Veils on promises and values by Mia Rodríguez

The Mediterranean, once a cradle of culture, rebellion, and revolution, now watches its waves gently lap the shores of a Syria slowly cloaking itself in heavy cloth, both literal and metaphorical. The burkini, that full-body swimsuit touted as a compromise between religious modesty and aquatic freedom, has become the latest symbol of a deeper, more unsettling trend: Syria's steady drift away from promised freedoms and toward a worldview disturbingly reminiscent of the Taliban.

Yes, I said it. And no, it's not about beachwear. It never was. When the Arab Spring first reached Syria, it carried with it a wind of hope. There were dreams of democracy, civil rights, freedom of expression, things as alien to the Ba’ath regime as bikinis are to conservative imams. But that spring turned bitterly cold, frozen under the boots of military dictators and warped into a proxy battlefield. Years later, amid the ruins and rubble, Syria reassembles itself, not as a phoenix of modern liberty, but as something far more regressive.

Enter: the burkini. Now before some well-meaning liberal reader jumps in, I am not arguing against a woman’s right to wear what she wants. Quite the opposite. But when “choice” is replaced with “mandate,” when what’s modest is enforced and what’s liberal is punished, we are not discussing fashion anymore, we are talking control.

The recent quiet wave of burkini-approval in Syria’s public and hotel beaches isn’t a standalone moment of cultural preservation. It’s part of a broader script, one written in small ink and big fear, turning once-cosmopolitan corners of Syrian life into theater stages for religious conservatism. Slowly, steadily, what was once encouraged as freedom to choose is being eroded by quiet intimidation, whispered fatwas, and a system that looks less like a nation healing from war and more like one slipping into a religiously dictated coma.

Let’s be honest: Syria isn’t becoming more religious; it’s becoming more performative in its religiosity. And that's a very different, very dangerous thing.

The same beaches where once men and women laughed under the sun, perhaps overly hopeful, are now policed not by officers, but by peer pressure and political opportunism dressed in clerical robes. Want to open a café that plays music? Good luck. Want to display art that shows a woman's figure? You'll be called decadent at best, a target at worst. The burkini is not an isolated fashion item; it's the uniform of a larger campaign, one that paints freedom of expression as moral corruption and individualism as Western infection.

Ironically, the burkini itself was created in Australia by a Lebanese-born designer, as a symbol of integration, not segregation. But in Syria, it’s being repurposed not as an option, but as a norm, slowly pressuring women into one more layer of state-sanctioned invisibility. And when the state, religious authorities, and social circles begin to converge in expectations of how a woman should behave, the so-called “choice” becomes an illusion.

The Taliban didn't conquer Afghanistan overnight with Kalashnikovs. They did it over years with whispers, rules, and relentless messaging. Women went from doctors and lawyers to ghosts in blue fabric, one silent step at a time. Syria seems to be taking that same walk, but with softer sandals and quieter slogans.

Yes, a burkini is better than banning women from the beach entirely. But let’s not mistake slightly less oppression for progress.

When we applaud “modesty movements” in societies where women’s choices are already under siege, we are not cheering for cultural diversity. We are enabling slow erasure. And make no mistake, it is the women who pay. Always the women.

In a region where war has stolen homes, lives, futures, and childhoods, must it now steal sunlight too? Syria was supposed to emerge scarred but freer, a society awakened. But instead of freedom, it's leaning into fear. And fear, dressed up in ideology, is the most effective leash a regime can use.

So the next time someone tells you a burkini is a step forward, ask: for whom? And who isn’t allowed to walk the other way? The revolution didn’t drown under waves, it dried out under robes. Let’s not call this modesty. Let’s call it what it is: quiet tyranny, stitched one swimsuit at a time.