Omar Al-Hadi, an architecture student from Suwayda who studies at Damascus University, was about to finish his degree and present his final project. But the massacre in Suwayda last July, and the siege that followed, severed his connection to his university. He remained in his village, unable to reach campus.

He says: “Today we’re stuck in our villages at the lines of conflict, while our classmates continue their academic lives. This takes me back to the summer of 2018, when our education stopped completely after ISIS attacked the village of Al-Shabki near where I live. What we’re living through now isn’t much different, only wider and harsher.”

The risks Omar faces are not limited to violence and siege. The road to Damascus, he recounts, has itself become a perilous journey: “After the events in Jaramana and Sahnaya and up to the Suwayda massacre, going to Damascus became a gamble. Roads are cut off, checkpoints search belongings, phones, and chats, and kidnappings and assaults are recurring. A few days ago four young men were abducted at a security checkpoint near the Conference Palace at Damascus’s entrance. Some classmates chance the trip down with Red Crescent teams to complete their studies, but no one can guarantee their safety.”

Omar is one of many students whose return to their universities and schools has been derailed. They are living with the fallout of the bloody violence that swept Suwayda and ended with the province under economic and administrative siege. The contrast grew starker as images circulated of graduation celebrations in northern Syria, where students managed to complete their studies. Notably, Syrian President Ahmed Sharaa appeared with his wife Latifa Al-Droubi at the graduation ceremony of the “Victory and Liberation” class at the College of Arts and Humanities at Idlib University.

“Suwayda is Free of Illiteracy”

In 2008, Suwayda was listed among the provinces “free of illiteracy.” Today, the picture is reversed: schools are closed, exams are halted or suspended, thousands of students have been displaced or unable to access basic educational services, and there is still no clear plan from the Ministry of Education regarding the fate of the school year in the province.

Even educational slogans have been dragged into the escalation bazaar. Activists recirculated a clip of security personnel threatening residents after reading an old banner that said “Suwayda is without illiteracy,” which they interpreted as “without Umayyads,” a sectarian slip that loads an educational slogan with political/sectarian meanings unrelated to its original intent. For many, that incident was yet another sign of the deterioration in relations between the central authority and the local community, even over the simplest of rights: education.

Student Testimonies: Suspended Schooling and Persecution outside the Province

Nour Al-‘Andari, a baccalaureate (Grade 12) student from Suwayda, describes how his school year unraveled: “After we took the first exam, the tests suddenly stopped. We felt as if our lives had stopped, as if the dream we’d chased since childhood was stolen from us in a moment. We felt injustice and heartbreak, as though we were denied the simple joy that students in other provinces got.” What pains him most, he says, is that “students in other provinces sat safely and calmly in their classrooms, while we sat under bullets and fire. We were deprived of our natural right to fair and safe education. And yet giving up on school isn’t an option for us, because we believe learning is like dignity; we cannot live without it. What hurts more than anything is that years of effort and late nights were stolen in a moment filled with the whizz of bullets and the blast of shells.”

The crisis does not stop at Suwayda’s borders. Jawad Shalghin, a student at the Dental Prosthetics Institute in Latakia, says a dispute with a teacher over sectarian social-media posts ended with his expulsion and threats of enforced disappearance: “It wasn’t just me. Other friends from Suwayda were threatened too; they left their studies and returned home in fear of further escalation.”

Other students recount that a colleague from Suwayda was arrested inside his university dorm in Latakia over a post about events in the province, subjected to torture and humiliation, and forced to sign 13 political charges before being released after an international entity intervened, according to their testimonies.

Aghiad Bou Faour, a pharmacy student at Al-Sham Private University, says a solidarity post with Suwayda was deemed “sectarian” by the university administration, leading to his expulsion.

These testimonies reflect a pattern of pressure that trails Suwayda’s students even outside their province, adding another layer of risk atop the basic difficulty of access and movement.

Contradictory Decisions… and Closing Schools

Since April 30, sporadic, contradictory decisions have disrupted the educational process. Tenth- and eleventh-grade students were unable to take their exams. Baccalaureate students only took one subject on July 12, before events exploded the next day.

A chemistry teacher (who preferred not to be named) says what happened “was no coincidence, but a direct targeting of the educational track and a spreading of illiteracy.” She pauses at the closure of Saraya School, which she describes as one of the most important schools in the province: “When a school with exceptional results and a distinguished faculty is shut down, the message is an attack on education at its roots.”

In response to this vacuum, volunteer initiatives have sprung up in shelters: young women teachers are giving children basic reading and writing lessons, and supporting baccalaureate students with free sessions. But, as the teacher notes, “these efforts don’t replace school. At best they provide the student with 20 percent of what they need. Education requires organized classrooms, daily commitment, and continuous follow-up.”

Official promises remain fickle. It’s rumored that UNICEF will oversee baccalaureate exams, but there is no announced plan. “Every week we’re told the exam is near, and then they backtrack. Students are living in a fog of contradictory promises,” the teacher says.

Pass Lists Turned into Obituaries

The tragedy has gone beyond halted studies. When the results of the middle school certificate (Grade 9) were released, the name of Tala Hossam Al-Shoufi,14, appeared among the top students in Syria, with a total of 3090/3100—but Tala had been killed in one of the massacres that took place in July. Likewise, Anas Amjad Shahib (2696/3100) was announced among the high scorers before being killed with members of his family on the Al-Thaala road, while Mu‘in Marwan Al-Halabi was martyred with his family during displacement. In Suwayda, certificates of excellence have become tragic documents announcing the absence of their owners, instead of opening doors to their future.

The targeting is not limited to closure and disruption. A report by Amnesty International (September 2) documented extrajudicial executions carried out by government forces and affiliated groups against 46 Druze men and women on July 15 and 16. The gravity of these crimes lies in where they occurred, places that should be civilian sanctuaries: public squares, homes, a public school, and the national hospital.

One testimony gathered by the organization reports a man executed inside a school after being questioned about his sect. Diana Semaan, Amnesty’s Syria researcher, said: “When civilians are killed in schools and hospitals, these are extrajudicial executions that amount to crimes under international law.”

Runaway Security or Collective Punishment?

Between Omar Al-Hadi’s story and students stranded in place, between schools that shut and curricula that are suspended, and results announced for students who have perished, a picture emerges that goes deeper than a “temporary disruption” due to a security situation. What is happening in Suwayda strikes at the pillar of society: education. With no clear rescue plan and no safe environment for movement and learning, the question is legitimate: Is this merely the result of a breakdown in security, or part of a broader pattern of collective punishment?

Whatever the answer, the cost is now tangible: a generation is being robbed of its opportunities at university, in the labor market, and in public life. And while political and military headlines shift, the right to education—a safe classroom, an accessible exam, an open university—remains the simplest condition for justice, and the first step on the path out of catastrophe.