Rami (a pseudonym) had not yet made up his mind about joining the “Coastal Shield Brigade” when, shortly after midnight on March 6, he was surprised by a brief voice message on WhatsApp: “Bring your things and come immediately.”
The young man, who had turned 25 just two months earlier, comes from a village in the Jableh countryside, in Syria’s coastal region. He explained that “your things” referred to his personal weapon, which he had kept for many years “for self-defense,” as he put it.
Two weeks earlier, Rami had attended a long evening at a cousin’s home with more than 10 young men, gathered to recruit fighters for the “Coastal Shield,” a force formed by Miqdad Fateha — a former Assad loyalist fighter with a notorious reputation and charges of drug trafficking and other crimes to his name.
Several of Rami’s relatives and neighbors decided to join, driven by various motives not necessarily aligned with those of Fateha and the brigade’s core members, often described as “remnants” of the former regime. Rami himself took up his weapon that night and set out to join them but was seized by fear at the last moment and fled far from the town.
Two days later, armed men loyal to Syria’s new president, Ahmad al-Sharaa, raided the town, storming homes and, in front of the town’s women, killing every male they found. Among the dead was a man in his 60s — Rami’s father. Rami himself ultimately ended up at Hmeimim Airport, a Russian military base, along with thousands of residents from neighboring villages, and remained there until I spoke with him on March 22.
While working on this report, I spoke directly with 13 sources from Latakia, Tartus, Jableh, Baniyas and their surroundings, including massacre survivors who had witnessed the execution of male relatives, as well as seven sources from Aleppo, Hama and Idlib who had firsthand experience of the “general mobilization” calls. I also reviewed 52 additional testimonies collected by local groups documenting violations in the coastal region amid heightened security risks. A journalist from the coast collaborated with me on gathering testimonies but requested anonymity for safety reasons.
My focus was on understanding what unfolded before the situation exploded into sectarian massacres that, according to the Syrian Observatory for Human Rights, claimed around 1,700 lives. Another documented report, sent by Syrian dissident Haitham Manna to the U.N. Security Council on March 24, put the toll at 2,246. Other sources cite even higher figures, though a reliable count remains elusive due to an information blackout imposed by the authorities, compounded by mass graves and the displacement of thousands from looted and burned villages.
The testimonies point to the following scenario: Groups linked to the “Coastal Shield Brigade” launched military operations on the morning of March 6, seizing the 107th Brigade headquarters in Ain al-Sharqiyah, in the Jableh countryside. However, events were heavily exaggerated on social media, spreading rumors that “the remnants had seized wide areas,” which seems to have encouraged small, disorganized groups to attack scattered military checkpoints and the Naval Forces Command in Latakia. Following deaths among General Security forces and chaotic withdrawals from some sites, confusion spread rapidly, resonating in Damascus and several provinces and culminating in the declaration of general mobilization.
Troop mobilization began across most cities under al-Sharaa’s authority, fueled by sectarian motives. News quickly spread that “the Alawites have betrayed us” and that the betrayal “must be avenged.” Mustafa, a 22-year-old living near a mosque in Hama, noticed young men flooding into the mosque on the evening of March 6 and went inside to understand what was happening. He recounted: “A masked General Security member stood at the imam’s microphone near the mihrab, calling out: ‘Come to jihad, the young men are under siege, you, the people of the Sunnah, must support us — today is your day.’” According to Mustafa, the crowd responded with loud chants of “God is great,” and some rushed outside to join the mobilization. Videos from Hama and Idlib circulated online, showing calls for jihad from mosques, while other footage captured crowds in public squares chanting sectarian slogans and calling to “trample the Alawites.”
The pattern of revenge varied by area, depending on the behavior of the attacking groups. Yet the common thread was the targeting of Alawite-inhabited villages and neighborhoods, particularly in Jableh and Baniyas, as well as their surrounding countryside. Some areas witnessed retaliatory acts that appear to fit the definition of genocide: In some cases, only males were killed, regardless of age; in others, entire families — men, women and children — were slaughtered.
Jana Mustafa’s father was killed in the al-Qusour neighborhood massacre in Baniyas on March 7. Jana — a young engineer — and her family endured a horrific ordeal: Her father was dragged from their home and shot twice, once in the head, inside their building. When the family found his body, they carried it back to their apartment, where it remained for two days before they were forced to flee for safety, returning days later to bury him in a mass grave.
Jana recalled the events in meticulous detail. She said that March 6 was “a normal, uneventful day in Baniyas; we could only hear some shelling from Jableh,” about 14 miles away. By nightfall, gunfire broke out and a curfew was announced, yet her family felt no fear. “There was a strong sense of security and reassurance,” she said.
At 10 a.m. the next day, her father stepped onto the balcony to survey the situation. Some General Security personnel were nearby and politely asked him to return inside. A few hours later, local residents noticed unusual movement in the neighborhood; they saw armed men breaking into a motorcycle shop and seizing bikes.
At 3 p.m., men carrying guns arrived at Jana’s building, shouting and demanding that residents open their doors for inspection. “We weren’t afraid — there were no weapons in our home, and we had no ties to any military activity,” Jana explained. “My father was a retired engineer, and my brother was a high school student [under 18 years old]. We expected insults or beatings, but nothing worse.”
Two armed men reached their fourth-floor apartment. Her father opened the door, and one of them immediately asked which sect he belonged to. He answered candidly, “Alawite.” They asked for his ID, examined it, and said, “And your name is Ali, too? Come with us.” Her father stepped out with one man, while the other entered the apartment, ordering the family to face the wall.
He asked about Jana’s brother’s occupation and, learning he was a student, left him alone. He then demanded their phones, searched the apartment briefly, fired two shots into the walls and left, slamming the door. The two men led Jana’s father downstairs.
After some time, the family dared to go down to find him. “On the second floor, we found our father’s body lying in a pool of blood. He had been shot twice — one bullet shattered the bone in his left arm, and the other struck his head.”
Their screams echoed through the building. A neighbor, who “clearly had been beaten and had tear stains on his face,” opened his door, Jana continued. She added that “it seemed he survived because he was Sunni” and then apologized for mentioning sects. The family had no choice but to leave the body after an armed man downstairs shouted at them to return to their apartment or be killed.
An hour later, they resolved to go back downstairs, hoping to retrieve their father’s body. Their Sunni neighbor had covered the body with a sheet. Together, they carried it back upstairs, cleaned it, dressed it in fresh clothes, prayed over it and covered it.
On the next day, March 8, new armed groups entered the neighborhood — some appeared to be local gangs looting homes, others seemed non-Syrian. “Sadly, the men who killed my father were Syrians. But the ones we saw the next day looked different — they had long beards and red hair,” Jana said. All outside communication had been cut off except for the landline. The family tried to reach the Syrian Red Crescent or any group that could evacuate them, but the city was paralyzed. “We tried contacting Sunni friends, specifically, thinking they might have a better chance, but we hadn’t memorized many numbers [before] our mobile phones were confiscated.”
News of the massacre had begun spreading on social media. Around that time, Jana received a call from a Sunni friend in a nearby village, telling her that her father was already on his way to rescue them.
Before he arrived, Jana managed to reach a team from the Syria Civil Defense, also known as the White Helmets, in Baniyas. “They told us they would be passing through our street and asked us to be ready.”
Soon after, a White Helmets vehicle arrived. “We called out to them from the balcony. They came up and explained that moving the body was impossible under the circumstances, but they could evacuate us.”
The family left the father’s body behind and evacuated with the White Helmets to the “Thermal Station Residences” — a secure compound for employees of the nearby power plant, where General Security forces had stationed themselves after the Assad regime’s fall. Jana’s father had retired from that plant just two years earlier.
Jana described, with striking composure, how the White Helmets treated them with great decency and transported them safely. Upon arrival, General Security forces allowed them entry after inspecting their bags and confirming the name of their host.
Two days later, with help from Syrian Red Crescent volunteers, the family returned to their apartment to retrieve the father’s body for burial. “Even then, it was dangerous for any Alawite to move around Baniyas,” Jana said. “We relied on my Sunni friend’s father, who picked us up and drove us to a Red Crescent center. From there, we traveled in a Red Crescent vehicle to our home. Volunteers carried my father’s body to the ambulance, and we proceeded to the mass grave near the shrine of Sheikh Hilal.”
At the site, many bereaved families had gathered. Large trenches were dug, and after prayers, groups of bodies were buried together before the graves were sealed.
Two days after the burial, Jana’s family managed to leave Baniyas for Tartus in a Syrian Red Crescent ambulance, along with two other families, where relatives were waiting for them.
“And that’s our story,” Jana concluded, ending her account with a long sigh.
It is now certain that Fateha was involved in inciting the initial attacks. On March 6, a statement announced the formation of a “Military Council and Operations Room” aimed at “liberating the Syrian coast,” signed in the name of Ghiath Dalla, a former brigadier general in the Fourth Division led by Maher al-Assad, the ousted Syrian dictator’s brother.
In a televised interview, Mohammad Jaber also admitted responsibility for supporting and helping plan the operation, in coordination with Dalla. Jaber and his brother Ayman had previously led the pro-Assad “Desert Falcons” militia, which for years operated alongside Russian forces in Syria.
Based on testimony analysis, the armed elements that attacked General Security forces and military sites fall into three categories.
The first consists of fighters who joined the “Coastal Shield Brigade” for various reasons. Credible testimonies — including one from a woman whose husband fought alongside remnants of Assad’s forces and was later killed — indicate that Fateha motivated recruits by spreading a narrative claiming he was coordinating with powerful regional and international forces, and that “large shipments of weapons and reinforcements would arrive from Iraq via Hmeimim Airbase once key military sites were captured.”
The second category includes former Syrian army and loyalist militia members. Beginning in February, they were contacted by individuals claiming coordination with the Russians, offering quick enlistment into an imminent operation. Some intermediaries alleged that former Syrian officers stationed at Hmeimim were planning the move; others claimed it was being coordinated in Moscow. Former naval personnel were asked to prepare to return to their posts once the operation began. Some agreed, while others said they would join only after the promised Russian intervention materialized. One notable testimony came from a young man in this category who refused to join and reported the plan to a General Security officer, who confirmed that authorities were aware and monitoring the situation.
The third category comprised young men from villages in the Jableh countryside, moving in small groups of five to 10 fighters and without formal coordination, exploiting the confusion among General Security forces. Their motives were rooted in abuses suffered by Alawites after the regime’s fall. Cross-checked testimonies indicate several young men had acquired weapons during the chaos of last December for “self-defense.”
Two primary sources of these weapons were identified. The first was a villa in Jableh owned by Maj. Gen. Zaid Saleh, former deputy head of the Republican Guard, which young men entered after the regime’s collapse, collecting all the weapons and ammunition they found inside. The second was a villa in the Jableh countryside owned by Maj. Gen. Nasser Deeb — formerly the director of the Criminal Security Administration and the deputy minister of interior — similarly stripped of weapons and ammunition.
The city of Jableh appeared to be the main target of the “remnants” plan. Testimonies make no mention of Baniyas, where a horrific massacre of Alawite civilians later occurred, or Latakia, which saw only limited clashes with General Security. The plan, aimed at securing sources of ammunition and reinforcements, reportedly involved seizing Jableh’s entry and exit points, establishing a supply line linking the city to Hmeimim and extending it to Istamo Airport in Latakia and the 826th Tank Battalion.
In reality, Russian forces provided no support, and the attackers’ ammunition began running out just a few hours into the offensive.
Were the “remnants” deceived? Were the fighters misled by a fabricated scenario devised by their leaders? Or was there a real plan that collapsed due to the premature launch of the attacks, as some accounts suggest? Definitive answers remain elusive, especially given the difficulty of accessing sources other than civilians. I chose instead to focus on investigating why such actions did not occur until more than three months after Bashar al-Assad fled.
When the Syrian regime collapsed following Assad’s flight on Dec. 8, 2024, attention shifted immediately to the coast. Many members of the former army and security forces hailed from Latakia and Tartus provinces, and Assad himself, as is well known, belongs to the Alawite sect, whose members are concentrated mainly along the coastal strip and in parts of Homs and Hama.
Many observers expected fierce resistance from these groups against Hayat Tahrir al-Sham, which had led a joint operations room uniting various military factions and ultimately triggering the regime’s dramatic fall. Yet no resistance materialized. Instead, al-Sharaa’s forces entered the coastal cities with striking ease.
The military factions that entered the coastal areas avoided violence, limiting their actions to seizing security, military and government facilities, with only a few isolated security incidents.
The nature of the regime’s collapse deeply undermined any lingering support for Assad. Many former loyalists saw him as a traitor who had abandoned his followers, while others viewed him as a coward who fled to save himself. Rumors and analyses spread, claiming that Assad’s disappearance had been arranged through a regional deal to avoid bloodshed and that the “new administration” enjoyed broad backing from all key forces on the Syrian scene.
This sense of positive change fueled widespread hopes that the country would turn the page on a bloody chapter in its history. Rumors of a forthcoming general amnesty circulated, alongside growing optimism about improvements in public services — particularly telecommunications, internet and electricity — with alleged leaks suggesting that Turkish companies would soon offer affordable satellite internet and floating power plants would arrive.
The removal of military checkpoints between northern Syria and the former regime-held areas led to a major influx of goods and commodities previously difficult to obtain, accompanied by a sharp drop in food prices. Several factors drove this, most notably the withdrawal of the Fourth Division — whose checkpoints had imposed heavy levies on goods — but also simple supply-and-demand dynamics as larger quantities of goods entered the market.
The same trend affected foreign currencies, especially the U.S. dollar. Restrictions on currency circulation — previously enforced by Assad’s regime — were lifted, and dollars flooded the market, fueled by the mass return of expatriates and the arrival of delegations, activists and media crews from various nationalities flocking to Damascus after the regime’s fall.
As a result, the Syrian pound strengthened sharply: While the dollar had stood at around 30,000 pounds on the eve of the collapse, by February it had dropped to about 8,000 pounds. Meanwhile, many officials in the “new administration” issued statements promising a rapid 400% increase in public sector salaries.
On the ground, events unfolded very differently. Basic services collapsed to all-time lows, with electricity cuts reaching around 23 hours a day in many areas by February. This, in turn, led to severe drinking water shortages as water pumps failed, while cellular services deteriorated due to surging population density and crumbling infrastructure.
These conditions culminated in a sharp decline in purchasing power among the poorest segments of society. The falling exchange rate of foreign currencies against the Syrian pound hit thousands of Syrian families who depend on remittances from refugees and expatriates — modest sums, typically no more than $200 or $300 a month, but previously worth several million pounds on the black market.
The changing exchange rates did not translate into proportional price drops, except for a few food items like vegetables, fruits and red meat. The decline in red meat prices, however, stemmed not from political changes but from livestock breeders offloading large numbers of animals for slaughter, driven by soaring feed costs and shrinking pastures after a poor winter rainfall.
Meanwhile, the prices of imported essentials — rice, sugar, mate, tea and coffee — remained relatively high. Bread, the staple food for most Syrians, saw its price skyrocket, with a bag of 12 loaves rising from 500 to 4,000 pounds.
Instead of delivering the promised salary hikes, the government launched mass layoffs in the public sector. By mid-January, about 300,000 employees had been dismissed. Although the layoffs affected all sects, Alawites were disproportionately impacted, reflecting both sectarian targeting and the fact that many had originally been hired as “relatives of martyrs” under the previous regime.
Under Assad, government jobs had served as a form of compensation for the families of soldiers and security personnel killed in action, leading to the hiring of thousands of employees without real administrative need.
The swift abolition of this privilege was one of the first measures enacted by al-Sharaa’s government. Gradually, initial hopes faded, frustration spread across wide segments of society and new, unpredictable scenarios began to emerge.
In the second week of February, I sat in a hotel in Damascus with two journalist colleagues, each from a different religious sect. We exchanged opinions and information. I was particularly focused on tracking the narratives promoted by religious figures, which have historically played a key role in shaping public sentiment in Syria.
At the time, the popular mood I encountered — through hundreds of direct conversations in Aleppo, Idlib and Damascus over the course of a week — regarded al-Sharaa (formerly Abu Mohammed al-Jolani) rising to power as a “divine victory,” especially after his visit to Saudi Arabia and performance of Umrah. I often heard expressions like, “God opened for him the doors of the Presidential Palace in Damascus, then the doors of the Kaaba in Mecca.”
I also heard street-level accounts and “prophecies” circulating among Sunnis predicting that “much blood will be shed in battles against Shiites and Alawites.”
Diaa told us that some religious Druze figures in Sweida were spreading narratives that stability had not yet been achieved and that further rounds of conflict were inevitable. Kamal, who had come from Latakia, spoke of a “prophecy” increasingly shared in certain popular circles, allegedly from the “Kitab al-Jafr,” attributed to Ali ibn Abi Talib, foretelling that “a massive army will come from the east to lift the oppression from the Alawites.” A rumor that circulated widely in late January — claiming Maher al-Assad had returned to Syria to lead a counteroffensive — drew strength from this supposed prophecy, though it was later shown to be unfounded.
Nevertheless, these “prophecies” do not seem to have been the primary driver of recruitment to the Coastal Shield Brigade. Rather, it was the narrative of “preserving existence” that had the greater impact.
This narrative holds that Alawites are under constant threat of slaughter at the hands of Salafi-jihadist factions — a claim the Assad regime had used previously to recruit militia volunteers starting in 2012, with enlistment notably accelerating after August 2013, when groups that the regime had labeled “jihadist” committed massacres in the northern Latakia countryside targeting Alawite villages. This fueled the belief that if you don’t fight, you will be killed.
In a repetition of that dynamic, numerous testimonies I heard about the recent coastal massacres indicated that Fateha and his associates relied heavily on the many sectarian violations committed against Alawites in Homs, its countryside and the countryside of Hama during December and January, culminating in massacres in places such as Fahel, al-Qabu, Maryamin and other villages.
The last thing Rami said to me during his testimony over the Signal app was: “Sometimes I regret fleeing; I should have returned home. Maybe I could have defended my family. At worst, maybe they would have just killed me instead of killing my elderly father.”
Afterward, I asked him: Do you think you might fight in the future? But he has not answered yet.
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