We Syrian exiles have felt rage for so long, now this sliver of liberty feels monumental

I was born in Damascus but – like many Syrians – grew up in exile owing to the realities of a country run by the Baath Party. My father was a political refugee from Iraq and my Syrian mother was unable to get citizenship for children with a non-Syrian father. When my parents were given a chance to leave, they fled on forged Yemeni passports, arriving in London in 1990. After we got our British passports, we would travel to Syria periodically. In 2001, my parents decided to resettle there but they quickly became disillusioned with the corruption, bureaucracy and, ultimately, the lack of options - particularly for women. We returned to Britain, but my parents were so desperately bound to the idea of Syria that they decided to return with us in 2003 and again in 2004 for the same reasons. I often felt rage about the future that lay ahead of my beloved cousins. Like many other highly educated young Syrians, they had few opportunities and many were conscripted into the military. Even at a young age, I could see the crushing impact the dictatorship had on young hopes and dreams. The start of my journalism career coincided with the early days of the Syrian uprising, and I covered the country extensively between 2011 and 2015. I quickly learnt to recognise the impact barrel bombs and chemical weapons had on the human body. The recent footage of cities retaken from government forces, people waving the flag of a free Syria and chanting against then-president Bashar Al Assad stirs vivid memories of those early days when demonstrations were transformed by repression into an armed uprising and then into a civil war. Over the past week, I dug into my old journalism notes, emails and interview transcripts. In the early days of 2011, the Syrian opposition were astonishingly well-organised. Networks stretched across the country, down to the neighbourhood level. My contacts list included organisations such as Al Midan Revolutionary Group from the Damascus district of the same name. Further down this list were the Students for Revolution, a collective that was defying the Assad government. The contact list was as diverse as Syria itself. I can still recall some of their voices, their dialects reflecting Syria’s rich diversity. Some on my list are merely Twitter handles, now frozen in time. Those behind the accounts presumably went into hiding, are missing or are now believed dead. My thoughts then drifted to Bab Amr recently, a neighbourhood in Homs that was besieged and devastated in a scene eerily reminiscent of Gaza today. I remember two young men I spoke with almost daily during early 2013: Abu Hanin and Omar Shakir. These activists refused to leave Homs, wholly committed to the resistance even when nothing was left. Many of the activists running the Bab Amr Media Centre are now dead. I wonder how they would feel about these recent events. What would they think of rebels driving government forces out of Aleppo and Hama? Back in 2012, the opposition was led by the Free Syrian Army, mostly a secular rebel group; Islamist factions did not yet dominate the scene. Would Abu Hanin and Omar Shakir have welcomed the sight of Hayat Tahrir Al Sham fighters entering their cities? The answer, I think, is yes. Despite its many ideological divides, the Syrian opposition remained united by one overwhelming goal: the downfall of Bashar Al Assad. That remains why, in the absence of Russia, Hezbollah and Iran-backed militias, Aleppo, Hama, Homs and the rest of the country fell to the rebels with little resistance. Even those who may have stood by the state had been enduring a decade-long war and were governed by an administration propped up by the Captagon trade. Although a group led by former Al Qaeda affiliates may not be ideal for most Syrians, especially the country’s ethnic and religious minorities, most people, it seems, have chosen the rebels over Mr Assad. I’m certain people like Abu Hanin, Omar Shakir and others from the Bab Amr Media Centre who were killed while telling the world what was happening would be celebrating today. They believed in a free Syria, a dream that, perhaps for the first time in years, feels faintly within reach. But at what cost? Syria has irrevocably changed. Its people are scarred, its cities shattered and sectarian divides run as deep as ever. The spirit of 2011-2015 feels like a distant memory. Nevertheless, it is a spirit worth holding on to, if only to remind us that without Russia’s intervention, the Syrian revolt might have succeeded by 2015. By 2017 much of my family in Syria had been displaced to rebel-run Idlib, the north-western governorate that was repeatedly bombed from the air and was the scene of fierce fighting. By 2020, a Turkish-Russian brokered truce had stopped much of the fighting, and Idlib was functioning relatively well under HTS leadership. Schools were re-established, critical infrastructure was restored and many displaced Syrians moved from tents to permanent accommodation. Yet, even with some slick marketing and communications campaigns, it was clear that Idlib was being ruled as a theocracy. Nowhere was this more apparent than in the gender divide. Women’s representation in Syrian politics has been consistent since the 1950s. Although this was limited and relatively small, women still participated in the Assad-led administration in some capacity. Such participation was non-existent under the HTS-led Syrian Salvation Government. The 11 ministries run by this body in rebel-held areas are all headed by male ministers. Women in Idlib took a back seat in government matters and were pressured into wearing head coverings and long, loose clothing. This does not mean Syrian women disappeared from public life in Idlib, but many were left with only limited, non-governmental civic roles in education and healthcare. However, under the current transitional government headed by HTS in Damascus, women have appeared in the cabinet, some without head coverings. HTS has been defended by its supporters for building fast and being efficient. One indicator of this apparent success is light. Night-time illumination is often a good sign of economic prosperity and recent satellite imagery analysis has revealed that cities held by the Assad government lost roughly half of theirs. In contrast, rebel-held areas increased their night lights by 10 times. Yet keeping the lights on at night is only one piece of a complex puzzle. Daily life in government-held areas had become increasingly untenable. Many in Syria, including some of my extended family, could no longer endure the extortion of the previous regime’s shabiha militia who demanded arbitrary payments every few weeks. For many loyalists, these shakedowns were their main source of income as economic mismanagement and sanctions eroded even Assad’s support base. Over the years, as the world’s attention shifted away, Syria became increasingly hollow and unliveable, even for those who once stood by the Damascus government. Meanwhile, HTS rebranded themselves as pragmatic Islamists. So far, they have earned grudging support from sceptics and bolstered confidence among their followers. Perhaps most significantly, HTS has allowed some limited space for dissent. Protests mocking their governance show that some measure of freedom, however constrained, has been permissible in rebel-held Syria. After 60 years of one-party rule and unspeakable horrors, even this sliver of liberty feels monumental. For those who have endured decades of dictatorship, this small, deeply flawed freedom might seem insignificant. Still, to those Syrian activists and rebels, this represents a triumph, even if fleeting, one we hope will become a beacon of hope for a better future our Syria wholeheartedly deserves.