About a month has passed since Bashar al-Assad’s regime collapsed, ending a brutal 13-year struggle that has reshaped Syria and its people. That changed strange things and brought bombastic hope to most of the Syrians, as that marked the start of actually a new chapter for millions in a territory long steeped in war, oppression, and displacement.
The fall of Assad’s regime, however, has sent waves of hope rippling through Syrians inside and outside the country. For many, this is the first time in over a decade that they dare think of Syria as something free from fear and tyranny, a Syria where justice, freedom, and dignity are not ephemeral dreams but can actually be realized.
A few bewildering weeks, and many things have changed. Humanitarian organizations that were largely locked out of areas controlled by Assad have now begun establishing their presence in places they had not been able to reach for years. One such organization, Syria Relief/Action For Humanity, formally opened its office in Damascus recently.
To those of us within the humanitarian aid circle, it is that moment I must make an important leap forward. A colleague of mine, who has spent most of his lifetime in Turkiye, is already preparing to return to Damascus where he left his lost life behind. His excitement about this moment stands as a testament of the resilience and determination of many other such Syrians who, when this movement got that new wave, rushed to grab their futures back.
However, the exhilaration of getting away from that kind of limited freedom is, in a more profound sense, best illustrated through the stories of getting together. Just a few days ago my best friend returned from an emotional journey home to Homs. For more than 10 years he lived apart from his family, cut off from them because of the war’s perils. To see him reunite with his family or his spouse was a powerful example of the kind of evidence of what this evolved era for most Syrians means.
To my own eyes, the possibility of “taking” my children (all born in Turkiye) to the Syria of now evokes a strange mix of hope and apprehension. The country they will see is not the same one I grew up in, but it is one that holds the promise of a brighter future. Still, the road ahead will not be easy.
Each of the sources depicts the future that lies ahead, a future which is now not only unavoidable but also a reality as Syria becomes a destination, a space existing at the margins of hope. Millennia of fight [violence] have obliterated the infrastructure of the country, the economy has collapsed, the population has been ruined up to the very base. Reconstruction in Syria will depend on the coalition of the able, the available, and above all, on the unity of the Syrian people, support for their country and their people.
The socioeconomic realities are daunting. Syrians are still carrying the burden of poverty, war trauma, and unemployment. Young people in particular have always known only war, and reintegrating them into a peaceful society will demand substantial effort in education and in mental health provision.
But nonetheless, there remains within the Syrians a consciousness of determination to get up again from the debris of the vanished. Local communities, civil society groups, and partner states are spearheading the process to build a more inclusive and just Syria.
The same resilience that helped Syrians care for each other for decades of war will also guide us in the arduous work of reconstruction. For the first time in more than a decade, we may imagine a Syria in which autonomy and dignity are not just words, but also real possibilities on the horizon.
