A new vocabulary in Damascus with the end of a ‘republic of fear’

For years, Syrians living in Damascus have not been able to express the full range and depth of their feelings on events in their country to the media. Since the March 2011 revolution, Damascenes have largely been quoted either voicing agreement with the Assad regime’s narrative or cautiously speaking under pseudonyms.

Hours before the Assad regime fell on December 8, Syria Direct spoke to Syrians in and around Damascus about what they were seeing and feeling. While they sensed an imminent change, they were careful about how they expressed what they were feeling and seeing. 

The following day, one of those Syria Direct spoke to—Shifaa Sawan, who reveals her real name in this interview—spoke again, this time with a new freedom and depth of feeling. 

She described walking the streets of Old Damascus after the sun rose, for the first time chanting the words to “Janna, Janna Ya Watana” (Heaven, Heaven, Our Country is Heaven), the famous protest song by Abdul Baset al-Sarout—an icon of the Syrian revolution killed fighting the regime in 2019. 

“Finally, I am no longer afraid to express my opinion,” she said. “I was scared to speak about anything related to the country, even if it wasn’t related to politics. This was the case of every Syrian living in the republic of fear.”

In the days and hours after the regime fell, Sawan and other Damascus residents spoke with a new tone, new words entering their vocabulary as deep fears began to fade. They voiced relief, hope and worry. They told stories impossible to utter only days ago. They all used their real names. 

Shifaa Sawan (previously referred to as Suham al-Ali), a teacher in Damascus: 

Finally, I am no longer afraid to express my opinion. I was scared to speak about anything related to the country, even if it wasn’t related to politics. This was the case of every Syrian living in the republic of fear. I don’t remember just how many times I spoke to the media—whether with you or others—but I was careful about choosing my words. Even speaking under a pseudonym, I tried to use symbols or express myself in an indirect way. I was afraid for myself, afraid of this injustice perched on our hearts. 

The sunrise was different that first day. It was not like the days before the regime fell. I walked through Bab Touma, al-Qaymariya, al-Maliki and Umayyad Square. I went to the Presidential Palace, repeating [Abdul Baset] al-Sarout’s song: “janna janna janna, ghali ya watanna.”

The heavy gunfire spoiled our joy. Many people were firing into the air, rejoicing at Assad’s departure. I grew concerned about the proliferation of weapons, that weapons would be used to settle any issue. 

I hope that, in the new Syria, there will be freedom, dignity, justice and development. I hope everyone will have their rights: women, children, the disabled and others. It’s very important to pay attention to women, because society will remain stagnant if their role doesn’t improve. There is no civilization without women playing an active role. The more of a role women play—teaching their children, excelling at work, advancing their education—the more that reflects positively on society as a whole. 

We must work to eradicate illiteracy and develop educational curricula. We must build academic institutions on the rubble of prisons built in the time of the republic of terror and fear. 

It is essential to point out an important issue: Education must not be ideologized. Even religious education should not be through rote learning and rigidity, but through strength of spirit. Civilization can only grow and flourish through the power of the human spirit. 

We have to invest in the capabilities of society in all its diversity, including the Kurds. I don’t want a single bullet to be fired at any Kurd. What is happening to them now, at the hands of the Free [Syrian] Army [Turkey-backed Syrian National Army (SNA)] is a political and military mistake. 

I hope public positions in the new Syria will be distributed among men and women, which will make decisions more balanced. 

Finally, what I hope most is for Syria to be free of prisons. Even if someone is sentenced, they should be put in rehabilitation centers aimed at reform. They should serve their sentence with dignity and respect for their humanity, overseen by social counselors. This way, we would create a psychologically and socially sound society. This is something we could not demand under the republic of fear Assad created. 

Ziyad al-Khair, 47, a trader from Reef Dimashq: 

The day after the regime fell, someone called me and asked: ‘Do you know what mint costs today?’ I laughed a lot, and told him: ‘Assad fell. Ask what the dollar exchange rate is, don’t be afraid.’ Can you imagine not being able to mention the name of a foreign currency? We spoke a language of symbols for many aspects of our lives. Today, we are experiencing freedom, tasting it for the first time after being imprisoned. Believe me, we were imprisoned. 

Damascus is entirely different from how it was a few days ago. The streets are very crowded with people visiting from all the provinces. There is joy in people’s faces. Many are chanting songs of freedom, as I noticed and heard when I went with my mother on a tour of the city. 

The joy I felt the first day after Assad fell is impossible to describe. But the excesses that took place—gunfire, theft and chaos that spread in some neighborhoods of Damascus and its countryside—spoiled our joy. If these incidents continue, I worry that what comes next will not be how we want it to be. Shooting in the middle of a crowd is very dangerous and harmful.

Ali al-Rashed, 60, a trader from Damascus:

Thank God the day came when all of Syria’s people were liberated. We didn’t dare mention the word ‘dollar.’ We called the revolution a ‘crisis,’ based on what the regime wanted. Of course, we couldn’t say ‘regime,’ but instead: ‘the state.’ I can also now say: the criminal regime, and [that] Bashar is a traitor and an agent of Iran. 

On top of our security problem with the regime, traders suffered from extortion. This happened to me in September. A patrol from the anti-smuggling detachment stormed in and confiscated more than 500 wristwatches. They took my son, who was held until the next day. We did not commit any violation or break the law. It was fabricated to collect money. 

That day, we paid 151 million Syrian pounds at the central bank [around $10,000 at the exchange rate at the time]. We lost the confiscated watches, worth more than 40 million pounds [around $2,750]. After we paid the fine, my son was let go, but the case stayed open. 

What I said just now could not be uttered before the regime fell. But now? Welcome to a free Syria, free of intimidation [tashbih]. That is what we hope for. 

This piece was originally produced in Arabic and translated into English by Mateo Nelson.