The shift in the discourse of political elites from the language of war and polarization to that of the state and citizenship represents one of the central challenges in post-conflict transformations. It presents us with a paradox that transcends simplistic moral explanations based on notions of hypocrisy or personal opportunism.
Empirical observation indicates that many leaders, who initially built their legitimacy on radical or sectarian rhetoric during conflict, later transform into advocates of inclusive nationalism. This can even extend to symbolic rituals, such as standing in places of worship belonging to other sects, declaring their adherence to a religious discourse different from their previous beliefs.
This transformation, according to in-depth sociological analysis, can be considered a complex phenomenon reflecting the mechanisms of strategic adaptation to the conditions of discourse production in diverse contexts.
Discourse theory, in its analysis of political systems, suggests that language, while a reflection of the structure of interests, is also the product of a complex dialectic between the speaking subject, the target audience, and the social conditions of production. In the stages of armed conflict, the mechanism of “falsifying preferences,” formulated by rational choice theory, comes into play. Political actors are compelled to adopt an extreme discourse that doesn’t necessarily reflect their personal convictions, but rather their need to survive in a competitive arena that demands “public extremism” as a prerequisite for loyalty.
At that point, harsh rhetoric becomes a functional tool for rallying collective sentiment in a context that threatens the collective existence of the sect or group. The leader then practices what interactionist sociology calls “impression management” within what Erving Goffman termed the closed “background,” addressing the believing community in its own language.
However, the transition from a state of war to a state of statehood fundamentally alters the structure of interests, and consequently, the conditions for the production of discourse.
Political stability, unlike war, is not built with bullets but with inclusive discourse, and legitimacy is not produced through sectarian mobilization but through mutual recognition among the components of society. Here, “political realism” imposes its new rules, as the actor realizes that the continuation of their rule requires national legitimacy and international recognition, necessitating a shift from an “us versus them” discourse to one of “inclusive citizenship.”
This is what Goffman describes as moving to the “front line,” where the audience and demands are different, forcing the actor to “change the rhetorical code” like an actor changing costumes on stage.
In political terms, this is not necessarily considered hypocrisy, but rather an implicit or explicit awareness that each context has its own rules for producing acceptable and effective discourse.
Deep within Islamic tradition, we find foundational mechanisms for this phenomenon that transcend ethical interpretation and delve into functional analysis.
From the perspective of Maqasid al-Sharia (objectives of Islamic law), a fatwa is not a static text recited outside of time and place, but a living entity that breathes the air of reality.
Scholars of Islamic political jurisprudence establish the principle of “the change of fatwas with the change of time, place, and custom,” meaning that the shift from takfir (excommunication) to ta’lif (reconciliation) is not a methodological contradiction but a response to the changing demands of public interest. In the context of occupation or a threat to collective existence, fatwas advocating confrontation may emerge as a defensive response, as was the case with the fatwas resisting the Mongol Yasaq. However, in the context of a stable state to which the mufti feels a sense of belonging, the jurisprudence of objectives (maqasid al-shari’ah) dictates a conciliatory discourse that prevents bloodshed and fosters unity, following the foundational model of the Constitution of Medina, which established a supra-religious citizenship fourteen centuries ago.
This underscores that the shift in discourse is not a matter of immediate pragmatism, but rather an extension of a fundamentalist methodology that reproduces the same principles (preservation of life, property, and religion) in different contexts and through different means.
Thus, the phenomenon unfolds as a case of “strategic adaptation,” where language is used like a screwdriver, changing according to the nature of the task.
The leader who speaks the language of nationalism today has not necessarily forgotten or lied about his past; rather, he is engaging in political code-changing because he has practically realized that the rhetoric of war destroys the state, while the rhetoric of coexistence builds it. What is new in this analysis is linking this transformation to the issue of belonging. In the pre-state era, belonging was focused solely on the group, making the discourse of conflict the only possible rational discourse.
However, after the establishment of the state and the feeling of belonging to it as a unifying framework, the discourse of citizenship becomes the rational discourse. Indeed, clinging to the old discourse of war in a time of stability becomes a sign of failure to understand the rules of the new political game.
This is the journey of the leader from ideological revolutionary to pragmatic ruler, a journey governed above all by the public interest and the common survival.
The critical question remains open to the Syrian public in particular, and to societies emerging from conflict in general: Does this type of rhetorical pragmatism represent political maturity that protects societies from self-isolation, or is it merely a temporary deception that collapses at the first real test of crises?
Answering this question requires criteria that go beyond discourse analysis to an analysis of actual practice and the extent to which the rhetorical shift is reflected in public policies and institutions. The decisive criterion, it seems, lies not in a leader’s ability to change their rhetoric, but rather in their capacity to build institutions that make this new rhetoric possible and enduring even after their departure.
In other words, does the inclusive discourse transform from a mere personal strategy into an institutional culture and a constitutional framework that protects diversity and absorbs shocks?
This is the true test that distinguishes constructive pragmatism from fleeting opportunism.
