Nestled along the banks of the Euphrates River, Raqqa’s history stretches back millennia. Founded as Kallinikos by the Seleucid Empire in the 3rd century BCE, it later flourished under the Romans and Byzantines as a strategic trading post. But it was during the Islamic Golden Age that Raqqa truly shone. In 772 CE, the Abbasid Caliph Al-Mansur built a grand circular city nearby, Ar-Rafiqa, which eventually merged with Raqqa. For a time, it rivaled Baghdad as a center of learning and commerce.
Like so many cities of the era, Raqqa’s golden age ended in bloodshed. The Mongols, led by Hulagu Khan, sacked the city in 1265, leaving it in ruins. For centuries, Raqqa faded into obscurity, a shadow of its former self. Ottoman rule brought modest revival, but the city remained a sleepy provincial outpost well into the 20th century.
After World War I, Raqqa fell under French control as part of the Syrian mandate. The colonial administration paid little attention to the region, focusing instead on Damascus and Aleppo. Infrastructure projects were rare, and Raqqa’s economy stagnated. When Syria gained independence in 1946, the new government continued this neglect, viewing the eastern regions as peripheral.
Everything changed in the 1970s with Hafez al-Assad’s ambitious irrigation projects. The Tabqa Dam, completed in 1973, turned Raqqa into an agricultural hub. Cotton fields sprawled across the landscape, and the population swelled with displaced Bedouins and farmers. Yet, despite this growth, Raqqa remained politically marginalized—a trend that would later fuel resentment.
In 2014, Raqqa became infamous as the de facto capital of ISIS. The group exploited the city’s isolation and Sunni-majority discontent, imposing brutal sharia law. Public executions, slavery, and the destruction of cultural heritage became daily realities. For three years, Raqqa was the epicenter of global jihad—a dystopian experiment in extremism.
The fight to retake Raqqa in 2017 was one of the most devastating urban battles of the 21st century. U.S.-backed Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF), supported by coalition airstrikes, laid siege to the city. ISIS fighters used civilians as human shields, while relentless bombing reduced entire neighborhoods to rubble. By October 2017, Raqqa was "liberated," but at a horrific cost: thousands dead, 80% of the city destroyed, and a humanitarian catastrophe.
Post-ISIS, Raqqa became a microcosm of Syria’s fractured politics. The SDF, dominated by Kurdish forces, initially governed the city, but tensions with Arab residents simmered. Meanwhile, the Assad regime and its Russian allies eyed Raqqa’s strategic value, while Turkey viewed Kurdish control as a security threat. Today, the city remains contested, with competing factions vying for influence.
Rebuilding Raqqa has been agonizingly slow. International aid has been scarce, and sanctions on Syria complicate reconstruction efforts. Many residents still live in ruins, lacking basic services. Yet, despite the devastation, some have returned, determined to reclaim their city from the ashes. Local initiatives, like youth-led cleanup campaigns, offer glimmers of hope.
The psychological toll on Raqqa’s people is immense. A generation has grown up knowing only war and extremism. Schools and mosques, once ISIS strongholds, now struggle to rehabilitate their communities. The city’s children, many orphaned or traumatized, face an uncertain future.
As global powers jockey for influence in Syria, Raqqa remains a pawn in a larger game. The U.S., Russia, Turkey, and Iran all have stakes in the region. Any shift in the balance of power could reignite conflict. Meanwhile, the threat of an ISIS resurgence looms in the background.
Raqqa’s story is far from over. Once a beacon of civilization, then a symbol of horror, it now stands at a crossroads—between rebirth and renewed violence. The world watches, but for the people of Raqqa, the struggle for survival continues every day.