that now haunts a Greek Orthodox Church in Syria, where a man armed with bullets and brimstone tore through liturgy and life before blowing himself to whatever paradise he imagined.

Twenty-two dead. Sixty-three wounded. A bomb planted not just in the body of a killer, but in the soul of a nation that once dared whisper the words “freedom” and “democracy.” This week’s attack was more than a terrorist act; it was a sacrilegious punctuation mark in the slow unraveling of a deceitful political sermon. The former jihadist-turned-president once offered olive branches to the Christian minority. He spoke of unity, of a “new Syria” built on tolerance and diversity. But his words now lie in rubble, buried beneath the shattered roof of a sanctuary that was supposed to be safe.

Let’s not pretend this is isolated. No, this is the inevitable product of political hypocrisy wearing a democracy costume bought off the rack from a secondhand dictatorship. In a country still recovering from civil war, blood-soaked agendas, and decades of sectarian manipulation, the idea of freedom has been stretched and torn so much it now resembles a caricature, like a sad clown at a funeral.

The irony? This isn’t even the worst part. The real gut punch is that the very president who now struts around international conferences with the suave smugness of a born-again moderate was once a poster boy for radicalism. And just like the shapeshifting chameleons of history, remember Pinochet’s “economic reforms” or Mubarak’s “stability”? he promised just enough glitter to keep foreign policymakers distracted from the actual rot. He said all the right things about respecting minorities, about protecting sacred sites, about the future of a pluralistic Syria. The West, of course, nodded approvingly between bites of canapés and deals sealed with a handshake.

But ask the mourners now kneeling beside bloodstained altar steps if they feel respected. Ask the Orthodox community, one of the oldest Christian communities in the world, let’s not forget, if they feel protected. Ask the child whose priest died shielding worshippers if democracy is alive and well. You’ll get silence.

What makes this attack particularly vile is not just the number of dead. It is the symbolic nature of the violence. This was not just a suicide bombing, it was a targeted desecration. A loud, flaming exclamation point in a campaign of fear. It was meant to remind Christians in Syria that they may be citizens on paper, but they are guests at gunpoint. And in this twisted theatre of lies, the message is chillingly clear: don’t get too comfortable.

The president, of course, will condemn it. With dramatic flair. He’ll visit a different church (one still standing, preferably with decent lighting for the cameras), offer vague condolences, perhaps even quote scripture. Meanwhile, beneath the table, his network of paramilitaries and conveniently uncontrolled “extremists” will continue to operate with just enough deniability to fool the casual observer, and just enough brutality to keep minorities in line.

Freedom, it seems, is a seasonal fruit in Syria, served only when it suits the regime’s diet.

Let us not be fooled by the masquerade. The bomb in that church didn’t just kill people, it killed credibility. It exposed the dangerous illusion that authoritarian figures can morph into liberal reformers if you squint hard enough. The West has long been guilty of this delusion, treating certain strongmen like geopolitical spa treatments: brutal, yes, but good for stability. Syria’s former jihadist-turned-president is just the latest beneficiary of this diplomatic daydream.

But to the Orthodox Christians whose faith now mingles with ashes, the dream is over. They’ve woken to the sound of betrayal, the stench of blood in incense smoke, and the realization that their safety was always a campaign slogan, not a commitment.

So what now? Another round of international “concern”? More meaningless statements from embassies that will be forgotten before next week’s brunch? Syria’s minorities don’t need sympathy, they need policy. They need accountability. And most of all, they need the world to stop pretending that rebranding a radical makes him a reformer.

The church bells will ring again one day in that ruined sanctuary. They always do. The faithful will rebuild with stubborn hope, as they always have. But let no one forget: while the prayers rise toward heaven, the broken promises lie at our feet. And we, too, are responsible for stepping over them.