It is striking that some mechanisms of transitional justice—such as official apologies or symbolic reparations—did not cost much. The budget of the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission was only $18 million, and in Peru, transitional justice efforts that focused on symbolic reparation, official apologies, and uncovering the truth under the sponsorship and will of the state cost merely $13 million.
As for countries that provided financial compensation, we find Morocco. The Moroccan Equity and Reconciliation Commission’s budget slightly exceeded $2 billion, compensating 27,723 beneficiaries with financial reparations as of 2023, according to the Moroccan National Human Rights Council, which is responsible for following up on the commission’s recommendations.
It is worth noting that the reparations are still in the implementation phase, which makes them, primarily, decisions with a quasi-judicial nature, and their execution is a binding obligation for Morocco over time. Morocco is one of the few countries to have provided such extensive direct support. In any case, the state’s financial capacities are not of paramount importance, given that international agreements urge member states to contribute, as a duty, to funding transitional justice programs in any country undertaking such a process. This makes the financial burden secondary. Transitional justice does not require funds at the outset. Yet, countries emerging from prolonged conflict—like Syria—still hesitate to take these basic steps. Why, then, this hesitation? Is it truly a financial issue? Or is the answer deeper than the numbers?
From a purely national Syrian perspective, it is impossible to think about any process of reparation—whether material or moral—without a transparent environment that clarifies the state’s priorities and places its budget under scrutiny and accountability.
Talking about compensating victims of violations becomes pointless if we do not know how money is spent, to whom it is given, and at whose expense it is wasted.
Accordingly, in the absence of financial transparency within the Syrian state, justice—from a purely national perspective, even if symbolic and not fully reliant on the international community—remains delayed. Its deferral is understandable given the difficulty of the foundational phase. Still, in any case, Syria’s 2024 budget was only $2.6 billion in a country devastated by 13 years of war and catastrophic economic consequences of the Assad era. The new Minister of Finance even announced the suspension of the 2025 annual budget, switching to a monthly budget instead. On 2025/1/7, he stated that the twelfth budget is temporary until economic conditions become suitable to draft a general state budget.
It appears that Syria’s current budget is in no way sufficient to address the financial compensation component alone. However, it is certainly capable of initiating a state apology, symbolic reparations, and preparing for a comprehensive financial compensation project at a later stage, on behalf of the former regime. This makes it imperative for the current president to understand a crucial truth: he is a continuation of the state as a whole, not an extension of Assad. Therefore, his responsibility to address the legacy of the former regime’s human rights violations is firmly established, and the new government cannot justify disassociating itself from the state simply because of the previous regime’s actions.
In this context, the judiciary appears to be the most telling paradox. The justice system does not require massive funding as much as it requires a legal elite representing all political and sectarian orientations—honest, independent, and courageous—capable of restoring public trust and reassuring Syria’s diverse communities in the post-conflict period. Judicial budgets around the world are often modest compared to security and defense ministries, yet they are effective when managed efficiently and when judges are chosen for their merit, not their loyalty. This cannot be achieved by a single political or sectarian faction alone, but requires all sects to unite within a unified judicial body.
Perhaps the biggest question remains: what prevents the establishment of a judiciary that reflects all intellectual and cultural orientations in Syria? What hinders the formation of a judicial authority that belongs only to the law, embraces diversity rather than exclusion, and pursues justice rather than vengeance?
I genuinely believe that reconciliation and national consensus on grievances start with legal professionals—not with politics, economics, or large budgets.
This confirms that it may be time to realize that justice is not a burden on the budget, but rather a mirror of the sincerity of intentions to build a shared future.
In conclusion, and in the same spirit, I affirm that the mission of the new Syrian state is not an easy one. It is unfair to judge it at this stage. Accordingly, the test of the state’s will, and the call to follow the correct path toward justice to reduce mistakes that may lead to the country’s fragmentation, does not stem from intellectual luxury or ideological inclinations, but—due to its utmost importance—is a duty for every Syrian patriot. Guiding the will of the state as a whole to achieve it is of critical importance and is within reach.
