On December 8, Bashar al-Assad fled, leaving Syria’s security branches empty of their “guards,” criminals, and operatives. The spaces of death and torture turned into something resembling a crime scene. Armed opposition forces stormed these sites, releasing the living-dead detainees. Journalists, activists, curious onlookers, and investigators entered, searching for what remained. However, regime operatives had burned much of the evidence to cover up crimes committed not only since 2011 but long before. These sites contained archives of “everyone” in Syria—the accused and the innocent alike.
At Daraj, we obtained copies of numerous documents, including files on corruption, intelligence reports, deals, and endless lists of names. It’s a dream come true for researchers and investigative journalists, as well as for institutions seeking justice in Syria. But at the same time, it’s terrifying—hundreds of unfamiliar names that could include someone known to us, a name with a familiar face or voice who survived detention—or sometimes, didn’t.
Among the documents, one stood out: a report from Branch 251 (Al-Khatib Branch), addressed to the head of the branch and dated January 13, 2012. Titled “Follow-up on Harasta Coordination,” it detailed surveillance of several individuals, wiretapping on one of them, and a promised reward of 10,000 Syrian pounds (about $100 at the time) for the informant. The report included the name of journalist Rasha Abbas, who now resides in Germany.
One page—just one—was enough to send chills down my spine. This single page could have sealed Rasha’s fate. She was accused of planning to “transport aid from Harasta to Homs,” based on a report written by an unnamed informant who, according to the document, had participated in Harasta protests.
This one piece of paper, for a mere 10,000 Syrian pounds, could have doomed companions to detention, torture, or death in the branch’s basements. The document was shared with Rasha after consulting with our editorial team and a legal expert regarding its content and potential implications.
I asked Rasha Abbas what it meant for her name to appear in such a report. She responded: “When I read my name and the context of the report, I thought about the absurdity of life in Syria, about being part of this dark chapter in the country’s history. Seeing your name in a security report is terrifying, even with the temporal and geographical distance. I, like many others, have spent years abroad, unable to return to Syria—more than 10 years without seeing my family, uncertain whether I was wanted by the regime or not. The ‘wanted’ system often proved unreliable. I could have spent my entire life abroad without knowing. If the regime hadn’t fallen, I would never have known whether I was on their list.”
She added: “The horrifying thing about being named in such a report in a country like Syria is that you could spend your life not knowing what action might be taken against you or what would have happened if you’d stayed longer. Would you be arrested at a checkpoint? Summoned for interrogation? Would your home be raided at any moment? There are two layers of fear: not knowing if you’re wanted and the ambiguity of what might happen if you are.”
When asked about another name in the report, the person alleged to have designated her to “transport aid,” Rasha explained: “The name in the report disappeared after his arrest in 2012. I don’t know anything about him. Seeing his name brought back feelings of sorrow. After being missing for over 10 years, I see his name in a security report. It rekindled the nightmare of the Syrian regime—a nightmare that everyone relives. To be trapped in Syria, unable to cross borders because you don’t know if your name is on their list. The system of fear left a bitterness that overshadowed even the joy of its collapse.”
The report concluded with the branch head’s approval of its recommendations, followed by further approvals and inter-branch communications to “complete the work.” Rasha reflected: “The grief and horror multiply when you see something as simple as ‘providing aid’ framed as a crime in these reports. It wasn’t a protest or terrorism or any of the traditional charges the Syrian regime throws at its opponents. I could have lost my life over such an accusation, at the hands of a regime that arrested my friends simply for trying to save lives.”
“You Will Never See the Sunlight Again”
At the Air Force Intelligence Branch in Mezzeh, Damascus, a room labeled “Depositories” held records, including lists of detainees from 2011. One document listed more than 500 names of individuals accused of “participating in riots,” “inciting protests,” “distributing money in a café,” or “talking about the oppression of the people and the need to honor the blood of martyrs.” These charges, fabricated as they were, echoed the revolution’s slogans—claims that could be deemed legitimate demands.
Some accusations indicated a division of power, such as an individual being “wanted on Daraa’s three lists,” referring to name exchanges between branches. Others contained absurd details, like someone being accused of “protesting at the instigation of his wife’s uncle” or “protesting on his own accord.” Long lists of names existed—individuals who could have disappeared into the basements, though everyone on this particular list had been released, including our colleague and friend, Jude Hassan.
According to the list, Jude was detained for “participating in protests” on March 27, 2011. When we showed him the document, he recounted:
“This might have been the first protest I participated in. At the time, we didn’t chant for the fall of the regime. When we left the Umayyad Mosque, we were met by a pro-regime rally that included many security officers. As we marched towards Al-Marjeh Square, they attacked us, arrested us, and beat the protesters before distributing us to different branches.”
Jude continued: “All the questions during the detention revolved around ‘Who are you? Who incited you?’ Afterward, they blindfolded me, cuffed my hands, searched me, and stripped me of my clothes. Once I was dressed again, they threw me into solitary confinement.”
He added: “I remained blindfolded and cuffed throughout the detention. On the last day, they took me to interrogation—questions, threats, and beatings—before photographing me. Then they forced me to sign a blank paper, removed the blindfold, and tried to coerce me into appearing on Syrian state television as a journalist to repeat their narrative about conspiracies and infiltrators. I refused.”
Jude described the final moments of his release: “They returned me to the holding area, and a few hours later, they brought me to another interrogator. He made me watch pro-regime rallies on TV and lectured me on nationalism before ordering my release. They handed me my belongings and said, ‘Go, but if we catch you again, you’ll never see the sunlight again.’ They also threatened my family and brothers and warned of deporting me to the borders because I’m Palestinian-Syrian.”
“Protesting on His Own”
The names flow one after another, arranged by the date of arrest. For a moment, all the names feel familiar, faces we’ve seen in low-resolution protest videos. The enthusiasm of 2011 comes rushing back, only to be replaced by a chilling fear: if these are the people who were released, what about those whose names don’t appear? Those who vanished or perished in the torture chambers.
While browsing the names, the name of journalist and writer Mohammad Dibbo appeared, described in the document as having “protested on his own,” unlike others who were said to have protested under someone’s incitement. Notably, Dibbo’s charges or statements in the report include: “He stated that he had ideas he wanted to convey, primarily demanding the fight against unemployment and corruption, reviewing the Emergency Law, releasing political detainees, and granting citizenship to the Kurds. His Excellency’s decision mandated the continued detention of the individual to complete the investigation, conduct a field study, and determine the course of action based on the results.”
The charges against Dibbo were severe enough to prevent his release. Yet the phrase “conduct a field study” remains ambiguous—does it mean torture? Interrogation? When asked about that day, Dibbo explained: “I was arrested in my village by Air Force Intelligence from the Tartous branch and transferred to Damascus on March 21, 2011. I believe the document is a message from the Tartous Air Force Intelligence to the Damascus branch. During the interrogation, I was asked about my demands. I answered (and this was in the early days of the revolution) that we wanted reform, the fight against corruption, freedom, the release of political prisoners, and the abolition of Article 8 of the Constitution. Based on that, I was transferred to Damascus for further investigation.”
Dibbo continued: “As for the phrase ‘protested on his own,’ it has a story that might seem humorous on one hand, tragic on another, and reflective of the cunning nature of authoritarianism on a third. I didn’t admit to knowing anyone in the Tartous branch who had planned or participated in protests that day. But what happened in Damascus—whether by coincidence or investigator coordination—is that I found myself sharing a cell with the relative of my friend Omar Idlabi. We started chatting about everything we knew. The next day, we were shocked to see all our conversations laid out before the investigators. That’s when I realized there was an informant in the cell. I secretly informed the others after identifying him, but the damage was already done. We had to confess to what they already knew through the informant.”
Reflecting on the charges, Dibbo said: “Reading those ‘charges’ again, the first thought that came to mind was: Was I brave or foolish to say those things to an investigator in ‘Assad’s Syria’? Let’s not forget that we’re talking about the early days of the revolution, even before protests became a significant movement. At the time, we were still in a state of anticipation, trying to determine if Syria was heading toward revolution. Looking back, I think the enthusiasm ignited by the fall of regimes in Tunisia, Egypt, and Libya played a role in what may have been courage—or perhaps recklessness. Add to that my activism in public affairs and my proximity to political opposition circles since the Damascus Spring.”
Dibbo continued: “The first thing I remembered when I saw my name was the solitary confinement cell where I was held alone for two days in Tartous before being transferred to Damascus. While it felt like a nightmare, it later seemed like a palace compared to the Air Force Intelligence cell at Mezzeh Military Airport. That cell was smaller and sometimes held up to 11 detainees. Another memory that resurfaced was of the investigators in Tartous who interrogated me over two days. There were two investigators and a secretary who seemed very sympathetic to me. One of the investigators was extremely harsh (though his harshness felt like child’s play compared to what happened in Damascus), while the other was less severe. I can still recall their faces clearly. Strangely, I don’t hold any personal grudges against them, yet I wish to see them in a courtroom one day (along with all those who interrogated me in Damascus). If that happens, I am certain I would forgive them and waive my personal right.”
“I also remember the officer who interrogated me after the two investigators were done. He was ‘kind.’ I never saw his face, as I was blindfolded, but his voice still echoes in my memory. He was calm, didn’t apply pressure, and simply listened to my demands.”
“Sectarian Hater”
The charges and justifications listed in the security reports cannot be treated as “truth.” The language used by Syria’s security branches often contains fabricated accusations against detainees. Phrases like “according to his statement” frequently follow allegations related to anti-Assad sentiments or legitimate demands. This wording seems like an attempt by investigators to distance themselves from the claims or to assert that such views could only come from “terrorists.”
The reports categorize people into “friends,” including Iranians and Hezbollah fighters; “enemies,” always referring to Israel; “traitors,” denoting defectors or former regime affiliates; and “terrorists,” meaning civilians who participated in protests. These distinctions become clear in the charges, which often encompass broad swathes of Syrians. One such case involved Thaer Al-Burgis, described as a “sectarian hater influenced by the media, working within an organized group.”
Thaer was arrested along with friends whose names also appeared in the report. The charges included protesting and chanting slogans like “God, Syria, freedom, and nothing else” and “With our souls and blood, we sacrifice for Daraa” as well as calling for the end of the state of emergency.
When asked about these accusations, Thaer responded: “I’m glad the regime fell, and that I played even a small part in it. I gave everything I could personally. I’m also grateful I was never arrested again. The moment I was released from prison, I was determined not to be detained again, though I came close several times during protests in Damascus and Deir ez-Zor. Seeing my name in these reports brought back memories—of both the protests and the arrest.”
When asked about his arrest, Thaer explained: “I began coordinating with friends to determine which mosques would host protests. On March 25, 2011, there were several protests. I was in Damascus, but friends in Deir ez-Zor told me about demonstrations planned at Al-Safa Mosque and Osman bin Affan Mosque. Many of my relatives and friends were arrested that day.
In Damascus, we divided ourselves among several mosques. There was an attempt to protest at Salah al-Din Mosque in Rukn al-Din, but it failed. After some deliberations, we learned about protests planned in Kafr Sousa and Khaled bin Al-Walid Street. When we headed to Al-Rifai Mosque, there was already a protest inside, but it was surrounded by shabiha and security forces. I couldn’t get inside. One of my friends went to Douma, where he found the protest already dispersed and security forces everywhere. A patrol from Air Force Intelligence arrested him, and under torture, he seems to have confessed about the whole group, whose names appeared in the arrest file,” he continued.
“Two days later, my family called while I was at university, warning me that security forces had come to our house, and I needed to flee. But it seems I was being monitored. I took a taxi from the university, and as we reached the area under the Revolution Bridge in Damascus, traffic halted. Suddenly, a security car pulled up, and they grabbed me. I knew exactly why I was being arrested, so I sarcastically told the security officers, ‘Let me pay the taxi fare first.’ The driver replied, ‘You’re excused.’
They blindfolded me and pushed me under the seat. There were many of us in the car, but during interrogations, they focused on me and another friend, believing we were among the instigators with ties to others.”
When asked about the charges, Thaer recounted: “I was tortured, hung, and electrocuted for about a week. I was denied food and water. Like other detainees, I was accused of protesting and being an infiltrator, among other things. But I believe the label ‘sectarian hater’ was directed at me within the prison. This stemmed from an argument I had with an Alawite officer from Talkalakh about how the regime exploited the Alawite community to maintain power.
During interrogations, the charge became clearer. They accused me of being ungrateful to Hafez al-Assad and the investigator himself, claiming they had ‘elevated me from the cattle fields’ and built the country for us. By protesting, they said, I had renounced these blessings. I think this is why my release was delayed. Ultimately, my father had to use connections and pay significant bribes to include my name among those pardoned.”
Thaer concluded: “After my release, my friends and I left university and moved to Deir ez-Zor. We were pursued there and spent a long time in hiding. When parts of Deir ez-Zor were liberated from regime control, we remained active in various fields, including media, field hospitals, and relief efforts. Most of us eventually fled to Europe, except for one cousin, Alaa Al-Din Al-Burgis, who remains missing to this day.”