Visiting Syria After Assad’s Fall: A Journey Between Hope and Reality

By: Muna Katoob, Syrian feminist.

June 2025

The poster is designed by the cartoonist Amani Al-ali.

December 8, 2024, was more than a turning point in Syria’s history. It was a day that will never come again in the lives of millions of Syrians, a day etched into memory for as long as we live. No other day will resemble it, even if we were to live for centuries—the day when a symbol of tyranny and oppression finally fell. That day breathed hope back into our hearts, confirming the truth of the old poetry line: “If the people one day desire to live, then fate must surely respond.”

For years, I had surrendered to the despair that I might never again see Syria. I tried—what seemed like pitiful attempts—to adapt to a new society. Canadian citizenship and a Canadian passport brought me safety and a sense of belonging, a substitute homeland that always welcomed me back whenever my plane touched down on its soil.

But two nights after Bashar al-Assad fled the country—after many sleepless nights—I finally drifted off, only to wake an hour later in a panic. A terrible fear gripped me: what if I had lost my Syrian identity card? For minutes, that thought consumed me. How could I ever prove my Syrian identity if I were to return? I rushed to the drawer where I kept my official papers, searched frantically until I found the card, placed it beside my bed, and fell back asleep. In the morning, I tucked it inside my Canadian passport, where it remains to this day. In that moment, it was as though I had recovered something priceless I had been deprived of for years—an identity, a homeland, a sense of safety. Above all, I had regained my right to belong, and therefore, some justice was done for me.

When I returned to Syria after more than fifteen years, the scenes were unforgettable. In the heart of Damascus, the flag of the revolution flew proudly. From cars and shopfronts came our songs “Lift Your Head Up High” and “Our Homeland, Our Paradise.” In Umayyad Square, young men and women carried the flag of revolution. Families and friends were hugging each other with tears after years of forced separation. In Shaalan, graffiti showed Sarout and May Skaf alongside the words: “Free Syria—Syria for All.” To me, these were the first glimpses of justice for the sacrifices Syrians had made for thirteen long years.

In Homs, when Sarout’s mother finally returned after years of exile, thousands greeted her with the words: “Mother of the martyr, we are all your children.” And I wondered: what could ever compensate these mothers for the loss of their sons? I knew then that justice, in its fullest sense, could never be attained. True, complete justice is a dream. What could ever make up for the imprisonment, the bombardment, the displacement, the exile, the chemical attacks, the sieges, the lost years of education, the hunger, the poverty? History teaches us that justice is always defined by the victor. That is our reality now: the National Commission for Transitional Justice has promised accountability for the crimes of the Assad regime alone. But what of Razan Zaitouneh and Samira Khalil? Who will answer for the murders of Raed Fares and Hiba Haj Aref? And what of countless other crimes committed by other parties?

Yet we cannot stand idle. The sacrifices of so many people demand every possible effort to pursue justice. Leaving crimes against humanity unpunished is a timebomb threatening any future peace. The principle of “Go! For you are free” can only lead to vengeance and civil war—especially with weapons so freely in circulation, as was clear during the recent unrest on Syria’s coastal region. The whitewashing of war criminals will only ignite public fury with disastrous consequences, as seen after the Peace Committee’s statements guaranteeing security assurances to Fadi Saqr. We must understand: every step toward transitional justice is a step toward building the Syria we hope for.

Wars are humanity’s ugliest invention. They destroy not only people and cities but also the very values on which human life depends. Rebuilding those values will take immense effort. Before we rebuild our shattered buildings, we must rebuild ourselves—our inner lives, our society, our sense of human dignity. The re-building of the human comes first. I recall a banner once raised in Kafranbel: “The problem is within us—the Assad is crouching inside each of us.” Bashar al-Assad may be gone, but Assad’s legacy of cruelty is seeping through our society, visible not only among armed groups but all over social media. We will not overcome it without a genuine transitional justice that includes every violator, from every side, alongside a real national dialogue. Laws must be applied equally to all and not remain mere words on paper.

On April 28, 2025, during Canada’s federal elections, I told the volunteers it was my first time voting here, having gained citizenship only last year. What I didn’t tell them was that it was also the first time in my life I had voted in truly free and fair elections. How could I explain that in Syria, I had cast votes knowing the result would be 99.97%, in elections with no real competitors? I wished my first genuine vote had been in my homeland, and I still dream of living that experience in Syria one day. Many of us have lived in countries that have justice, equality, and democracy, and we longed to experience those values in Syria. We hoped that if not us, then our children or grandchildren might experience them. When the regime fell, that hope felt suddenly attainable. But in recent months, hope has faded again, as if dragging us back to square one.

Eight months have now passed since Syria was freed from Bashar al-Assad. In that time, we have lived in a storm of emotions: one step forward, filling us with hope that we are approaching the dream that was called for in the demonstrations—“Freedom, Freedom”—only to be pulled back again by some decision or so-called “individual act.” Between hope and despair, safety and fear laced with anger, we are living our new reality. We know that achieving the dream will demand awareness, effort, and time. Yet, I believe that Syrians have the experience and determination it takes. What we need now are real, earnest steps toward building a pluralistic, participatory, and just Syria.

By: Muna Katoob, Syrian feminist.