damascus, syria
—
“Hold your heads high, you free Syrians,” is the chorus of the Arabic song that became the unofficial national anthem of the new Syria. The song was played throughout the capital Damascus, blaring from loudspeakers in markets, chanted at celebrations in central squares, and even sung by men handing out traditional coffee to arriving passengers at the airport.
Under the oppressive rule of the Assad dynasty for more than half a century, many Syrians have kept their heads down. The ruling family enforced a massive surveillance state, with the notorious intelligence agency Mukhabarat instilling fear in the hearts of the people. Until the Syrian uprising of the Arab Spring and Assad’s brutal crackdown on protesters plunged the country into a decade of civil war, silence was the surest survival strategy.
Syrians are now loudly and proudly celebrating the first anniversary of their liberation from Assad’s regime following a blitzkrieg attack by rebels led by former jihadist and current president Ahmed al-Sharaa on December 8 last year.
For the first time in 16 years, I had the opportunity to go to Damascus, a place I have never lived in since I was born. I was expecting an emotional calculation about the weight of reconnecting with a tradition from which we have long been cut off. Almost everyone here, both before and after the Assad regime, is struggling to pay for electricity, food, water, and basic living expenses in a country just trying to get back on its feet. It was bittersweet to be reunited with my extended family for the first time at my grandmother’s house since my grandmother passed away just three months before witnessing the unthinkable: a homeland without Assad.
Once there, the challenges of daily life were clear enough, but as I walked around the city with my father, I was surprised to feel an almost triumphant and joyful atmosphere.
At least this week, Damascene people are pausing to appreciate the fact that they are no longer living with Assad’s boot around their necks. People gathered in Umayyad Square, a major gathering place, to cheer and wave new Syrian flags as schools and work were closed for a public holiday marking the anniversary. Some drove through the city’s main arteries with flags hanging from their windows as drivers honked their horns in joy. A caravan of at least 30 ice cream trucks flying Syrian flags flashes into the sky. Fireworks echoed throughout the city until 2am.
For members of the Syrian diaspora returning to Damascus to take part in the celebrations, the airport’s arrival hall was transformed into a welcome party with flags and streamers hanging from the ceiling, balloon arches and face-painting stations for children.
Patriotism was prevalent on the streets and the civil and calm demeanor of the security forces was visible. I felt safe walking through central Damascus overnight.
That feeling was echoed by groups of tourists from Norway, Denmark and Spain who have been staying in hostels in the city center for weeks. They raved about the Syrians they met and enjoyed the infectious energy around them.
Still, the celebration was a brief respite from everyday life, and there was a sense that the country still has a long way to go. Al-Sharah faces widespread skepticism about his ability to maintain the seemingly impossible task of uniting a fractured country while building an inclusive and democratic government. Following a wave of deadly sectarian violence, members of Syria’s Alawite, Druze, and Christian communities have a deep distrust of the Syrian government.
Al Shara has ramped up significant international support over the past year, culminating in a historic White House visit in November to meet with President Donald Trump, who eased US sanctions on Syria. But economic development is effectively at a standstill until these sanctions are fully lifted by Congress and promised investment, primarily from Gulf Arab states, is allowed.
Nabiga Atassi, a young professional who came to Damascus from the city of Homs to take part in the celebrations, said she was shocked by the sight of destroyed buildings and people dancing right next to them, holding the new Syrian flag. She said she wants to be patient and wait until the situation improves.
“Words cannot describe the feelings of happiness, victory, pride and love for the motherland,” she said. “At least I have hope that one day I will be able to earn an income commensurate with the academic and professional level that I have worked so hard to achieve, unlike during the Assad regime, when there was no hope.”
A family friend I met in the passport line, who had lived all his life in Damascus and defected in 2012 at the outbreak of the civil war, told me that he immediately sensed a difference in the atmosphere: There were no pictures of Assad staring back at him. She couldn’t believe she could curse the exiled leader right in front of me.
In the historic Souk Al Hamidiyeh, the city’s central market, I pass a juice stand, calling Assad “Abu Rakbeh” (father of the neck) and making fun of his long neck. Several stands were selling socks with the same insulting phrase on them for about $1 a pair. It’s a subtle reminder of how much has changed over the past year, where any negative comment about Assad, or even mocking his appearance, can lead to torture.
Also in the souk, signs hanging between the stalls read “One year without torture,” the infamous military prison “One year without Saidnaya,” and “One year without chemical weapons,” all symbols of Assad’s brutal rule. It captures the duality of this moment, where the pain and suffering endured coexist with the relief of a new beginning.
