Bouthaina Al Farhan, 60, has nothing but contempt for Bashar al Assad. But she admits that there were times she wished the regime hadn't crumbled so fast, so she wouldn’t have to face the likelihood that her missing son was gone.
For years, she believed he might have been held in one of Assad's prisons, but when the former rebels took over the country and released tens of thousands of detainees from the regime's dungeons, she found no trace of Abdallah.
A year since the Assad regime fell, Ms Al Farhan is still searching for answers. “My life has changed since the liberation but not in the way people might think. Sadness has grown within me. Before, I lived with the hope that he might knock on the door, that he might return. But now, hope has waned,” she told The National from her home in Jaramana, south-east of the capital.
Like him, tens of thousands of people disappeared into the Assad regime’s sprawling network of detention centres during Syria’s ruinous 13-year civil war. Considered opponents of the former regime, many were executed or tortured to death.
Syria’s file on the disappeared is one of the most sensitive issues facing the transitional cabinet, formed in March, which has announced the creation of a National Commission for the Missing in a bid to bring closure to suffering families.
Mothers had been searching for missing loved ones throughout the civil war, partly because they were less likely to be arrested. Ms Al Farhan said she will not give up.
The day the regime fell, she hurried,like many others, to Sednaya, Syria’s most fearsome prison, on the outskirts of Damascus, combing its serpentine corridors and filthy cells in the hope of finding her son.
The prison’s dark corners revealed untold atrocities and horrendous living conditions, scenes she said still haunt her today. But after days of frantic searching inside the prison, she found nothing that could lead her to her son. Her search of hospitals and morgues ended the same way: Abdallah was nowhere to be found.
“But I’m still looking for him; a mother never gives up,” she said, as tears streamed down her face, the flow growing heavier with each memory of her son.
The boy disappeared on a winter's day after going out to play with his friends in Damascus. The family had sought refuge in the capital a few months earlier, having fled their hometown of Deir Ezzor, where the war was raging. They thought they were finally safe – until Abdallah's sudden disappearance.
Missing children
Syria's file on the disappeared is even more complex when it comes to the thousands of missing children. Some were separated from their parents during Syria’s civil war, placed in orphanages under new identities and later adopted.
“The former regime took the children of detainees and changed their identities,” Minister of Social Affairs and Labour Hind Kabawat told The National. "There are also reports that some were sold outside the country."
She added that a dedicated subcommittee has been created, overseen by her ministry along with those of interior, endowments and justice, as well as civil society groups and lawyers. It has begun tracing missing children with the help of international organisations and has started conducting DNA tests.
“We also seek to support these families psychologically, because they are truly devastated,” she said. “Our first task is to find their children. But we must also help them rebuild their lives and secure the psychological care they need after such loss.”
Ms Al Farhan’s pain has never eased. Abdallah has disappeared but is not forgotten: his pictures fill the home, framed in the living room, displayed as her phone’s screensaver.
“He never did anything wrong. He was just a child; he wasn’t involved in anything political. And if they killed him, where is his body? I need to know where his bones are. At least give me his bones, his clothes, something,” she said.
'We want justice'
It has been 11 years, but for Safinaz Al Chaaibi, 52, the pain is as acute as if her child had been taken from her yesterday. Her voice broke and tears began to well up at the mere mention of his name, Mohamed, an 18 year old who disappeared in 2014 from the streets of Deir Ezzor.
“He was a child, very polite. He did nothing wrong," she said, tears rolling. For more than a decade she searched for her son, whom she had been told was detained in a security branch. She spent a fortune, selling household belongings and gold to pay officials who promised information or help securing his release. “They were all liars, exploiting the situation and extorting money,” she said.
Throughout her ordeal, she and her husband were arrested and interrogated, at first believing they were being summoned to collect their son. They were released a week later but Mohamed remained in detention.
After the fall of the regime, she gained access to records showing that Mohamed’s death had been registered in 2015 in Sednaya, a year after his arrest. But for Ms Al Chaaibi, this is not enough. Like many families of the disappeared, she wants more answers and hopes for greater accountability.
“I want to know who interrogated him. How did they move him from Deir Ezzor to Damascus? I want to know who wrote the report. I want to know how my son died. Why did they take him?"
But the path to accountability is a long one. Ms Kabawat said family's complaints are understandable after more than a decade of silent pain. “We understand very well, that's why the national committee is very inclusive,” she said. Authorities have set up a hotline for people searching for their loved ones, she added.
But war-torn Syria, left in tatters after years of civil war and debilitating western sanctions, remains ill-equipped to confront such a mammoth task.
Ms Al Chaaibi said she wants her son's name cleared of the terrorism accusations he faced under Al Assad. “Give me something that shows my son was wrongfully detained,” she insisted.
She is also calling for financial assistance for families of the missing. “There are mothers who pulled their children out of school so they could work and support the family,” she added.
Most importantly, she wants the state to hold the perpetrators of her son's disappearance and death accountable. “We want nothing but justice. And I don’t want to seek justice myself; that’s how wars continue.
“I want the state to guarantee my rights, because it will not survive without justice and accountability.”
