A Moment of Freedom, a Lifetime of Sacrifice
Yesterday, we saw a moment of history. It was a moment people in Syria have waited for over half a century. Fifty-three years of oppression, torture, and dehumanisation may finally be ending. Yet, I am still in disbelief. I cannot fully grasp what has happened in the past ten days.
This huge moment makes me think of my brother, Hasan, and the great price he paid for his courage.
Remembering Hasan
In 2012, security forces kidnapped Hasan from the street. Someone had reported him. He was held at the military police branch in Latakia for a few weeks. Then, he was moved to Homs, and later to the Palestine Branch in Damascus. This was a well-known torture centre.
We never knew the exact times he was held in each place. We were never allowed to speak to him or know where he was. We pieced together the details from others who were held with him at different times and later released.
Two months after he vanished, my father was called to the military court in Damascus. No explanation was given. He went with a glimmer of hope, believing he might finally see Hasan and get him released. Instead, he was told my brother had died of a heart attack in detention. This was a polite way of saying he died under torture.
They showed my father photos on a screen to confirm Hasan’s identity. They then informed him that the “authorities had taken care of the body.” We were not allowed to:
Bury him
Hold a funeral
Say goodbye
The Unbearable Truth
Later, survivors who had shared Hasan’s cell described the terrible conditions he suffered. Over forty men were crammed into a 4×4 metre space. They took turns to stand or lie down. When Hasan was close to death, his cellmates begged the guards for medical help. The response? “Don’t call us unless he’s dead.” They were there when he took his last breaths.
For years, we had no official death certificate, no physical proof. Then in 2020, while searching through thousands of photos leaked by the brave Caesar, we found him. We found Hasan’s pictures among the tortured bodies. This confirmed the truth we already knew but could never truly accept.
My brother was 25 years old. He was a young pharmacist, accused of “threatening national security.”
Even with this clear proof of his death, I cannot help but hold onto an irrational, flickering hope. A part of me still believes that Hasan will walk free today. That he will come back to us, and we will celebrate his freedom together. I know it is foolish, but it feels so real.
Our Responsibility
Today, I rejoice for the freedom of the detainees. I rejoice for the joy and relief of their families. I hope this moment brings peace to those who have suffered and hope to those who remain scarred. But I also know this is just the beginning. The challenge starts now. The responsibility has never been greater, and the stakes have never been higher.
We must honour the sacrifices of the past 13 years. We owe it to the Hasans of Syria, to those who gave everything for this moment, to build a future that is worthy of their dreams.
