Syria – a new dawn?

Ali H. Alhamad

I’m sitting in the middle of four screens, focusing on the east from my small room in Cardiff, in the west. I’m trying to keep in touch with the reality, but is it real? Assad’s regime has fallen for ever, it is real. For the first time in my life, I now realise what tears of joy are.

In 2011, when the revolution started in Syria, we had hope. Hope that al-Assad would leave and we would be free to live our lives as we wanted, to write and speak without fear.

But Russian warplanes came to al-Assad’s aid, destroying everywhere that was out of his control, and things went downhill quickly. More than 13 million people were displaced and around one million were killed, including my younger brother.

Before he was killed my mother was a strong woman. Since his death, she’s been a shadow of her former self. Our lives became a nightmare.

Sanctuary

I put my life in the hands of people smugglers and made a terrifying boat trip across the sea from Turkey to Greece to seek a safe home for my family. I finally found sanctuary in the UK but I never stopped thinking about those I’d left behind.

That was nine years ago, and I’d gradually given up thinking that anything could change. With Putin as an ally fighting in the skies and Iranian militias providing ground support, the regime grew stronger.

The chances of defeating it, or even the prospect of people going back to their homes, began to fade. When my friend in Syria told me two weeks ago that a rebel army was preparing to launch a battle against Assad to liberate the western part of Aleppo, it should have been cause for celebration, but I felt scared.

Without anti-aircraft weapons, how could they protect civilians from the bombs of Assad and his allies, who destroy everything in their path?

Victory

But the battle had already begun, and within just a few hours, the rebels had taken full control of Aleppo, my city. This was something no one had anticipated: neither the regime’s military forces and their allies nor even the rebels themselves, who soon found out how weak and fragile the regime had become.

I sat glued to news coverage, as, encouraged by this discovery, they pressed on to complete their mission and liberated the entire city of Idlib from Assad’s grip. In record time, with the regime’s army collapsing along the way.

That dream of freedom and getting rid of al-Assad was reignited in the hearts of Syrians. I watched the breaking news, without sleep or food, following the battle in every detail.

With every advance the rebels made, the dream of victory over Assad grew stronger and more vivid. With every fresh headline, there’s new hope.

This continued until the early hours of December 8th, with reports of Assad’s escape to an unknown location and the rebels’ control over Damascus and most Syrian cities.

Tears

Tears of joy streamed down my face uncontrollably. The dream was suddenly becoming a reality. But something important was still missing. What about all those who’d disappeared, incarcerated because they’d dared to speak their minds, or those who’d been arrested for no reason.

Then came the announcement of the breaking of the locks on Sednaya Prison, infamous for being a human slaughterhouse. Syria became free from the rule of the Assad family. Who could have ever believed this?

I headed to Queen Street to join Syrians in Cardiff in celebrating this monumental event. Life now feels so much broader than it ever did before. While Syrians danced and celebrated to the tunes of revolutionary songs, tears overwhelmed me time and time again.

Locked away

The crowd that gathered had had plenty of cause to cry over our country but this time it was different. These were happy tears. I sang with the crowd unable to believe that what had happened could be a new dawn for Syria.

The celebration ended and as the last remaining few cleared away the debris from the street, the euphoria had passed. Back home, I returned to the news. Images of prisoners being freed from Sednaya Prison lingered in my mind.

Among them were women and children. I heard a story about a women locked away at 19, now freed in her 30s, accompanied by several children. She reportedly didn’t know their fathers as the guards had repeatedly raped her.

I began to wonder how our conservative society would accept her. People know she and her children are victims, yet they are unlikely to be welcomed back into their community. They have been turned into victims for life.

Another woman had lost her memory and no-one recognised her. Men who had been imprisoned for more than 40 years, last seen as teenagers, were now middle-aged men.

Optimistic 

I was overcome by a sense of misery that a friend called “post-joy depression”. A wave of pessimism engulfed me. I phoned my friend in Hama in Syria to ask what liberation had meant for his city. He was happy and optimistic. He said people were partying in the streets there and in nearby Homs.

My dark mood was lightened after our conversation. It seems that looking at the country’s situation from outside is very different from seeing it from within.

Now sitting looking at a screen in my home, I’m trying to work out what the future looks like for my country. People keep asking me what I think. Whether there is a chance of a lasting peace. Whether I plan to return home. Whether it would be safe to take my family there.

Every day things change. The liberating force have been on the terrorism lists in the western world, although they’re now being removed. But does this mean the new Syrian government will be tarnished in the eyes of the west?

But I see refugees returning and they say they feel safe. No doubt, there are many twists and turns to come. But my friends in Syria are still celebrating, so maybe I should just live in the moment and be happy and optimistic for the future.

Ali H. Alhamad is a Syrian writer living in Cardiff.