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The moment the driver who usually takes me from Jordan to Syria told me that the road was now open to Syrian passport holders, I immediately and without hesitation agreed to return, despite some warnings to wait for the situation to stabilize so it could become clear who would be controlling the border crossing. Or how the armed opposition that had entered Damascus would be dealing with women—especially since its factions are part of the hardline opposition.
But I already belonged to the ranks of women who had endured those harsh conditions, be it as a lawyer, a journalist, or a mother. So I decided to be one of the first women to return, to inhale for myself the scent of a Syria that looks like us, a Syria we belong to, that means everything to us.
“I am a friend”
It was during my short absence of no more than four days to attend the Arab Reporters for Investigative Journalism (ARIJ) conference that the regime fell. At first, the borders were closed, but they were reopened two days later. I felt a deep sadness at not being in my country to witness these moments of victory, knowing that I had refused to leave Syria all throughout the years of revolution and conflict.
But it was still special being inside that conference hall. The 750 participants from all over the Arab world stood in salute to Syria and its victory, which made me feel like I was not alone. Many rushed to congratulate me, adding to the already present sense of warmth.
In the meantime, celebratory scenes also started to fill up the streets of Jordan as Jordanians expressed their joy; they also have loved ones locked up in Assad’s prisons. They were chanting “I am a friend,” a phrase that has recently gained traction as a symbol of opposition to the regime.
The Jordan-Syria border and the flag of the revolution
After crossing the Jordanian side of the border and confirming our Syrian identities, we reached the Syrian side, where there were no longer any employees, any photos of Assad, any flags of the former regime. We were welcomed by a small booth bearing a flag with red stars in the middle and fresh-faced young men. Some of them were wearing masks but others were bare-faced and beautifully Syrian. Behind them, the three-star flag was raised. They didn’t care about what I was wearing, where my accent was from, or even what city I was from. They welcomed us with respect, and we sang, “Hold your head high… you are a free Syrian!”
On the way from Mezzeh to Khalid ibn al-Walid Street in the region of Itfaieh, passing by the crowds in front of the police headquarters, the Palace of Justice, and the al-Hamidiyah Souq, women, men, and children were dancing and singing in jubilation on al-Nasr Street, al-Thawra Street, and the Bridge of Life. Places that those familiar with Damascus know well, and which have now become synonymous with freedom.
Syrians are passionate about their unique revolution, which was not the product of the work of a specific faction or group but the fruit of everyone’s sacrifices. The first to pay the price was Hamza al-Khatib, the first child to fall, and loss did not end with Mazen al-Hamada, whose body was found having undergone systematic torture in detention centers. All Syrians, without exception, have offered sacrifices to overthrow the tyrannical regime that had been in place for 54 years.
Though the future is still vague, thousands have broken free from Assad’s prisons in heartbreaking scenes, and millions have taken to the streets with an indescribable joy, one that Syria has never known before in its history.
“Hold your head high… you are a free Syrian!”
A citizenship state after decades of injustice
Today, millions of Syrian women share these mixed feelings of jubilation and apprehension. Like many others, Kinda (30 years old), a friend of mine, could hardly believe how quickly the regime fell 14 years and 10 days after the first call for freedom rang out. Her conflicting feelings kept varying from denial to belief as she couldn’t understand whether she felt happy or wanted to cry, especially after she had totally lost hope that things would change after the 2021 elections, which Bashar al-Assad won by a landslide, as always.
Like all Syrians, Kinda grew up listening to Baath anthems that only glorified the leader. And after the revolution and the struggle for change, she spent 14 years dreaming, both patient and afraid.
“We’ve learned what our rights as citizens are, and we’ve learned the meaning of effective citizenship. Today, we want to rally around each other and keep working for the change we aspire to so we can establish the state of citizenship we dream of,” Kinda stated.
As for Safa, a neurolinguistic programming trainer, she was full of mixed feelings laced with excitement when she said to me, “I’m 44 years old. I’ve waited for this day for a long time. I’m apprehensive about what’s coming, but I hope it will be a new phase for women’s rights, education, and the re-understanding of what true freedom means in schools and universities and in youth initiatives that started being launched the first day of the tyrant’s downfall.”
Sanaa (38), from Jaramana in Rif Dimashq, works in education teaching philosophy. She said, “At first, I felt ecstatic, a sense of victory I’d never felt before. But once I saw the photos of the prisoners and the scenes from inside our big prison, I started getting afraid that we were about to enter a new one. Yet when we all came together to work in the street, to support and help others, those fears dissipated. There were crowds of young women and men standing united to affirm our support for change.”
Sanaa is counting on the return of refugees and the forcibly displaced to participate in civil and political work to protect the country. She stresses the importance of coordination among human rights organizations to document the horrific crimes that were committed and to support the rights of people of all classes and backgrounds. “The prisoners who have been released into a new life must be supported and protected. All violations must be documented in a professional and objective manner so we can demand international trials for the perpetrators of these crimes,” she added.
She also expressed her hope that the coming phase would bring attention to the education sector, affirming that a good education is the basis for any good person capable of protecting their country in a real and sustainable way.
“With love we will rebuild”—Youth initiatives
Maha, a pharmacy graduate who lives in the heart of the capital Damascus, said that on the very first day of victory she was dancing in the square with the new flag, accompanied by people who couldn’t believe that Assad had actually fallen. She added that she’d been regularly going out for a whole week without having anyone interfere with her clothes or appearance.
“We started coordinating social initiatives to support this change in our country. When we first tasted victory, we felt how much we love and belong to this place. Our country is shaking off the dust of injustice under which it lived for decades and is opening its arms to a bright future,” Maha stated.
Chanting the popular song “With love we will rebuild,” the young women and men of Damascus spread through all neighborhoods of the city. The Cross Scouts cleaned up the neighborhoods of al-Qassaa and Bab Touma, while the “3amrha” volunteer team set out to clean up universities. The Jaramana Initiative also cleaned up the neighborhoods of their city.
These initiatives popped up in most areas without prior coordination, and this kind of unity sent the message that this is our country, and we belong to it. We stand together in one body, shouting loudly: no to littering, no to bribery, yes to citizenship, yes to a state that protects us all, women and men, in all our beautiful diversity.
