Alevis and Alawites: A Comparative Study of History, Theology, and Politics

Abstract

The Alevis of Anatolia and the Balkans and the Alawites of Syria and southeastern Turkey are two distinct ethnoreligious communities frequently conflated in both media and scholarly literature, despite their divergent historical origins, theological differences, and varying sociocultural formations. While their shared histories of marginalization and persecution, certain theological parallels, and cognate ethnonyms contribute to this conflation, it largely stems from a broader tendency within mainstream Islamic frameworks to homogenize so-called heterodox communities without sufficient attention to their doctrinal and cultural specificities. This paper, grounded in a synthetic analysis of current scholarship, maps the key historical, theological, and sociocultural intersections and divergences between Alawite and Alevi communities. Situated within the broader framework of intra-Islamic diversity, it seeks to move beyond essentialist and homogenizing paradigms by foregrounding the distinct genealogies of each tradition, rooted, respectively, in the early pro-Alid movements of Iraq and Syria and in Anatolian Sufism. In addition, the study examines the communities’ overlapping political trajectories in the modern era, particularly their alignments with leftist and secular–nationalist currents, as well as their evolving relationship—from mutual unawareness to a recent political rapprochement—prompted by the growing existential threats posed by the rise of Sunni-Salafi Islamist movements.

Islamists, both Muslim and Western, have had a way of absorbing the point of view of orthodox Islam; this has gone so far that Christian Islamists have looked with horror on Muslim heretics for teaching doctrines which are taken for granted coming from St. John or St. Paul.

---M.G.S. Hodgson1

1. Introduction

The Alevis of Anatolia and the Alawites of Syria and southern Turkey are distinct ethnoreligious communities. Yet, they are frequently conflated and misrepresented in both media and academic discourse. Despite their divergent historical trajectories, theological frameworks, and sociocultural identities, this conflation persists, in part, due to their cognate names, comparable histories of marginalization and persecution, and certain symbolic or doctrinal convergences. Their misrepresentation is further compounded by the widespread but reductive classification of both groups under Shiʿi Islam, despite the fact that neither community formally self-identifies as (mainstream) Shiʿi.2

Both “Alevi” and “Alawite”—the former a Turkified and the latter an Anglicized form of the Arabic word ‘Alawī—literally mean “follower of ʿAli”. These terms have largely supplanted the historically more specific epithets Kızılbaş and Nusayrī, and reflect both groups’ shared veneration of ʿAli ibn Abi Talib, the cousin and son-in-law of the Prophet Muhammad.3 Beyond their common Alid devotion—an attribute they share with mainstream, sharia-bound Shiʿi Muslims—both Alevi and Alawite traditions are shaped by a pronounced esoteric orientation. This esotericism prioritizes inner meaning (bāṭin) over external form (ẓāhir), positing that the former can only be accessed by an enlightened minority. Both communities also exhibit antinomian tendencies, rejecting or downplaying external religious law in favor of spiritual insight and inner transformation. This is especially evident in their dismissal, at least in the literal sense, of sharia as the primary framework for religious and social life.4

Condemned as “heretics” by both Sunni and Shiʿi authorities, Alevis and Alawites have faced systemic marginalization and recurrent persecution throughout their histories. In Islamic parlance, they are classified as ghulāt, an Arabic term meaning “exaggerators” or “those who go beyond the pale”. This designation was initially employed by Shiʿi scholars and later adopted more broadly by medieval Muslim heresiographers.5 Modern scholars have also used this normative label, often misleadingly translating it as “extremist Shiʿites”, to refer to a range of groups seen as united by their alleged divinization of ʿAli.6

The belief systems of these so-called ghulāt—referred to in this article as early pro-Alid movements—are frequently described as “syncretic” due to their apparent fusion of Islamic teachings with pre-Islamic or non-Islamic elements.7 However, the classification of certain religious traditions as “syncretic” is itself inherently problematic, insofar as all religious formations are, to some extent, historically composite, shaped through long-term processes of adaptation, reinterpretation, and cross-cultural exchange. When used ahistorically and as a classificatory device, the term “syncretic” thus functions less as a neutral analytical category than as a normative judgment. It implies a distinction between purportedly “pure” or “authentic” forms of religion and those deemed “corrupted” or “deviant”. In this way, the notion of syncretism becomes a tool of othering, reinforcing the epistemic authority of those who presume to define religious orthodoxy. This discursive bias remains deeply embedded in the historiography of Islam, where it continues to shape both academic and polemical narratives.8

Setting aside these problematic frameworks, it is clear that both Alevi and Alawite traditions have long been perceived as transgressive of Islamic normativity. This perception is rooted primarily in their esoteric interpretations of sharia and their conception of the divine as immanently present within the created world. This latter theological orientation, which stands in contrast to Islam’s normative emphasis on the absolute ontological separation between God and creation, undergirds several key doctrines within both traditions. Among these is the belief that human beings—most notably ʿAli—serve as loci of divine manifestation, a notion often crudely misconstrued by outsiders as the “divinization of ʿAli”, with little appreciation for its underlying theological nuance. Both groups also articulate doctrines concerning the immortality of the soul, its transmigration through various corporeal forms, and a cyclical view of existence. Paradise and hell are, thus, not taken literally, but understood allegorically as expressions of the soul’s spiritual refinement or estrangement.

Despite the apparent incompatibility of Alevi and Alawite doctrines with canonical Islam, both traditions emerged and are deeply embedded within Islamic discursive frameworks. While their origins are rooted within Islamic intellectual and devotional milieus, however, they have developed into autonomous religious systems and communities, maintaining an ambiguous, if not entirely severed, relationship with the wider Muslim umma.9

In what follows, this paper first examines the positioning of Alevi and Alawite religious traditions within the broader framework of intra-Islamic diversity, highlighting the theological features that have led to their historical labeling as “heretical” by both Sunni and Shiʿi authorities. It then traces their respective historical trajectories, religious structures, and sociocultural specificities, with particular attention to historical origins, theological foundations, ritual practices, and communal organization. The paper further explores the groups’ shared experiences of persecution and marginalization across different periods and political contexts, as well as their parallel political affiliations with leftist and secular–nationalist movements in the modern era. Finally, it underscores the evolving relationship between the two communities, charting the shift from mutual unawareness to a recent political rapprochement, prompted by shared existential threats posed by the rise of Sunni-Salafi Islamist movements.

2. Intra-Muslim Diversity and Those Beyond the Pale: Alevis and Alawites in Islamic Context

The Alevis and Alawites are often subsumed under Shiʿi Islam due to their veneration of ʿAli, the first Shiʿi Imam, and his eleven successors, despite neither group typically identifying as Shiʿi in the mainstream sense. This reductionist classification largely stems from the tendency to frame intra-Islamic diversity solely through the Sunni–Shiʿi division. However, this binary represents only one axis of differentiation within Islam. Another critical axis, which intersects with the Sunni–Shiʿi divide, is the distinction between esoteric–mystical interpretations and literalist–legalistic approaches to religion. When both axes of differentiation are considered, as illustrated in Figure 1, a clearer picture emerges regarding the relative positioning of various confessional traditions and theological tendencies within the broader Islamic framework.

This diagram, among other things, serves to refine the conventional Sunni–Shiʿi binary, which is typically framed as a dispute over succession following the death of Muhammad—specifically with Sunnism characterized by the acceptance of the legitimacy of the first four caliphs, and Shiʿism by the rejection of the first three and the recognition of ʿAli’s rightful authority. It more accurately captures the complexity of intra-Islamic diversity beyond this basic divide by illustrating that both Sunnism and Shiʿism encompass a wide spectrum of interpretations, ranging from legalistic, sharia-centered approaches to those that emphasize esoteric and mystical dimensions.

Alevis and Alawites, positioned in the lower-right quadrant, are situated within the broader family of Shiʿi-affiliated Alid traditions. However, they are set apart from sharia-oriented Imami Shiʿism by their pronounced esoteric bent and antinomian tendencies. They are grouped alongside other traditions—such as Ismailis, Druze, Ahl-i Haqq, and Yazidis—that prioritize inward, spiritual, and ethical interpretations over strict conformity to Islamic legal norms. A related defining feature of these traditions is their epistemological framework, which conceives of religious knowledge not as monolithic, but as gradated, unfolding in accordance with the believer’s spiritual and intellectual maturity, as well as their inner receptivity. This model contrasts sharply with the dominant Sunni (and, to some extent, Twelver Shiʿi) position, which affirms the universality and sufficiency of sharia, understood as equally applicable and accessible to all believers, regardless of their level of spiritual development.

If Sunni orthodoxy—grounded in a theology that sanctifies the Qur’an as the unmediated word of God (kalām Allāh)—typically regards the Qur’an as the final and exclusive channel through which the divine engages with humanity, so-called ghulāt traditions often envision a more continuous and dynamic relationship between God and the world. In these traditions, the divine is believed to manifest beyond the written revelation, in forms accessible to human understanding, even as it remains ultimately abstract and unknowable in its totality.10 This fundamental question of divine–human mediation has also been a source of tension and negotiation within mainstream Imami Shiʿism and Sufism. Both traditions often walk a fine line between affirming transcendent monotheism and embracing immanent or esoteric conceptions of the divine, all while striving to avoid accusations of heresy from representatives of Sunni normativity.

The arrow labeled ghulāt signifies that these groups have historically been regarded as heretical by both Sunni and Shiʿi authorities. However, the traditions collectively grouped under the category of ghulāt do not share a singular origin. Broadly speaking, some—such as Alevism—have their roots in Sufism in its most expansive sense,11 while others—such as the Alawite tradition—emerged from the early pro-Alid movements.12 Sharia-centered Imami Shiʿism, considered today as mainstream Shiʿism, branched out from these early pro-Alid movements and evolved into a legalist orthodoxy, partly due to its engagement with and adaptation of Sunni juridical frameworks.13 These divergent origins and historical trajectories, as will be elaborated below, account for many of the theological and ritual distinctions between Alevism and Alawism.

3. Distinctive Features of Alevi and Alawite Traditions14

Historical Origins and Sociocultural Characteristics

The Alevis, who inhabit various regions of Anatolia and the Balkans, maintain a close historical and spiritual affiliation with the Bektashi Sufi order.15 In contemporary discourse, they are often collectively categorized as Alevi–Bektashis and are estimated to constitute approximately 15% of Turkey’s population, with smaller related communities in neighboring Balkan countries. While Alevi–Bektashi communities encompass speakers of Turkish, Kurdish, and Zazaki, Turkish has emerged as the dominant language of ritual and religious practice. This linguistic preference reflects broader sociocultural dynamics, including historical patterns of linguistic assimilation and the role of Turkish as a unifying medium within Alevi–Bektashi spiritual and communal life.

Rooted in various mystical movements and world-renouncing dervish groups that converged in thirteenth-century Anatolia, Alevism as we know it today crystallized in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. Documents and manuscripts preserved in the family archives of Alevi saintly lineages—brought to light relatively recently, in the aftermath of the Alevi cultural revival of the early 1990s16—confirm the tradition’s origins within the broadly defined Sufi milieu of the late medieval and early modern periods.17 This growing body of evidence challenges the still widespread ahistorical view of the Kizilbash–Alevi tradition as a latter-day reincarnation of so-called early ghulāt movements.18 The lifespans of key figures in the Alevi tradition—including Hacı Bektaş (13th century), the eponymous founders of various saintly lineages, and poet saints such as Şah Hatayi, Pir Sultan Abdal, and Kul Himmet (15th–16th centuries)—further underscore this formative era.19

Historically, Alevis have been referred to as Kızılbaş (literally, “Red-Heads”), a designation that emerged in the late fifteenth century within a religio-political movement associated with the Safavid Sufi order. The Kizilbash movement, a coalition of various radical dervish groups and Sufi circles along with their lay constituencies, coalesced under Safavid leadership and played a pivotal role in the formation of the Safavid state. This period was instrumental in shaping Alevi identity, as the movement’s religious framework reinforced Alid and Shiʿi elements within Alevi belief and practice. Over time, however, the Alevis of Anatolia developed along a separate trajectory, maintaining their mystical and esoteric inclinations rooted in their historical affiliation with Sufism. Consequently, they preserved their distinctiveness from the Twelver Shiʿi orthodoxy that became the ideological foundation of Safavid Iran.20

Compared to the Alevis of Turkey, the Arabic-speaking Alawites—primarily centered in modern-day Syria, Lebanon, and parts of southern Turkey—belong to a significantly older tradition, with origins dating back to the 9th and 10th centuries. The term Nusayrī, historically used by outsiders to refer to the community, is typically rejected by its members in favor of ʿAlawī. The former derives from Muhammad ibn Nusayr (d. 884), a disciple of the tenth and eleventh Shiʿi Imams, who founded the original community of muwaḥḥidūn (“true monotheists”), an emic self-appellation attested in medieval Alawite texts.21 Ibn Nusayr was succeeded by a number of religious scholars who gradually systematized the Alawite tradition into its present doctrinal form. The foundational corpus of Alawite religious literature in Arabic was produced primarily in the 10th and 11th centuries by doctrinally minded scholars of middle-class background, based in urban centers of Iraq and Greater Syria such as Basra, Kufa, Baghdad, Aleppo, Harran, and Beirut.22 Among the most prominent was al-Husayn ibn Hamdan al-Khasibi (d. 969), often regarded as the true formalizer of Alawite doctrine.23 His tomb in Aleppo was recently destroyed by jihadists from the militant Islamist group Hayʾat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), which seized control in Syria in December 2024.24

During the lifetime of Khasibi in the tenth century, the center of the Alawite community shifted from Samarra, Iraq, to Aleppo, Syria. Over the course of the eleventh century, facing growing political pressures, the Alawites began settling in the mountainous coastal regions of the Levant, where they gained new converts but also gradually lost their urban connections and became an increasingly rural, marginalized community.25 This historical trajectory, along with other available evidence, suggests that the Alawites are likely the only surviving group to have preserved a direct and continuous link to the religious tradition of the early pro-Alid movements in eighth-century Kufa.26

4. Theology and Metaphysics: Gnostic Dualism Versus Mystical Monism

Despite their distinct historical trajectories—with Alevism emerging from the late-medieval Sufi milieu of Anatolia and its environs, and Alawism rooted in the pro-Alid movements of medieval Iraq and Syria27—both traditions converge in their affirmation of divine presence in the world, their profound veneration of ʿAli, and their shared esoteric and antinomian tendencies. Yet, notwithstanding these similarities, Alevi and Alawite religious doctrines also diverge in significant and consequential ways.

To begin with, a major point of divergence lies in the two groups’ conceptions of divine manifestation. In Alawite theology, divine manifestation is articulated through a docetic framework that privileges transcendence over immanence. Manifestations of the divine are, thus, perceived as symbolic epiphanies, perceptible to the senses but not involving any real union between the divine and the material. Although God may appear in human form, such appearances are understood as illusory or apparent, rather than instances of actual incarnation or ontological indwelling. This perspective reflects Alawism’s underlying gnostic dualism, which sharply distinguishes spirit from matter—valorizing the former as inherently good and viewing the latter as inherently corrupt. Within this framework, ʿAli is not regarded as a human being in the conventional sense, but as a veiled manifestation of divine presence in human form. The divine, in other words, does not enter materiality, but rather utilizes it as a signifier through which esoteric truths may be conveyed to those spiritually attuned.28

In contrast to the Alawite emphasis on transcendence and docetic manifestation, Alevis conceptualize divinity within a framework of mystical monism, wherein God is immanent throughout creation. In this view, divinity is not confined to particular manifestations, nor are such manifestations merely docetic. Rather, the divine pervades all of creation, including humanity and the natural world, such that no absolute boundary exists between God, creation, and the self. This theological orientation aligns closely with the doctrine of waḥdat al-wujūd (“Unity of Being”), most notably articulated by the Sufi philosopher Ibn al-ʿArabi. According to this metaphysical framework, all existence is a manifestation of the singular divine essence, and through spiritual refinement and ethical living, individuals may come to realize their oneness with the divine. While the divine in its totality remains mysterious and beyond full human comprehension, it is, nonetheless, understood as present within the world. Correspondingly, unlike the docetic view of matter as inherently corrupt, Alevi theology holds that the material world can simultaneously veil and reveal the divine.29

If, in the Alevi cosmological framework, ʿAli is not understood as a docetic apparition, as he is in Alawite theology, he is instead conceived as a luminous embodiment of Ḥaqq (Truth), or divine reality. For Alevis, ʿAli represents the paradigmatic realization of divine presence, affirming a mystical ontology in which the sacred resides latently within each person and may be actualized through ethical conduct, ritual practice, and maʿrifa (gnosis), understood as a transformative unveiling of the bāṭin, or inner reality, within the self. This theological orientation grounds the distinctly Alevi aspiration toward union with the divine, expressed in the formulation Hakk’la Hak olmak (“to become one with the Truth”), which entails the transcendence of external plurality through the recognition of unity within multiplicity (kesret içinde vahdet).30

By contrast, Alawite doctrine categorically denies the possibility of ontological union with the divine. Instead, it emphasizes epistemological gnosis, attained through the contemplation of symbolic manifestations, while maintaining a strict metaphysical separation between the divine and creation. The divine is not immanent in all things, but is revealed in a docetic mode through specific figures—most notably ʿAli—who, though appearing in human form, remain metaphysically distinct from humanity. From this perspective, doctrines such as waḥdat al-wujūd verge on the notion of ḥulūl, which is perceived as shirk (polytheism) and, thus, heretical.31

This cosmological and theological divergence between the Alevis and the Alawites is most vividly illustrated in the two traditions’ contrasting attitudes toward the famed Sufi martyr al-Husayn ibn Mansur al-Hallaj, who famously declared, “Ana al-Ḥaqq” (“I am the Truth [i.e., God]”). Alevis venerate Hallaj (known in Turkish as Hallacı Mansur) as a mystic who attained intimate, experiential knowledge of the divine, and dedicate the central spot of their ritual space to his memory.32 Alawites, by contrast, reject his teachings, interpreting his declaration as an assertion of divine incarnation, and, therefore, a violation of the ontological boundary between Creator and creation.33

Secondly, the Alawite triad of ʿAli–Muhammad–Salman al-Farisi differs from the Alevi triad of God (or Hakk)–Muhammad–ʿAli, not only in terms of figures, but also in their underlying doctrinal logic. Alawite theology articulates a highly structured and hierarchical vision grounded in the doctrine of seven cosmic–historical cycles of divine manifestation (tajallī). In each cycle, a triadic constellation of figures emerges, jointly mediating aspects of divine reality and guiding humanity’s spiritual ascent. These triads function not merely as historical figures, but as metaphysical archetypes, drawing from a wide range of religious traditions—including Judaism, Christianity, Zoroastrianism, and Hellenistic philosophy—thus situating Alawite doctrine within a broader transreligious and intercultural continuum. In the final Islamic cycle, the triad of ʿAli, Muhammad, and Salman al-Farisi constitutes the ultimate theophany. In this schema, ʿAli represents the maʿnā, the inner, metaphysical reality of the Divine; Muhammad corresponds to the ism, also referred to as the veil (ḥijāb), representing the exoteric projection; and Salman al-Farisi functions as the bāb (gate), the intermediary who provides access to esoteric knowledge (ʿilm al-bāṭin). In the broader Alawite cosmic order, the triad is followed by the so-called five aytām, literally “orphans”, who were the figures most loyal to ʿAli, including Salman, Miqdad ibn al-Aswad, Abu Dharr al-Ghifari, and ʿAmmar ibn Yasir. In Alawite esotericism, these figures are conceived as lower emanations of divine light, specifically as angels. The term “orphans”, thus, connotes their spiritual status as beings not born in any literal sense. Together, these eight figures—the triad and the five aytām—represent successive levels of divine manifestation and, despite their historical human identities, are considered part of the divine realm.34

In contrast to the deeply hierarchical Alawite cosmology, the Alevi conception of God–Muhammad–ʿAli presents a more non-hierarchical and diffuse understanding of divine manifestation. In Alevi doctrine, Muhammad and ʿAli are often portrayed as emanations of the same divine light, sometimes described as two halves of one light or a single body with two heads, rather than as discrete metaphysical entities. Within this framework, ʿAli embodies the esoteric (bāṭin) dimension of truth, complementing Muhammad as its exoteric (ẓāhir) expression. ʿAli also figures as the insān al-kāmil (Perfect Human Being), the Sufi archetype of full spiritual realization, and is revered as the “king of saints” (şāh-ı evliyā in Turkish). At a deeper metaphysical level, moreover, ʿAli is regarded as the true source of esoteric knowledge (ʿilm al-bāṭin) and the cosmic principle underlying all being.35

Although the distinction between Alevi and Alawite formulations of the divine triad may, at first, appear subtle, a 13th-century Alawite didactic–polemical treatise offers critical insight into the underlying theological divergence. The treatise in question explicitly refutes several triadic configurations resembling the Alevi model, especially categorically denying any claim of unity or parity between Muhammad and ʿAli. The author likewise repudiates hierarchical arrangements that place God above ʿAli, arguing that such formulations compromise ʿAli’s divine status by subjecting him either to anthropomorphic reduction or to the logic of incarnation. Viewed from a broader theological perspective, the positions contested in the treatise—deemed heretical by its author and closely aligned with Alevi conceptualizations—can be understood as occupying an intermediary space between the mainstream Shiʿi conception of ʿAli as fully human and the Alawite identification of ʿAli with the maʿnā, which entails a total negation of his human nature through a docetic framework.36

If Alevis’ monistic cosmology suggests an intrinsic universalism, where divine presence permeates all beings, Alawite doctrine likewise exhibits a universalizing impulse, albeit of a different kind. In the latter case, it is the doctrine of seven historical triads that imparts a universalist character, positing an underlying metaphysical unity expressed through temporally and culturally diverse theophanies. These triads are not merely historical or confessional markers, but rather expressions of a perennial metaphysical principle: the recurring disclosure of the maʿnā in docetic form across civilizations. Thus, Alawite cosmology affirms a transhistorical continuity of divine truth—one that transcends external plurality in ritual and doctrinal expression and integrates diverse religious and philosophical traditions into a unified esoteric vision.37

In sum, while both Alevi and Alawite traditions center their cosmologies on the figure of ʿAli and posit modes of divine self-disclosure beyond the confines of written revelations, they do so through meaningfully different theological and metaphysical lenses. Alevism tends toward a mystical–monistic paradigm in which divinity is realized inwardly and universally. Alawism, by contrast, maintains a gnostic–docetic orientation that upholds the radical transcendence of the divine, accessed epistemically but never ontologically shared. These differences, in turn, reflect deeper philosophical divides in how each tradition perceives the nuances of divinity and its relationship to the world.

4.1. Comparative Eschatologies

Important distinctions also emerge between Alevi and Alawite conceptions of the afterlife, despite their shared rejection of mainstream Islamic eschatology, including the doctrines of bodily resurrection and the literal existence of paradise and hell as realms of reward and punishment.

The Alevi understanding of “death” is closely tied to a monistic conception of divine immanence and incorporates the notion of devir. In Alevi–Bektashi thought, devir can be interpreted in light of the Sufi idea of the progression of spiritual states within a single lifetime, but it is also associated with a more literal process of transformation, wherein the soul is believed to pass through successive phases of existence —mineral, plant, animal, and human—before ultimately returning to its divine origin. In this latter sense, devir bears resemblance to transmigration (tanāsukh). However, whether understood as spiritual development or a physical/metaphysical process, devir is not regarded as a punitive mechanism. Rather, it is fundamentally oriented toward the soul’s perfection and reintegration into the divine essence. This view reflects a broader belief in the continuity of existence and the intrinsic unity of all beings, undermining the idea of the afterlife as a realm wholly separate from the material world. Accordingly, death is not perceived as an endpoint, but as a transitional moment within an ongoing cycle of spiritual refinement.38

By contrast, the doctrine of the transmigration of souls occupies a more central and systematic place within Alawite cosmology. Closely linked to concepts of divine justice and judgment, it posits that the soul is reborn in successive bodies following a hierarchical trajectory—ranging from animal and human to celestial forms—based on accumulated spiritual merit or demerit. Those who attain spiritual knowledge (maʿrifa) and lead virtuous lives may be elevated to celestial states, often symbolized by stars, while those who fail to do so are reborn into lower forms of existence and subjected to suffering. This eschatological framework offers a clear moral teleology in which reincarnation functions as both punishment and reward.39 Thus, the Alevi notion of devir and the Alawite doctrine of tanāsukh reflect contrasting eschatological logics—with one oriented toward spiritual refinement and the other toward divine justice and judgment.

It is also noteworthy that among lay Alevis, explicit references to transmigration are exceedingly rare. The concept of devir as a metaphysical principle appears primarily in a specific genre of mystical poetry known as devriyye, while transmigration-like motifs chiefly surface in hagiographic or miracle narratives—for example, stories in which saintly figures assume animal forms or morally corrupt individuals are reborn as lower beings. Such narratives are typically understood not as part of a coherent theological system, but as symbolic and didactic expressions of divine justice or as moral instruction.40 In contrast, the doctrine of transmigration plays a far more explicit and prominent role in Alawite belief and is discussed with a degree of candor that is uncommon in relation to other, more esoteric dimensions of their tradition.41

4.2. Figures of Veneration

Both groups share a tradition of revering a diverse array of saints and religious figures, whose shrines and tombs serve as sites of pilgrimage and spiritual devotion. Putting aside the series of cosmic or semi-cosmic figures, including ʿAli, the Twelve Imams, and others mentioned above, as well as the legendary figure of Hızır/Hıdır, who is deeply venerated in both traditions42, their respective canons of revered figures diverge significantly.

Included among the Alawites’ venerated figures are the sect’s foundational scholars and charismatic leaders, particularly the medieval theologians and mystics whose writings helped to codify its esoteric worldview. Chief among them are the aforementioned Ibn Nusayr (d. 884) and al-Khasibi (d. 969), alongside other revered Alawite thinkers such as Muhammad ibn ʿAli al-Jilli (d. c. 1000) and Maymun ibn al-Qasim al-Tabarani (d. 1034?). The theological treatises attributed to these semi-sanctified scholars, many of which have survived to the present, played a formative role in articulating the Alawite doctrine and metaphysical system.43

In contrast to its Alawite counterpart, the Alevi spiritual framework is largely structured around the legacies of Sufi mystics, dervishes, and saintly figures whose authority derives from charisma, spiritual lineage (silsile), and ethical exemplarity. Rather than being conveyed through formal theological treatises, the teachings of these figures are primarily preserved in hagiographical narratives and oral traditions that emphasize miraculous acts (keramet), moral instruction, and communal guidance.44 Alevi theological and mystical ideas have also been extensively expressed through poetry, resulting in a rich corpus of devotional verse that continues to play a central role in Alevi religious life and ritual.45

Among the most revered figures in the Alevi tradition are Sufi saints and martyrs such as Hacı Bektaş, Abdal Musa, and Mansur al-Hallaj, to name just a few. Additionally, the Alevi tradition canonizes several poet saints, including, among others, Şah Hatayi, Pir Sultan Abdal, and Kul Himmet, whose compositions remain integral to Alevi religious practice and identity. The eponymous founders of Alevi saintly lineages, such as Baba Mansur, Cemal Abdal, and Dede Kargın, likewise occupy an essential place in the community’s spiritual genealogy. With the exception of Mansur al-Hallaj, a renowned Sufi of the 9th century, the majority of these figures flourished between the 13th and 16th centuries—a period marked by the burgeoning and consolidation of Alevi–Bektashi traditions in Anatolia and the Balkans.46

4.3. Communal Structures and Religious Leadership

The communal structures of the Alevis and Alawites, while both typically emphasizing hereditary leadership, exhibit significant divergences in organization and doctrinal transmission.

Alevi communal organization is structured around the ocak (lit. “hearth”) system, a hereditary network of saintly lineages that transcends ethnic and linguistic distinctions within the Alevi community. Each ocak maintains its own group of disciples (talip), with this spiritual affiliation being transmitted across generations. Religious authority within this system resides in members of the ocak, known as dede or pir (lit. “elder”), who function as spiritual leaders responsible for guiding religious ceremonies, providing moral instruction, and adjudicating communal disputes. The dede–disciple relationship is conceptualized within a familial framework, wherein the dede and his wife are regarded as spiritual parents to their disciples. This conceptualization imposes endogamous restrictions, as marriage between members of an ocak and their disciples is traditionally prohibited. Through this system, the dede-based structure fosters localized networks of spiritual mentorship, in which both religious authority and discipleship are inherited through lineages, reinforcing the intergenerational transmission of religious knowledge and social cohesion.47

By contrast, Alawite communal organization, while similarly rooted in hereditary religious leadership, operates within a more hierarchical and esoteric framework. The primary religious authorities within Alawite society are shaykhs, who serve as custodians of esoteric knowledge and act as gatekeepers to religious initiation. Unlike the Alevi dede–disciple structure, the Alawite system does not entail inherited communal discipleship to a specific lineage. Instead, religious education follows an individualized mentorship model, wherein each young Alawite male, upon reaching adolescence, is sent to study under a shaykh or a member of the community with mastery of esoteric doctrine—selected by his family and referred to as an ‘amm (lit. “uncle”)—to receive doctrinal instruction before undergoing formal initiation. This relationship establishes a lifelong quasi-familial bond, mirroring the Alevi model in certain respects, particularly in the prohibition of marriage between a shaykh’s daughter and his students.48 While among the Alawites, the system of individualized mentorship and initiation remains integral to the preservation of their esoteric doctrines, among Alevis, both initiation and an institution comparable to the Alawite ‘amm, known as rehberlik (lit. “guidance”)—wherein a rehber (guide) provides spiritual counsel and mentorship—have largely been reduced to symbolic roles performed during communal cem rituals.49

Ultimately, while both the Alevi dede-based and Alawite shaykh-based structures serve to maintain religious and communal cohesion, their respective models of leadership and discipleship differ significantly. The Alevi system integrates both inherited religious authority and communal discipleship within a lineage-based framework, whereas the Alawite model limits hereditary transmission to religious authority and structures discipleship through individualized mentorship by a knowledgeable community member, typically a shaykh, of one’s choosing. Even more importantly, the Alevi ocak system and the Alawite shaykh system function as entirely separate networks, each governed by distinct lineages of charismatic families, with no historical or structural overlap.

4.4. Ritual Practices and Gender Inclusivity

The differences between the Alevis and Alawites in their ritual practices and religious observances are even more pronounced than in other areas. One ritual practice shared by both groups is shrine pilgrimage, which is central to both. The form of pilgrimage is quite similar, but the figures whose shrines they visit differ. Furthermore, while both communities emphasize communal gatherings, the Alawites adopt a more restrictive approach, limiting participation in their religious ceremonies to initiated male members of the community. In contrast, the Alevis engage in gender-inclusive rituals known as cem, in which men and women participate equally.50 This stark contrast in the inclusion or exclusion of women in ritual spaces likely stems from their respective theological frameworks. In the gnostic-inflected cosmology of the Alawite tradition, women—by virtue of their association with reproduction—are linked to the material world, which is distinct from and hierarchically inferior to the spiritual realm. Consequently, women are excluded from communal rituals to maintain the perceived separation between the spiritual and the material. By contrast, Alevi theology posits an ontological unity of all existence, rejecting dualistic distinctions between the spiritual and the material, and, by extension, between genders. As a result, Alevi ritual spaces are fully integrated, allowing men and women to participate equally. Nevertheless, while Alawite women are excluded from ritual gatherings, the Alawite tradition fosters a broader sense of gender inclusivity in communal and social life, aligning it more closely with the Alevi tradition in this regard.51

Additionally, the form and content of Alevi and Alawite rituals differ considerably. The Alawite community conducts its communal rituals in Arabic, the same language used in their daily lives. These rituals typically center on Quranic recitation, particularly its esoteric interpretations, alongside unique prayers and doctrinal formulations. In contrast, Alevi cem rituals are primarily marked by the recitation of hymns, almost exclusively in Turkish, written by dervish poets, as well as prayers in Turkish that occasionally incorporate Quranic verses. Reflecting broader Sufi practices, these hymns are performed with musical accompaniment, most notably the bağlama, a stringed instrument regarded as semi-sacred, which plays a central role in the Alevi ritual experience. Another key feature of Alevi cems is the semah, a ritual dance that bears similarities to the sema’ of the Mevlevi Sufi order, but is distinctive in that it is performed by both men and women. The prominence of music and semah in Alevi rituals underscores their mystical understanding of human nature, wherein divine presence is experienced through bodily expression, including dancing and sensory engagement. In this framework, the body is not something to be transcended, as in gnostic dualism, but rather something to be disciplined and spiritually elevated.52

Beyond these ritual distinctions, the Alawites maintain a notably higher degree of secrecy regarding their religious practices. Historically, this secrecy has served as a protective strategy, preserving the community’s traditions during periods of persecution. However, it is also integral to the esoteric nature of Alawite belief, which asserts that individuals must be gradually introduced to more profound religious truths based on their spiritual readiness and demonstrated commitment. While the Alevi–Bektashi tradition similarly values esotericism and acknowledges that not all individuals are prepared to grasp the inner dimensions of existence, secrecy within the Alevi context appears to function more as a response to external pressures than as an intrinsic religious principle. In fact, since the 1990s, following the Alevi cultural revival, cem rituals have increasingly been held in public spaces and opened to wider participation.53 Consequently, Alevi rituals are well-documented and extensively studied by scholars, whereas Alawite rituals remain largely inaccessible to external scrutiny.54

4.5. Religious Holidays and Commemorations

The religious holidays and commemorative practices of the Alevis and Alawites exhibit more divergences than commonalities, reflecting the two traditions’ distinct theological frameworks and historical trajectories. One of the few shared observances between the two communities is ʿĪd al-Aḍḥā (Turkish: Kurban Bayramı, the Feast of Sacrifice), a celebration that is also observed by Sunni and Shiʿi Muslims. However, beyond this, the religious calendars of each group are largely distinct, with their own unique rituals and commemorations.

Alevis, for instance, observe a twelve-day period of fasting during the month of Muharram, a practice that aligns them with mainstream Twelver Shiʿa traditions. They also observe a three-day fast in honor of Hızır (Hıdır) in February, a practice that appears to be unique to the Alevi–Bektashis. These observances, particularly the Muharram fast, hold deep spiritual and commemorative significance within Alevi tradition, reflecting their ongoing mourning for the martyrdom of Husayn ibn ʿAli and their commitment to the values associated with his sacrifice.55

The Alawite tradition, for its part, follows a different, much more expanded set of religious festivals, many of which are unfamiliar to Alevis. To begin with, the Alawite religious calendar is marked by a range of holy days commemorating pivotal figures and events in both Islamic and specifically Alawite sacred history. Examples include ʿĪd al-Firāsh (“the holiday of the bed”), which commemorates the day when ʿAli took the Prophet Muḥammad’s place in bed to protect him from an assassination attempt, and the Holiday of 17 Adhār (March), which is dedicated to the veneration of the bāb Muḥammad ibn Nusayr. In addition to these uniquely Alawite commemorations, their religious calendar also incorporates festivals that coincide with Christian and Zoroastrian observances, such as Laylat al-Mīlād (corresponding to Christmas) and Mihrājān, celebrated around the time of the start of autumn.56 While such overlaps are often cited by external scholars as evidence of the syncretic nature of Alawite belief, this interpretation does not reflect the community’s internal theological self-understanding. From within the Alawite doctrinal framework, these shared festivals are rather understood as affirmations of the esoteric and universal dimensions of Truth (ḥaqīqa). Accordingly, Alawite engagement with Christian or Zoroastrian holy days is framed not as imitation, but as a recognition of shared spiritual realities. It is also important to underscore that the meanings, interpretations, and ritual practices associated with these festivals within the Alawite context differ significantly from those in their Christian or Zoroastrian counterparts, highlighting the distinctiveness of Alawite religious identity and theological orientation.

Another particularly noteworthy divergence between the two groups concerns their approach to the historical event of Ghadir Khumm and the commemoration of the Battle of Karbala. The festival of Ghadir Khumm, which marks the Prophet Muhammad’s reported declaration of ʿAli as his successor, holds immense importance in Alawite tradition, as it does in the Shi’i tradition. For Alawites, however, it is regarded as the holiest of all festivals, signifying not only ʿAli’s political and spiritual succession, but also his status as the manifest divine essence, or ma’na—an interpretation unique to Alawite theology. In contrast, Alevis do not traditionally observe Ghadir Khumm as a religious festival, and it does not appear to hold comparable centrality in their sacred history.57

For the Alevis, the most defining event in their sacred history is the martyrdom of Husayn ibn ʿAli, the son of ʿAli and the second Shiʿi Imam, at the Battle of Karbala in 680 CE, which is also a key moment of commemoration for many Sufis, as well as Shi’is. This event is not merely seen as a historical tragedy, but as a moment of cosmic significance, symbolizing the eternal struggle between justice and tyranny. Alevis commemorate this event through fasting during Muharram, culminating in the preparation and sharing of aşure (ashura in Arabic), a ritual pudding, as an act of communal remembrance and mourning. These commemorative practices serve as a means of reflection and reaffirmation of the ethical and spiritual values associated with Husayn’s martyrdom, particularly justice, sacrifice, and resistance against oppression.58

In contrast, the Alawite perspective on Husayn’s martyrdom diverges significantly due to their docetic theological outlook. Within Alawite belief, the martyrdom of Husayn—and by extension, the martyrdom of other Shiʿi Imams—is understood as an event that occurred only in appearance, rather than in reality. Since Alawites regard these figures as docetic manifestations of divine light, second only to ʿAli, their suffering is perceived as an illusion rather than a tangible historical event. As a result, the mourning practices central to Alevi religious life during Muharram do not have a place in Alawite tradition, although the Day of Ashura is also marked on their religious calendar.59

5. Parallel Histories of Persecution and Marginalization

Notwithstanding the significant theological, ritual, and cultural divergences between Alevis and Alawites, a salient commonality in their historical experience lies in their protracted marginalization and persecution under Sunni Muslim hegemony. These shared experiences of exclusion and suppression not only shaped the collective memories and identities of both communities, but also profoundly influenced the ways in which they navigated religious, social, and political life in both the pre-modern and modern periods.

5.1. The Mamluk and Ottoman Periods

The Mamluk and Ottoman periods were instrumental in the institutionalization of the marginalization of Alawite and Alevi communities. Through a combination of theological vilification, legal condemnation, and episodic violence —both state-sanctioned and popular—these empires entrenched sectarian exclusion within their Sunni imperial structures.

A substantial body of fatwas issued by Sunni jurists condemned Alawite and Alevi doctrines as heretical and politically subversive, thereby laying the ideological groundwork for their long-standing marginalization and persecution. In the case of the Alawites, the earliest and most extreme expressions of this theological hostility emerged in the 14th century with the Hanbali–Salafi scholar Ibn Taymiyya (d. 1328). He not only declared the “Nusayris” to be apostates (murtaddūn) and unbelievers (kāfirūn)—worse, in his view, than Christians or Jews—but also explicitly called for their extermination. These and similar rulings provided religious justification for Mamluk military campaigns against the Alawites, including one in which Ibn Taymiyya himself reportedly participated in 1305. Although his fatwas failed to achieve their immediate aim of liquidating the Nusayris, they set a precedent that was echoed, both in content and tone, by later Sunni jurists. Despite the relative marginalization of Hanbalism in the centuries that followed, Ibn Taymiyya’s fatwas continued to shape Sunni attitudes toward the Alawites and remain influential to this day, frequently cited by contemporary jihadist groups to legitimize indiscriminate violence against Alawites in Syria.60

In addition to theological denunciations and military campaigns, the Mamluks also implemented coercive assimilation policies targeting the Alawite community. Initiated even before Ibn Taymiyya’s fatwas, during the reign of Sultan Baybars (r. 1260–1277), these measures included the prohibition of Alawite initiation rites (khitāb), the banning of wine (used both in rituals and daily life), and the forced construction of mosques in every Alawite village. Alawites were also subjected to heavier taxation, including a discriminatory capital tax known as the dirham al-rijāl, which resembled the jizyah traditionally levied on non-Muslims. While these repressive measures failed to convert the Alawites to Sunni Islam, they engendered deep resentment and suffering. The fiscal burdens, in particular, were especially onerous for impoverished Alawite peasants and frequently provoked uprisings, a pattern that would continue into the Ottoman era. This dual marginalization—both socioeconomic and religious—contributed to the labeling of the Alawites as fellāḥīn (peasants), a term laden with connotations of rural poverty and social subordination.61 Ironically, it was this very condition that also secured the Alawites a degree of situational toleration, for, although regarded as heretical, they “were needed to work the Muslims’ fields”, as matter-of-factly acknowledged in a report prepared for the Mamluk sultan.62

The marginalization of Alawites continued under Ottoman rule. Although explicit references to the “Nusayris” in Ottoman archival sources are limited prior to the 19th century, Alawite oral tradition remembers the Ottoman period as one marked by persecution and oppression. A frequently cited tradition recalls a fatwa attributed to a Sunni jurist named Nuh al-Hanafi al-Dimashqi, which allegedly precipitated massacres following the Ottoman conquest of Syria in 1516. While some historians have questioned the historicity of such claims due to the absence of corroborating state documentation, a fatwa by a certain Nuh al-Hanafi targeting the Rāfiḍīs—a pejorative umbrella term for Shiʿi and Shiʿi-affiliated groups—does, in fact, appear in a legal compendium compiled by the Mufti of Damascus, Hamid b. ʿAli al-ʿImadi (d. 1757). Although the fatwa in question does not explicitly name the Nusayris/Alawites, its sectarian logic closely aligns with earlier anti-Alawite rulings.63 Thus, it seems likely that this Alawite memory does indeed have a basis in history, even if it may not be accurate in its details. Moreover, the Ottoman state maintained and institutionalized the fiscal discrimination initiated under the Mamluks, continuing the imposition of the Alawite-specific tax, dirham al-rijāl.64

The legal rulings issued against the Alawites closely resemble the corpus of Ottoman-era fatwas directed at the Kizilbash/Alevis, promulgated from the early sixteenth century onward. Affiliated with the Safavid Sufi order, the Kizilbash were depicted in official discourse as posing a dual threat—both religiously heterodox and politically subversive. This conflation of theological deviance with political sedition provided a justificatory framework for the imposition of severe punitive measures, including mass executions. Sultan Selim I’s campaign against the Safavids culminated in the first systematic massacre of the Kizilbash/Alevis in Anatolia during and following the Battle of Çaldıran in 1514. Prior to the battle, the jurist Sarı Gürz Hamza Efendi (d. 1514) issued a fatwa declaring the Kizilbash/Alevis enemies of Islam and framing their extermination as a collective obligation incumbent upon all Muslims (cemīʿ müslümānlara vācib ve farżdır), as well as a duty of the sultan. Sarı Gürz Hamza’s ruling further authorized the enslavement of Kizilbash/Alevi women and children, and prescribed severe penalties for anyone who showed them leniency. Even the consumption of meat from animals slaughtered by a Kizilbash/Alevi was forbidden, deemed ritually impure. These legal judgments, which criminalized even the most mundane forms of interaction with those branded as Kizilbash, were subsequently affirmed and institutionalized by leading Ottoman jurists—most notably the chief muftis (shaykh al-Islām) Kemalpaşazade and Ebussuʿud Efendi—who elevated the campaign against the Kizilbash/Alevis to the level of the greatest holy war (ghazā-yi akbar). Successive generations of Sunni scholars continued to reiterate these rulings well into the nineteenth century, embedding them deeply within the legal and ideological infrastructure of the Ottoman state.65

These fatwas were not merely abstract exercises in theological classification; they possessed a performative dimension that materially influenced the formulation and implementation of state policy. More significantly, in the long term, they exerted a powerful moral influence on the general populace, shaping public sentiment and communal attitudes. It is important to note, in this regard, that both foundational fatwas—those of Ibn Taymiyya against the Nusayris/Alawites and Sarı Gürz Hamza Efendi against the Kizilbash/Alawites—functioned less as conventional juridical opinions in the classical mold and more as sermons of incitement, crafted for widespread dissemination and aimed at the total mobilization of society. By conferring religious legitimacy upon acts of exclusion, dispossession, and violence, these pronouncements not only authorized coercive state measures, but also contributed to the perpetuation of sectarian animosity within society. Their broad diffusion—almost certainly including public recitation during Friday sermons and similar occasions—served to naturalize a climate of hatred and hostility towards groups considered heterodox. Even in periods when overt repression abated, the lingering authority of these juridical and theological condemnations perpetuated a condition of structural precarity for the communities in question, in which they remained both discursively and materially vulnerable to renewed cycles of persecution and violence.66

During the long 19th century, alongside the intensification of popular religious bigotry, there was a marked escalation of state repression targeting both Alawite and Alevi communities. This repression was closely linked to the broader centralizing imperatives of the Tanzimat reforms, which sought to strengthen administrative and fiscal control over the empire’s peripheral and often semi-autonomous populations. While the initial focus of these reforms was on maximizing tax revenues and enforcing mandatory conscription, they gradually evolved, particularly under the reign of Sultan Abdülhamid II (r. 1876–1909), into more systematic efforts toward religious homogenization through the promotion of Sunni normativity. Within the framework of Abdülhamid’s pan-Islamist project, designed to preserve imperial cohesion amid intensifying European encroachment, these initiatives included the construction of mosques and madrasas in Alawite and Alevi regions, as well as the deployment of Sunni (primarily Hanafi) religious officials and missionaries, aimed at assimilating these communities into Sunnism. These campaigns also sought to counter the growing presence and influence of Christian missionary activity among so-called heterodox Muslim communities, which the state feared might result in large-scale conversions to Christianity.67 Where ideological persuasion and administrative integration proved ineffective, the Ottoman state turned to coercive measures, including military expeditions into the relatively inaccessible coastal highlands of Syria—home to the Alawites—and into the Dersim region of eastern Anatolia, where Kurdish- and Zaza-speaking Alevis constituted the majority population.68

Ironically, state-led efforts at enforced Sunnification often met resistance not only from the targeted communities, but also from segments of the local Sunni population. Ottoman archival records contain numerous reports of Sunni villagers violently obstructing Alawite converts from entering mosques, despite official support for their integration. Investigations into such incidents reveal that many local Sunnis perceived Alawite mosque attendance not as genuine religious realignment, but as a calculated attempt to obtain legal recognition as Muslims—particularly to gain admissibility in sharia courts, where Alawite testimony was otherwise considered invalid in cases involving Sunni Muslims. The prospect of Alawites being accepted into the Ehl-i İslam (the Muslim community) raised fears among some Sunnis that, through mutual false testimony, they might secure legal rights and ultimately seize lands on which they worked as tenants and laborers.69 Sunni resistance extended into the political sphere as well, where efforts to include Alawites in local councils (meclis) and administrative bodies established under the Tanzimat reforms were frequently met with hostility.70 In this context, entrenched sectarian prejudice among the Sunni populace actively undermined state-driven initiatives of assimilation and highlighted the continued marginalization of Alawite and Alevi communities from the sociopolitical and religious mainstream of Ottoman society.

Some historians—particularly those who emphasize the pragmatic and flexible nature of pre-modern Muslim governance—have sought to downplay the severity of Alevi and Alawite persecution, especially prior to the nineteenth century. In doing so, they often highlight instances of conditional tolerance or localized accommodation, arguing that the numerous fatwas and narrative sources denouncing these communities had limited impact on administrative practice or everyday governance.71 While it would indeed be reductive to portray the historical experiences of Alevis and Alawites as a seamless continuum of persecution, it is equally problematic to minimize the influence of pervasive theological and legal discourses of exclusion by invoking isolated examples of bureaucratic pragmatism. The conflation of situational accommodation with principled pluralism as such obscures the asymmetrical and contingent nature of imperial tolerance, which functioned less as a normative ideal and more as a tactical, revocable concession embedded within a broader architecture of Sunni hegemony. Moreover, the efficacy of persecution cannot be gauged solely by episodes of overt violence; it also resides in its latent potential. This ever-present threat—reinforced through the continuous production and circulation of delegitimizing discourses—operated as a disciplinary apparatus, regulating the behavior, visibility, and self-representation of marginalized communities. Thus, Alevis and Alawites inhabited a condition of structural vulnerability, consistently positioned as ontological and political others within the Sunni normative order.

The cumulative effect of this protracted regime of exclusion and persecution was profoundly constitutive. As a result, Alevis and Alawites came to articulate their collective identities through a shared repertoire shaped by historical trauma and endurance. The memory of persecution functioned not merely as a retrospective record, but as a generative force within their religious, social, and political imaginaries, informing modes of self-understanding. Crucially, the foundational fatwas that explicitly sanctioned their extermination have never been formally rescinded or overruled, and they continue to surface, explicitly or implicitly, in contemporary sectarian rhetoric and violence. Viewed from this perspective, the Mamluk and Ottoman periods cannot be regarded solely as historical contexts; rather, they must be understood as formative epochs in the historical production of Alevi and Alawite precarity within the broader Sunni-Islamic order.

5.2. The Modern Era: A Time of Paradox

The modern era presented a paradox for both Alevis and Alawites. The emergence of secular nationalist and socialist ideologies, along with the establishment of formally secular nation-states in Turkey and Syria, appeared to herald a new era, one ostensibly free from religious condemnation, social exclusion, and sharia-based constraints. Both communities embraced these ideologies not merely as political alignments, but as strategies for survival, as secularism and leftist politics held the promise of a life unburdened by centuries-old stigmas and religious scrutiny. In their quest for belonging, both groups invested heavily in these ideologies, often suppressing their communal identities in exchange for the promise of equality and integration. Their strong aversion to ethnoreligious politics is reflected in their disproportionately strong presence in secular nationalist movements (both Turkish and Kurdish in Turkey) and leftist movements in their respective countries.72 Yet, despite these hopes, modern ideologies have ultimately failed to dismantle the deeply entrenched sectarian prejudices and hierarchies that continue to privilege Sunni Muslims, or to protect these communities from periodic outbreaks of violence.

In Turkey, the vast majority of Alevis (as well as the country’s small Alawite community) are aligned closely with the Republican People’s Party (CHP), the party most closely associated with the principles of secular Kemalist ideology. However, this alignment does not translate into full social or political inclusion. Despite the state’s professed secularism, Sunni Islam remains institutionally privileged, being promoted through the powerful and well-funded Directorate of Religious Affairs (Diyanet). Alevis have also been subjected to repeated episodes of violence—including, most notably, the Ortaca (1966), Maraş (1978), Çorum (1980), Sivas (1993), and Gazi (1995) massacres—often carried out by right-wing or radical Sunni militants, frequently with the tacit approval or negligence of state security forces. These forms of exclusion and persecution are compounded by marginalization in the civilian and military bureaucracy, as well as enduring popular prejudice.73

Since the Justice and Development Party (AKP) assumed power in 2002, the increasing Islamization of the Turkish state and the more active promotion of Sunnism have further exacerbated the plight of Alevis. Religion classes with Sunni-centric content—originally introduced after the 1980 military coup to promote the conservative “Turkish–Islamic synthesis” as a bulwark against leftist ideologies—have been significantly expanded under the AKP, alongside the introduction of other courses with explicit religious content. Despite championing “religious freedoms”, the AKP has refused to legally recognize Alevi places of worship (cemevis), and Alevi underrepresentation in public institutions has worsened, further deepening their structural exclusion. AKP sectarianism became increasingly explicit as the party consolidated power. President Erdoğan has frequently employed anti-Alevi rhetoric to rally his conservative Sunni base. For example, during the 2010 constitutional referendum, he promoted false conspiracy theories claiming that Alevis dominated the High Council of Judges and Prosecutors, while AKP operatives reportedly told voters that the reforms would “rid the judiciary of Alevis”. Erdoğan also offended Alevi sensibilities by naming the third Bosphorus Bridge after Yavuz Sultan Selim, the Ottoman sultan who led a genocidal campaign against the Kizilbash/Alevis.74

The summer of 2013 marked another watershed in the AKP’s sectarian turn. During the Gezi Park protests—arguably the largest and most cosmopolitan protest movement in modern Turkish history—Erdoğan again resorted to sectarian language. What had begun as a local environmental protest quickly expanded into nationwide demonstrations against authoritarianism, neoliberalism, and cultural repression. Alevis’ active participation in the protests prompted the AKP to portray the movement as an Alevi-led revolt in order to galvanize conservative Sunni support. This instrumentalization of sectarian fear echoed right-wing tactics from the 1960s and 1970s, when Alevism was equated with communism, except the AKP’s use of this strategy was far more overt.75 Sectarian bias resurfaced with particular intensity during the 2021 presidential elections, when opposition candidate Kemal Kılıçdaroğlu—himself an Alevi—faced overt or veiled anti-Alevi rhetoric. Though his religious identity was never central to his campaign and was only publicly acknowledged by him late in the election, it was strategically used to undermine his legitimacy. Even some within secular and leftist circles echoed these sentiments, disheartening Alevis who had long looked to secular nationalism as a path to national belonging.76

For the Alawites of Syria, likewise, marginalization has persisted into the modern era, albeit in evolving forms. The Alawites have navigated a complex trajectory shaped by colonial manipulation, postcolonial state consolidation under authoritarian rule, and the growing salience of Islamist political currents and sectarian backlash. Under the French Mandate and during early independence, Alawites—despite modest advancements in legal recognition and social mobility by joining the ranks of the military—remained economically and socially marginalized, often residing as impoverished peasants in rural areas or working as domestic laborers in urban Sunni households. The rise of the Baʿath Party, culminating in Hafez al-Assad’s consolidation of power in 1970, appeared, at least superficially, to signal a reversal of these historical patterns. However, the emergence of an Alawite-led government did not result, by any means, in broad-based Alawite empowerment. Most Alawites remained impoverished and continued to face persistent social stigma.77

Notwithstanding blatantly sectarian labels such as the “Nusayri regime”, both Hafez al-Assad and his son and successor Bashar al-Assad, as leaders of the Arab nationalist Baʿath Party, actively sought to incorporate members of the Sunni and Christian communities, who formed the backbone of the country’s economic elite, into the state apparatus. At the same time, in an effort to mitigate sectarian sensitivities and legitimize their rule in a predominantly Sunni society, they downplayed their own confessional origins by promoting a pan-Arab nationalist identity. They also sought to diminish the Alawite community’s religious distinctiveness by cultivating closer associations with mainstream Islam, particularly through affiliation with Twelver Shiʿism. This effort extended to the systematic exclusion of Alawites from the institutional religious landscape: unlike other officially recognized sectarian and confessional groups in Syria—including Sunni Muslims, Twelver Shiʿa, Ismailis, Druze, and Christians, among others—the Alawite community was not permitted to establish official religious councils or representative bodies. In parallel, Syrian state curricula made no reference to Alawite theology or ritual practice, and Islamic education in public schools remained firmly grounded in Sunni orthodoxy. Nevertheless, these attempts to “normalize” Alawite identity largely failed to erase its sectarian distinctiveness, which continued to pose a persistent source of political unease.78

Despite his reluctance to promote an Alawi-centric identity or policies, Hafez al-Assad encountered sectarian and anti-Alawite opposition almost immediately upon consolidating power in 1970. The fragility of secular nationalism in Syria and the strength of Sunni Islamist opposition became increasingly evident by 1972, when Assad proposed removing the clause in the new constitution declaring Syria an Islamic state. This proposal met with fierce resistance, particularly from Sunni Islamist factions. The backlash was so intense that Assad was ultimately forced to make concessions. To placate Sunni opposition, he amended Article 3 of the constitution to stipulate that the president of Syria must be a Muslim, thereby reaffirming the country’s Islamic character while ensuring his own eligibility for leadership. Furthermore, to demonstrate his own Muslim identity, Assad sought religious legitimacy by having prominent Shiʿi clerics, including Musa al-Sadr of Lebanon, issue fatwas recognizing the Alawites as part of the Twelver Shi’a tradition. This move was designed to counter long-standing accusations of heresy directed at the Alawite community and to bolster Assad’s religious credentials within the broader Islamic world. His son and successor, Bashar al-Assad, continued and expanded this balancing act by emphasizing Sunni religious symbols, incorporating Salafi clerics into the regime, and publicly participating in Sunni religious practices, such as attending Friday prayers.79

Notwithstanding these concessions, discontent among Sunni Islamist groups continued to grow. Throughout the 1970s, opposition to the Assad regime mounted, culminating in an armed insurgency led by the Muslim Brotherhood in the late 1970s and early 1980s. The conflict escalated into a full-blown rebellion, with the Brotherhood carrying out assassinations of government officials and attacks on military installations. The crisis reached its zenith in 1982 when Assad responded with overwhelming force, crushing the uprising in the city of Hama. The infamous Hama Massacre, during which thousands were killed, definitively eliminated the immediate threat posed by Sunni Islamist insurgents. However, it also exposed the enduring sectarian fault lines in Syrian society, further entrenching the Assads’ reliance on an extensive security apparatus and sectarian patronage networks, particularly in their appointments to key security positions.80

The outbreak of the Syrian Civil War (2011–2024) under Bashar al-Assad aggravated the sectarian dimensions of Alawite vulnerability, exposing them to unprecedented dangers. Jihadist groups, viewing Alawites as both heretics and loyalists to the regime, perpetrated massacres in Alawite villages, echoing historical patterns of persecution. Many Alawites, including those who had previously opposed the regime, felt compelled to support Assad, fearing that a rebel victory would result in the wholesale slaughter of the Alawite community. This fear intensified as the conflict took on a more explicitly sectarian nature, with Islamist rebels attacking Alawite villages and invoking Ibn Taymiyya’s fatwas to justify their violence.81 The Alawite community paid a heavy toll during the civil war, not only due to massacres by jihadist groups, but also because they were disproportionately conscripted to fight on the frontlines by the Assad regime, with tens of thousands of Alawite youth perishing during the conflict.82

Regrettably, the fears of the Alawite community regarding the consequences of the Assad regime’s collapse were realized in ways far worse than even anticipated. Since 8 December 2024, when Hayat Tahrir al-Sham, an Islamist militant group, seized control of Syria, Alawites have been subjected to genocidal violence. Reports indicate that thousands of Alawites have been massacred, with unofficial estimates—likely more accurate—placing the number in the tens of thousands. This violence includes mass abductions, torture, forced displacements, and other atrocities that constitute crimes against humanity, and continues as these lines are being written.83

6. The Alevi–Alawite Political Rapprochement in the Wake of the Syrian Civil War and After

The outbreak of the Syrian civil war in 2011, which brought widespread devastation to Syria, also had far-reaching effects on Turkey, extending well beyond the immediate challenges posed by the influx of millions of refugees. One of the less examined yet politically significant consequences was the way Syria’s increasingly sectarian conflict reverberated within Turkey’s domestic landscape. It had a particular impact on the country’s Alawite population, who have long maintained familial and spiritual ties to Syria, as well as on Alevi communities, many of whom had previously been unaware of the Alawites’ existence or of their historical plight, which in many ways paralleled their own.

What shaped these communities’ perceptions was not only the sectarian nature of the conflict itself, but also the overtly sectarian response of Turkey’s ruling party, the AKP. The AKP’s explicit support for Syria’s Sunni-dominated opposition, alongside its tacit facilitation of transnational jihadist networks operating across the Turkish–Syrian border, raised acute concerns among both Alawites and Alevis in Turkey about the potential spillover of sectarian violence.84 These anxieties were further exacerbated by a spike in hate crimes within Turkey during the same period, including the ominous marking of Alevi homes with red paint, an act that echoed the symbolic tactics of past pogroms.85 Equally troubling were state plans to establish refugee settlements in provinces with dense Alevi populations, a move widely interpreted as a sectarian demographic intervention.86

This shared sense of vulnerability catalyzed new forms of empathy and solidarity between Alevis and Alawites within Turkey. Although both communities had historically intersected within secular and leftist political spheres, they had rarely engaged with one another on the basis of confessional affinity. Alevi organizations, both in Turkey and in the diaspora, had generally not incorporated Alawites into their institutional frameworks, and although individual Alawites occasionally participated, they were not regarded as a distinct constituency. This dynamic began to shift in response to the Syrian conflict and to the AKP’s increasingly sectarian rhetoric in both domestic and foreign policy. Alevi organizations started to engage with issues particularly affecting the Alawite community, including inviting Alawite representatives to public forums, incorporating their concerns into advocacy agendas, and drawing explicit parallels between the two groups’ respective experiences of marginalization and exclusion.87

Although this rapprochement lost momentum following the relative de-escalation of the Syrian conflict around 2017, it regained urgency in the aftermath of the 2024 takeover of Syria by the jihadist group HTS, led by Abu Mohammad al-Jolani. Jolani, who remains on international terrorist watchlists, is widely associated with the massacres of Alawite civilians during the civil war. Reports of renewed mass violence against Alawites—characterized as genocidal by advocacy organizations and increasingly by international bodies—rekindled a sense of ethical obligation and political urgency among Alevi organizations, particularly in Europe. In the absence of a robust Syrian Alawite diaspora capable of engaging in sustained international advocacy, these Alevi organizations began to assume representational responsibilities, launching petitions to the United Nations and coordinating human rights campaigns to raise awareness of the ongoing atrocities.

While the most direct forms of engagement remain concentrated among Alevis and Turkey’s Alawite minority, this solidarity is increasingly acquiring a transnational dimension. In the diaspora, nascent Syrian Alawite advocacy initiatives are beginning to collaborate with established Alevi institutions, with Turkey’s Alawites providing the linguistic and familial ties necessary to serve as intermediaries. Though still in their formative stages, these joint efforts represent a broader shift toward an integrated minority rights framework rooted in shared experiences of vulnerability, historical marginalization, and existential threat.

This political convergence has also produced new discursive strategies that foreground shared values and historical parallels over doctrinal or ritual differences, a narrative particularly resonant among the more secularized segments of both communities. However, significant theological, linguistic, and ritualistic differences persist, making full convergence or co-identification unlikely. Nonetheless, this strategic alignment—particularly in the realms of transnational advocacy and political mobilization—appears poised to endure and expand, especially in diaspora contexts where collective security and solidarity have become central to both communities’ political imaginaries.

7. Conclusions and Epilogue

This study underscores the limitations of conventional scholarship on Alevis and Alawites which has frequently approached these communities through a homogenizing lens and employed conceptual categories—such as ghulāt and syncretism—that reflect the epistemic biases of hostile or ill-informed external observers. It argues for the necessity of a differentiated and historicizing analytical framework, one that centers these communities’ internal perspectives and self-representations.

Adopting such an approach, and through a systematic comparative analysis, the study demonstrates that Alevis and Alawites—despite their frequent conflation in both popular and academic discourses—have historically constituted distinct religious traditions shaped by divergent origins, doctrinal systems, and ritual practices. Whereas the Alevi tradition emerged from the antinomian currents of Anatolian Sufism and is marked by a mystical–monistic conception of the divine, the Alawite tradition traces its roots to early pro-Alid movements and exhibits a docetic–dualist theological orientation. Despite their shared veneration of ʿAli and mutual esoteric tendencies, the two communities have historically maintained separate religious authorities, social structures, and cultural lifeworlds, and rarely, if ever, engaged in direct or sustained interaction until the modern era.

Both groups, however, have been subjected to analogous patterns of religious persecution and socio-political marginalization under Sunni imperial regimes in the pre-modern era. The transition from empire to secular nationalism in the twentieth century initially appeared to offer the promise of equal citizenship and civic inclusion. In response, both communities gravitated toward secular nationalist and leftist ideologies as potential vehicles for protection and belonging. Yet, the persistence of sectarian hierarchies, the reassertion of religious majoritarianism, and the rise of transnational Sunni Islamist movements in the late 20th and early 21st centuries have significantly undermined these aspirations. This disillusionment is likely to prompt both Alevis and Alawites to reevaluate their positions within their respective nation-states and to seek alternative strategies for political and communal survival.

Among these emerging strategies are new forms of dialogue, solidarity, and joint mobilization between the two communities, developments catalyzed by a shared sense of existential vulnerability. What initially began as a localized rapprochement between Turkey’s Alevis and Arabophone Alawite minority in the wake of the Syrian civil war has, in recent years, assumed an increasingly transnational dimension. The December 2024 seizure of power in Syria by the jihadist group HTS, followed by mass violence against Alawite civilians and other minorities, has accelerated this trajectory. The growing influence of jihadist factions, supported by various state and non-state actors, including Turkey, has further intensified the convergence of Alevi and Alawite political concerns, particularly within diaspora contexts where avenues for international advocacy are more accessible.

This emergent solidarity is not rooted in theological convergence, but rather in a shared concern for communal survival in increasingly sectarianized environments. As such, full theological integration or co-identification remains improbable. Nonetheless, this strategic alignment signals the potential for a broader shift: the transformation of minority mobilization from universalist frameworks centered on secular citizenship toward more communitarian and identity-based modes of political engagement.

Certainly, many Alevis and Alawites remain cautious of identity politics, fearing that such frameworks might dilute their long-standing commitment to universalist and leftist political ideologies. Yet, the persistence of sectarian violence and the growing salience of diasporic mobilization are likely to sustain, and potentially deepen, this strategic alignment. Whether this evolving relationship will crystallize into a more institutionalized and enduring coalition remains uncertain. What is clear, however, is that it marks a significant reconfiguration in how religious minorities, in a region increasingly shaped by sectarian logics and transnational conflict, envision and enact political agency under conditions of chronic marginalization and threat.