Waking up to a free Syria in exile

I could not believe my eyes, and I could not believe the words I was hearing.

The broadcaster repeated the news several times, but I replayed the video over and over again:

“We bring you this breaking news: Bashar al-Assad has fled Damascus to an unknown destination. I repeat, Bashar al-Assad has fled.”

I leapt out of bed, screaming, Syria is free!

It's hard to celebrate freedom in exile, alone. But I know this will be the last time. Today, despite the distance and displacement, I know that all Syrians are united as one heart across the globe, and soon, we will return together.

I desperately wanted to hug someone, but there was nobody around. I cried, and the tears streaming down my face mingled with my laughter and belts of joy. It’s a strange feeling, difficult even—celebrating freedom in exile, alone. But I know this will be the last time. Today, despite the distance and displacement, I know that all Syrians are united as one heart across the globe, and soon, we will return together.

I berate myself. How could I have fallen asleep at such a critical moment? But in my tiny apartment in the Netherlands, I couldn’t relax or rest over the past few days. I was pacing back and forth, speaking with friends and relatives over the phone for hours, discussing the latest developments. I forgot to eat the entire day, and if it weren’t for the pounding headache, I wouldn’t have bit into an apple. A few sips of water were my only break from long bouts of crying.

I follow the news from every possible source, humming revolutionary songs as I prepare a cup of sage tea, the same way my grandmother used to make it for us. Sometimes I cried; other times I prayed. God, let this bring all that is good for my Syria. Please let Syria’s future be as we dream it will be: a just, free, and safe Syria. A Syria where I will no longer need to sign my articles with aliases.

My mind races with countless thoughts and questions about the transitional government, about the necessity of preserving and protecting private and public property, about the importance of avoiding the mistakes made by the old regime, about dismantling HTS, excluding oppressive structures, and learning from the experiences of other nations that sought freedom but ended up in the hands of criminals. But who can answer my questions?

My mind races with countless preemptive thoughts and questions about the transitional government, about the necessity of preserving and protecting private and public property, about the importance of avoiding the mistakes made by the old regime, about dismantling HTS, excluding oppressive structures, and learning from the experiences of other nations that sought freedom but ended up in the hands of criminals. But who can answer my questions?

Most pressing of all is how I’ll return to Syria: I haven’t renewed my Palestinian-Syrian travel documents in years. There’s no way I would use my Dutch passport to go back.

A few hours later, I started searching for Syrian gatherings here, looking for any celebratory demonstrations. I want to embrace every Syrian, to finally congratulate each other.

The spirit of the revolution and its future.

When events began to escalate a week ago, I followed them with apprehension, like so many others. But everything changed in the past two days. Everything I thought had been buried and forgotten suddenly came back to life. It feels as if I’m reliving every thought and feeling I’ve had over the past decade.

Today, I can finally imagine myself there again. I see myself returning to visit my father’s grave, who passed away nearly four years ago, so far from me. I would kiss the soil of Damascus that holds him and weep for him as I should, asking for his forgiveness for my exile, a separation I did not choose. I see myself walking through the alleys of Damascus, on the streets I know by heart, greeting my neighbors warmly and telling them that I’m back after all these years.

After thirteen years, the spirit of the revolution has reignited. Memories of all the events I lived through during those years flash before my eyes with vivid detail, as if I were reliving them: from the first protests filled with fear and defiance, to the arrests of my university peers, to the friends in Daraa who vanished without a trace.

It made me remember the horrific massacre in my hometown, the bodies of my neighbors and the people from my neighborhood piled in front of the Omari Mosque. I recalled the beginnings of my secret media activism against the regime while I was still a student in the Faculty of Media. I vividly remember the arrest of my closest friend, my flight from Damascus to Egypt, and the deadly journey I took alone across the sea at the age of 23, which led me to exile and asylum in the Netherlands.

Oh God, how much the revolution has cost us—so many martyrs, so much blood, so many prisoners, so much pain and oppression, and the loss of the best years of our lives.

O, free people of Syria! O, undying people of Syria, long live a free Syria, and glory to the martyrs. To the displaced Syrians, to those who were tortured, imprisoned, and oppressed, to those who were humiliated and were robbed, you can now breathe in freedom. The people of Syria have given us freedom. Syria is liberated. Syria is ours. Long live great Syria. The criminal has fled. Bashar al-Assad has fled.

Today, I can finally imagine myself there again. I see myself returning to visit my father’s grave, who passed away nearly four years ago, so far from me. I would kiss the soil of Damascus that holds him and weep for him as I should, asking for his forgiveness for my exile, a separation I did not choose. I see myself walking through the alleys of Damascus, on the streets I know by heart, greeting my neighbors warmly and telling them that I’m back after all these years. I’ll reintroduce myself to them because I’ve changed—I’ve grown older, and my hair has turned gray before its time.

I picture myself embracing my family, meeting the children who have grown into young adults during my absence, their faces unfamiliar to me. I see myself praying in the Umayyad Mosque in the old city of Damascus, spending the entire day there, contemplating its details. I see myself attending mass with my sister-in-law at one of the churches in Bab Touma. I imagine picking a fragrant jasmine from every street I walk through in Damascus.

Suddenly, this foreign land feels like a cold and desolate forest. For today, our Damascus is more beautiful than any city or country. I see our beloved city as it will be when we return—vibrant, full of life, ready to embrace those of us who were forced to leave it behind. I know deep in my heart that I will be among those who return. Me and everybody else who has spent the best years of their lives in exile, in solitude and anguish, are determined to rebuild it with all the love we carry for it. We will bring with us everything we’ve experienced and learned. And I promise, we will never again take even the smallest thing for granted.

Suddenly, this foreign land feels like a cold and desolate forest. For today, our Damascus is more beautiful than any city or country. I see our beloved city as it will be when we return—vibrant, full of life, ready to embrace those of us who were forced to leave it behind. I know deep in my heart that I will be among those who return. Me and everybody else who has spent the best years of their lives in exile, in solitude and anguish, are determined to rebuild it with all the love we carry for it. 

Despite my mixed feelings, namely fear about the country’s future, joy and hope overwhelm me in a strange way. I feel proud of the vision of a Syria that unites all Syrians—a Syria that is just, free, and a revolution and victory built by its people, for its people.

Words and emotions suffocate and die out inside me. I want to shout here in these foreign streets, in this land of exile, just as that free Tunisian did in 2011 when Zine El Abidine Ben Ali fled Tunisia after the people’s revolution against him:

O, free people of Syria! O, undying people of Syria, long live a free Syria, and glory to the martyrs.

To the displaced Syrians, to those who were tortured, imprisoned, and oppressed, to those who were humiliated and were robbed, you can now breathe in freedom.

The people of Syria have given us freedom.

Syria is liberated. Syria is ours.

Long live great Syria.

The criminal has fled.

Bashar al-Assad has fled.

* The views and opinions expressed in Opinion and Blog articles are those of the author’s, and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Raseef22