Lessons from a Forgotten Revolution

HOF – Today, the Assad regime crumbles from within. The rebels stride into our cities. The question lingers: will we seize this second chance? Or will we let history devour us again?

After 13 years of war in Syria, I’ve learned to hope for the best but brace for the worst. And yet, in those early days, it was impossible not to feel the pull of something extraordinary, something alive.

I remember the exact moment when it all began in March 2011. Spring was returning, and so were we. After decades of silence and fear, something finally broke. The air buzzed with possibility, as if the earth itself had grown tired of the darkness. Across our cities and villages, we could no longer contain the agony that had simmered within us for so long.

The weight of the tyrant’s walls, the decades of oppression, had grown unbearable. And so, we rose. In that month, the rivers of our land seemed to surge in rebellion. The frost in our deserts began to thaw. Flowers bloomed where none had dared before. It was as though even God had grown weary of our docility and blessed our land with renewal.

This was no ordinary spring. It was a revolution—a moment when we remembered who we were. For once, we cast aside the divisions that had poisoned us. No more sectarianism, no more hate. The struggle wasn’t among us. We fought against the suffocating shadow of tyranny. It was a poison that had seeped into every corner of our existence.

We rediscovered the fire of innovation—the steam engine of thought, progress, and humanity. I watched as even the beasts of power began to fall. The mules that had long been bridled stumbled. The lions, whose fangs once struck fear into every heart, started to crumble. Their time was over.

We said no. No to the corruption that stifled our dreams. No to the butcher who masqueraded as a leader. No to the system that thrived on fear and division. This was never about Alawites or Sunnis or Christians. It was about everyone. We stood together as one. We faced the faceless monster that sought to enslave our bodies and minds.

In the streets of Daraa, in the alleys of Hama, and on the shores of Latakia, we were united. Our revolution was a call for freedom, for humanity, for justice. It wasn’t just a cry against oppression—it was a cry for life itself.

But hope, like spring, can be fleeting. What began as a shared dream unraveled into a nightmare. The same divisions we swore to overcome crept back into our hearts, sown like seeds of discord. The promise of unity gave way to a bitter truth: freedom is fragile, and tyranny is cunning.

And then, we forgot everything we believed in—and pursued a decade-long civil war. Now, after a long detour through ruin and despair, we stand at a crossroads again.