Homs: Lingering Scars and Renewed Hope in Syria’s Former ‘Capital of the Revolution’

“Even now, I look back and wonder how we survived this nightmare,” Baraa quietly reflected. Now 20 years old, the university student participated in the joyous celebrations that swept through the streets of Syria last Sunday, marking the end of Bashar al-Assad’s rule. Her two sisters, Ala and Jana, affirmed her sentiment with nods as they sat closely together on an old, uneven sofa in their modest Homs home on a cold winter’s day. Their white-bearded father, Farhan Abdul Ghani, contributed to the conversation from his cross-legged position on the floor. “We did not want war. We did not want a forever president who builds monuments to himself.” Approximately a decade ago, the family was first encountered during the most severe period of that war, which was waged in their president’s name. Baraa, then a profoundly traumatized young girl whose eyes darted wildly, struggled to speak. “Sometimes people killed cats to eat,” she abruptly stated while seated in a disused banquet hall bustling with aid officials, Syrian security forces, and distraught families. For months, many had little sustenance beyond grass pulled from the ground and leaves from trees, boiled in water with salt and occasionally cinnamon. “Instead of learning to read and write, I learned about weapons,” Baraa recounted to us then with a straightforward demeanor. Homs was once designated the “capital of the revolution” by peaceful protesters who initially demonstrated in the spring of 2011 to demand change, before the situation escalated into full-scale conflict. Baraa and her family were among one thousand civilians rescued from the Old City during a rare UN-supervised humanitarian pause in February 2014. They somehow endured the agonizing two-year siege of the old quarter, where Syrian troops enforced their initial “surrender or starve” blockade in this brutal war. This medieval tactic of coercion evolved into one of their most merciless weapons, deployed against successive rebel-held strongholds. Months later, additional civilians were also granted safe passage out of the Old City, along with fighters who subsequently continued their struggle in other parts of Syria. The years leading up to this week have been challenging for this family and many others. “I felt as if I was asleep and I lost hope,” Baraa recalled as she adjusted the white headscarf worn by her and her sisters. “We were always afraid of saying the wrong thing, even at the university.” Now, like numerous Syrians, she is filled with palpable joy and optimism during these initial exhilarating days of a new beginning. “I am dreaming of so many things now, to finish university, to do a master’s degree, to improve my English.” Her voice faded as her ambitious goals filled the modest room. The once frightened young girl, whose name signifies “innocence,” had matured into an impressively confident young woman, dressed in fashionable blue jeans and a powder blue fleece. Her affectionate father, whose name means “happy,” beamed with pride. He managed to raise his daughters independently after their mother was killed by a rocket that struck their kitchen. The children discovered her there, slumped over the stove. His meager earnings from his fruit and vegetable cart, supplemented by the generosity of friends, sustained their pursuit of a better life. “Everything is cheaper now, including food and electricity,” he enthusiastically stated, noting that market prices have decreased because roads are now open and soldiers at checkpoints are no longer stopping goods or soliciting bribes. This is a significant benefit for a country where the UN reports that 90% of Syrians live below the poverty line. He added effusively, “Today I could even afford to buy meat.” Lingering wounds remain raw and painful. Similar to tens of thousands of other Syrians, he suffered the loss of a loved one, a brother, within the secret torture cells of Saydnaya prison. When the doors of this notorious Damascus prison were flung open last week, his brother did not emerge. This profound sorrow and exhilarating happiness are palpable, particularly for Syrians now able to make a bittersweet return to Homs. Entire sections of the city still present as stark landscapes of grey rubble and extensive ruins. “I needed to see this again but it brings painful flashbacks,” Dr. Hayan al-Abrash remarked as his eyes scanned the desolate scene of devastation in the Khalidiyah neighborhood, which was obliterated by Syrian firepower. He indicated the skeletal remains of a towering building whose facade was removed by a scud missile, causing two other buildings to collapse. He was also compelled to depart the besieged Old City in 2014, abandoning his makeshift underground hospital located there and in the adjacent Khalidiyah area. He struggled to locate it until a shopkeeper appeared to unlock and unfurl a metal shutter. This revealed a stripped-out warehouse featuring unstable metal stairs that descended into a dim, damp basement. “Yes, yes, this is it,” he declared excitedly as our flashlights illuminated the vast space, including an additional staircase. “This is where the patients entered,” he explained. “Sometimes I brought friends, neighbours, my own cousin, down these stairs on my back.” Adjacent to this was a wall marked with arrows indicating the “emergency room” and “the road to death”—a form of humor even darker than the room itself. The green and black flag of the opposition, now widely visible, was prominent. Empty medicine vials and soiled cardboard containers were scattered in a distant corner of the room, where the wall showed charring. “The regime lit that fire in revenge,” he stated with rising emotion. “They feared doctors, lawyers, political figures even more than they feared the fighters.” “It makes me very angry to see this,” he emphasized. When asked if it incited a desire for retribution, he responded, “It’s not a time for revenge. It’s a time to build Syria for everyone, but not for those who killed us and have blood on his hands who must be put on trial. We don’t forgive. It’s impossible for us.” All individuals interviewed in Homs expressed that its inhabitants, both Muslims and Christians, would collaborate in rebuilding the city, and the narratives heard appeared to corroborate this assertion. Dr. Hayan also guided us to another subterranean hospital location in the Old City, situated in a roomy church basement now furnished with stacked chairs and tables for family events. Farhan and his daughters were adamant about showing us their refuge during the majority of the siege—a shelter within the Jesuit monastery, then managed by the charismatic Father Frans der Lugt. The Dutch priest, who was killed in the Old City after declining to abandon its trapped and starving inhabitants, is now interred on the premises. The present pastor, Father Tony Homsy, was surprised by our unexpected arrival with Farhan, who was accompanied by his daughters and emotionally reviewing photographs from that period on his phone. The Syrian Jesuit priest escorted us down the stairs into the confined room, currently utilized for daily mass, which had recently been converted into a Christmas grotto featuring a luminous Nativity Scene. “This is a very beautiful story,” he marveled as the small group nearly occupied the entire space. “In this grotto which symbolises how Jesus and the Holy Family found refuge, there is also the story of this Muslim family.” Father Tony, who leads the Catholic Church in Homs, has also had the opportunity to visit his family in the northern city of Aleppo for the first time in several years. He too harbors ambitious dreams. He affirmed, “It’s time to go forward,” attributing the quote to Father Frans, whom he credits with inspiring his decision to join the Jesuits. However, he warned that “it will take time to heal our wounds, to heal our memories.”