Like many, I was unprepared for the torrent of emotions that gripped me on my first visit to Damascus after 13 years. The fall of the Assad regime felt nothing short of miraculous, leaving not only Syrians but also regional and global leaders in disbelief. Many still find themselves rubbing their eyes and pinching their skin to make sure it is all real.
The cost of toppling the regime was immense, etched into decades of pain and sacrifice. The scars of the last decade run deep: 13 million displaced, seven million refugees, two million injured, half a million killed, and 120,000 missing. Entire Sunni Arab villages and towns were reduced to rubble. Yet, the regime ultimately fell, worn down by the suffering, sacrifices, and resilience of millions.
Like many others, I needed several days to process what had transpired and prepare to return to "my city," retracing the same route I had taken when I left in 2012. Travelling from London to Beirut and then to Damascus via the land border, we were fortunate that the new Syrian authorities had begun checking the names of those entering the country.
The once-intimidating border crossings, where minutes felt like hours, have transformed into places of surprising ease and even humour. The once-feared security officers have been replaced by welcoming young men, speaking different dialects, bearing new names, and embodying a markedly different approach—many of these new personnel hail from Idlib and other areas of revolution and displacement.
As they reviewed the names of returnees, they laughed upon discovering that all of our names were once flagged for arrest, detention, or summonses for questioning. One officer pulled up our security records on the screen and joked, "You’re each wanted twice for arrest and once for questioning." Another chimes in, "By the same security branches—State Security and Political Security—so you won’t feel lonely in prison." With a grin, he types our names into the computer, laughs again, and returns our passports and documents.