Late on the night of Dec. 7, a trusted friend in Damascus leaked an extraordinary piece of news to me: President Bashar al-Assad was set to announce his resignation within hours. I found it impossible to believe. To protect my credibility as a journalist and avoid falling victim to misinformation, I posted a vague message on my Facebook page: “A big surprise tomorrow.”
Like many Syrians, I doubted the news. Since the outbreak of the Syrian crisis in 2011, Assad and his regime had been defined by relentless obstinacy, rejecting dialogue and resisting any meaningful reforms in a decaying system built on the oppressive legacy of his father, Hafez al-Assad. Bashar, who thrived in the shadow of his father’s brutal achievements, never innovated or broke from the status quo.
This was the man who had plunged the country into chaos, making good on the grim slogan chanted by his supporters: “Assad or we burn the country.” Given this, many expected that after losing Syria’s major cities — Aleppo, Hama and Homs — to rebel factions, Assad would stage a final stand from his palace on Mount Qasioun, which looms over Damascus. Such a battle likely would have involved the elite Republican Guard and the Fourth Armored Division, led by his brother Maher. These units, estimated to include 100,000 loyal and well-equipped fighters — mostly handpicked relatives of the president — were historically entrusted with defending the regime to its last breath.
At 5 a.m., my wife’s phone rang. The caller was my nephew in Damascus, his voice trembling with fear and urgency.
“It’s over. He’s gone!” he exclaimed.
“Who’s gone?” I asked, confused.
“The president. He sold us out! Betrayed us! That son of a —”
His voice dissolved into a string of curses — words that, until recently, no one would dare utter about Assad over the phone.
I couldn’t fully grasp what he was saying. With no electricity, the city of Latakia was cloaked in darkness, and we had no internet. The news felt like an ominous cloud hanging over us. Two agonizing hours passed before the same friend from Damascus called again to confirm it: Assad was gone.
I spent 52 years of my life under the rule of two Assads — father and son. For decades, Syrians lived under the shadow of one man: Hafez al-Assad. His regime controlled every aspect of daily life, establishing a dictatorship that became the very embodiment of absolute power. Its grip extended across all facets of Syrian society — from education to the economy, culture and politics — accompanied by unparalleled corruption within the government and public institutions.
The entire country became a stage for enacting Assad’s iron will. In this reality, the fate of the people was reduced to the whims of one man. The “ruler of necessity,” as he was known, reigned over everyone with the crushing weight of unrelenting oppression. We were told it was our great fortune that God had sent us his “divine support” in the person of Hafez al-Assad.
To ensure this so-called divine support would continue, Syrians were expected to accept his son, Bashar, as their new leader. The mantra “Forever, forever, anyone from the Assad family” became a bitter joke among Syrians after Bashar succeeded his father. His ascension was secured through a swift constitutional amendment, enacted within hours and supported by international sponsors, primarily France and the United States.
At 6 a.m., with the first light of dawn, a car from Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) drove along Tishreen University Street, heading toward Latakia’s southern exit toward Jableh. The morning was calm, the weather bitterly cold and the streets of Latakia eerily empty. By 7 a.m., the streets were utterly deserted. It was astonishing: In the blink of an eye, a family that had ruled for more than half a century — since 1971 — had seemingly vanished into thin air.
For hours, phones and social media platforms buzzed ceaselessly with messages of disbelief, joy, caution and confusion. Skepticism and certainty, astonishment and denial all coexisted in the flurry of conversations. Decades of life under the Assads — father and son — had conditioned Syrians to approach news with caution. Could it truly be? Had the era of “eternity” finally ended in Syria?
Syrian researcher Nour al-Hariri captured the magnitude of the moment, saying: “The media describes what happened on Dec. 8 as an unprecedented historical event.” But she added that it was more than historical — it was psychological. “It was a trauma in the psychoanalytic sense, one that shook us all in different ways and to varying degrees. It pierced the web of psychological associations each of us relied on to construct meaning, the foundation of our existence. This event is perhaps the most significant, profound and painful psychological rupture in the lives of Syrians, regardless of their location, beliefs or outlook.
“It has destabilized everything: our sense of self, our values, standards and vocabulary, our fears and beliefs. It has altered even our aesthetic sensibilities and dulled our senses, shaking every cell in our bodies and every thought in our minds. It is reshaping us, but without guarantees, without immediate or assured solutions.”
In moments like this, one is reminded of Karl Marx’s famous words: “History repeats itself, first as tragedy, then as farce.” What we are living through now feels undeniably like farce.
On the side of Bashar al-Assad’s loyalists, accusations of treason and collusion erupted across social media, targeting Assad, his family, his wife, his brother and the old regime’s leaders. These accusations came from members of the Syrian army, its battalions and brigades, as well as the tens of thousands of loyalists who had rallied behind them to defend cities and front lines. A brigadier general lamented: “The disgrace of Bashar al-Assad’s shameful escape defied imagination, especially after Aleppo fell to opposition factions. Rumors spread that the army’s withdrawal was a ‘tactical move’ to lure ‘terrorists’ from the Idlib enclave into open areas where they could be eliminated. But that was the regime’s final lie after decades of deceit.”
Accounts from soldiers who fought in recent battles reveal the depth of corruption that had ravaged the so-called “Great Baath” armies. This rot had crippled the state’s military forces. Supply lines for food, water and transportation had been severed since the battles in Hama’s countryside. Even Suhail al-Hassan, known as “the Tiger” and one of Assad’s top officers, disappeared into uncertainty. Meanwhile, Russian aircraft at Hmeimim Air Base merely watched as the opposition forces swelled, ultimately advancing toward Damascus like an unstoppable snowball.
An Alawite first lieutenant from the 47th Regiment — the first to fall to HTS in Idlib province — recounted: “We abandoned the regiment when the artillery shelling and Turkish drones began. The militants were only 500 meters away, a distance that had remained unchanged for years. Suddenly, brigades of armed men on motorcycles surged toward us. I had 15 soldiers with me, each armed with a Kalashnikov and just 50 rounds of ammunition. Faced with this onslaught and the drones, we had no choice but to retreat toward the Hama countryside.
“Our commanding officers vanished, leaving us to fend for ourselves. I’ll never forget one of my soldiers — a conscript from Aleppo — who told me his family was now under the control of the armed groups. He asked me, ‘What should I do?’ I told him to abandon his weapon and go to his family.”
The first lieutenant, Ali, continued: “We regrouped in the village of Karnaz near Suqaylabiyah, where we were given a DShK machine gun, a few Russian rifles and a box of ammunition. For 48 hours, we resisted the militants’ advance without receiving a single meal or drop of drinking water. Suicide drones began targeting us again, and the bombardment was relentless. A small Shaheen drone exploded in our midst, killing three men and wounding me with shrapnel in the face. I survived by a miracle.
“After the explosion, I carried a wounded soldier on my shoulder and made my way to Suqaylabiyah, where I left him at the hospital. From there, I returned to my village. I never went back to the front lines.”
Ali was not the only one abandoned by the army leadership. Dozens of similar accounts recount these betrayals by senior officers, with soldiers left behind as their commanders fled to unknown locations. During these chaotic retreats, members of HTS and other opposition factions humiliated the deserted officers, mocked them, destroyed their identification documents and often let them go. However, local testimonies have documented the disappearance of several officers, with their families unable to contact them. Video footage has surfaced showing some officers assassinated at city entrances, their bodies hidden or discarded.
This pattern unfolded during battles in the Hama countryside, in Homs and in the capital, Damascus. The Syrian army, once ranked by Global Firepower as the sixth-strongest in the Arab world and 47th globally in 2022, collapsed suddenly. Soldiers abandoned their weapons and uniforms, fleeing in disgraceful scenes that evoked memories of the 1967 war, when Israel advanced to the outskirts of Damascus.
For those who remember history, it was Hafez al-Assad — then minister of defense — who presided over Syria’s humiliating defeat in 1967, before rising to become the country’s unchallenged ruler.
For decades, the eyes of Syrians were fixed on Latakia, often referred to as “Mr. President’s Province.” During the Syrian civil war, Latakia became a critical reservoir of manpower for the regime’s forces and, in everyday conversations, a symbol of the Alawite minority. This city embodies a complex reality: Many of the leading officers and security personnel who form the regime’s backbone hail from Latakia, a significant portion belonging to the Alawite community.
Over time, Latakia transformed from “the bride of the Syrian coast” into “Syria’s orphan,” plagued by a decade of deteriorating services. Residents endured only two hours of electricity a day, no fuel for heating or cars, and lives defined by pain and anguish.
As news of the “great escape” spread, the city froze in fear and anticipation. For hours, people remained confined to their homes, waiting anxiously for what would come next. Then, something unprecedented happened: Symbols of loyalty to Assad — posters declaring “Mr. President,” “The ophthalmologist and apple of our eye,” and “We love you very much” — were ripped down and tossed into trash bins. Latakia, without warning or preparation, entered a strange new era under unfamiliar rule, one that not everyone welcomed.
Maram, a public school teacher from the Alawite minority, recalled: “The news of Assad’s escape felt like the earthquake we experienced in February two years ago — fear, horror, and disbelief all over again. No one could imagine that al-Nusra [the previous name of HTS] would ever enter Latakia, the regime’s stronghold. Our greatest fear was that they would commit massacres like those in the Latakia countryside in 2013, when hundreds of peaceful residents from Alawite villages were killed or kidnapped. To this day, we still don’t know the fate of many of the people taken back then.”
Yet, by noon, contrary to these fears, neither Latakia nor its surrounding countryside had witnessed any abductions or incidents of sectarian violence, even though state authority had completely vanished. This iteration of HTS appeared to be different from its earlier, more brutal jihadist incarnation. But the calm was fragile and uneasy. On Tishreen University Street, bodies of intelligence officers were briefly visible before disappearing, an occurrence repeated in other areas over the following days.
Maram reflected on Assad’s flight: “I couldn’t believe he left without a single word of farewell or even a resignation statement. Not even a social media post on his loyalist pages, which used to preach endlessly about his ‘military and civilizational achievements.’ He proved himself to be a truly lowly person.” Just hours earlier, such talk about Assad would have been unthinkable. Now, it was everywhere — on social media and in whispered conversations on the ground. Assad’s actions were widely derided as impulsive and unwise.
The regime’s collapse and the subsequent handover of Syria to Islamist rulers, many believed, could not have occurred without international consensus. Miqdad, a university professor, former communist dissident, and ex-detainee expelled from public education decades ago, offered his perspective: “For more than a decade, the Islamo-fascist rebel factions failed to overthrow Bashar’s regime because no international decision supported it. What we are witnessing now is the result of an international deal — one orchestrated by Washington, Ankara, Moscow and Tel Aviv. They decided to remove a regime that had become a burden to everyone.”
“Bashar was powerless to resist,” he added. “His loyalists were starving, his army was depleted and his government had crumbled under the weight of his narcissistic policies. This collapse was inevitable, the result of years of arrogance and mismanagement.”
In the following hours, by midday, people began cautiously venturing into the streets. What followed was a frenzied campaign to tear down the countless images of Bashar al-Assad that adorned the entrances of government buildings and public spaces throughout the city. The campaign reached its climax at 6 p.m. with the toppling of Hafez al-Assad’s statue in Sheikh Daher Square, the historic heart of Latakia.
The scene was a haunting echo of 2011, when similar crowds tried to bring down the same statue but were driven back by security forces’ bullets. That earlier attempt left behind a trail of victims whose bodies were never returned to their families.
This time, thousands of Latakia residents gathered near the square, determined to pull down the bronze monument that had towered over the main street for decades. The statue had long been a symbol of fear, its surroundings patrolled day and night by security forces whose presence deterred even the boldest critics. But by morning, the fear had fled, disappearing along with Bashar.
Jawa, a university student who livestreamed the event to her friends, described the moment: “I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My brother was disappeared after participating in the first attempt to topple this statue a decade ago, and he later fled to Germany. This video is for him. It was a defining moment in my life and for my family, which lost three young men to detention.”
It didn’t take long to bring the statue crashing down. Its massive base was quickly removed, and a celebratory car procession carrying the three-star flag of the Syrian revolution (the pre-Baath flag of Syria) paraded through the streets.
Today, the platform where the statue once stood has become a gathering spot for people to take photos and share memories. In the days that followed, no statues of Assad — neither father nor son — were left standing in Latakia or its countryside.
Among the crowds filling the streets of Latakia were hordes of prisoners released under a general amnesty issued by Ahmad al-Sharaa (formerly Abu Mohammed al-Jolani). They roamed the city, setting government buildings ablaze, including the Palace of Justice — the courthouse that housed the governorate’s financial, real estate and criminal records. Hours later, they, along with groups of looters from the general population, stormed the customs building, pillaged its contents and set it on fire. Over the following days, this wave of destruction spread to other government institutions, which were looted and burned. Customs offices, the port authority, agriculture and veterinary departments, the train station, the central pharmacy — no institution was spared. There were also attempts to rob the central and real estate banks.
Despite HTS’ attempts to control the chaos, the actions of escapees and shabiha (pro-regime militia members) fueled widespread violence and criminality, intensifying fears and deepening the sense of lawlessness among the population.
In one darkly ironic twist, the government’s cultural center, the Al-Assad House of Culture, was looted, but none of its books were touched. Meanwhile, freezers stolen from the agricultural research building reportedly contained carcinogenic materials. By the third day, police forces from Idlib arrived in Latakia, but fires broke out across warehouses owned by both public and private companies. Firefighting units struggled to contain the blazes. Such scenes of destruction seemed unimaginable in “Mr. President’s Own City.”
Yet these events unfolded against an even darker backdrop: On other fronts, Israel conducted airstrikes on more than 20 sites across the province. The strikes targeted and destroyed key elements of the Syrian army’s infrastructure, including ports, warships, air defense bases and tanks. Any joy at Assad’s fall was tempered by grief and uncertainty.
Blame for the Israeli attacks quickly turned toward the ousted president. “He sold out the country before his departure to save his own skin,” a young woman told us. She added bitterly: “For decades, we ‘reserved the right to respond’ and lost our dignity over and over again. This man who claims to be part of the resistance did nothing but starve his own supporters and leave them at the mercy of invaders from all over the world — Uzbeks, Chechens and Afghans. We’ve been handed over to a modern version of ISIS.”
But was Assad truly responsible for this chaos? Most Syrians seem to have no doubt.
In 2012, Latakia witnessed peaceful demonstrations that were met with violence, leaving many protesters dead or disappeared. These events underscored the city’s sectarian tensions and heightened fears among its diverse communities. Among those who vanished was Dr. Abdul Aziz al-Khair, a native of Qardaha — the birthplace of the Assad family — and a prominent leader of the Communist Labor Party. Known for his unwavering commitment to nonviolence, al-Khair became an icon of the revolution. His warning — “If the revolution is armed, it will be sectarianized” — proved prophetic, as the uprising gradually descended into sectarian conflict.
Ahmed Khaddour, an engineer and resident of Qardaha, reflected on the regime’s exploitation of the Alawite minority: “The Syrian regime used the Alawites as a shield to protect itself, which deepened fears and mistrust among the country’s various sects. Instead of becoming an opportunity for unity and change, the revolution turned into a battleground over identity and belonging. The sect itself has never formed a national alliance with others. Now, with the regime’s collapse, Alawites feel the loss of that protective shield, leaving them more vulnerable and isolated. It’s likely that the sect as a whole will face discrimination and exclusion from the state, returning to its former status as an isolated minority.”
On the other hand, an activist with a civil society group highlighted the brutality of jihadist factions against Alawites: “The current de facto jihadist groups in Syria have shown no mercy to Alawites, committing numerous documented massacres. This includes atrocities in the industrial city of Adra (near Damascus), Qatana and al-Tawba Prison in Damascus’ Ghouta, where more than 3,000 abductees have disappeared, according to international human rights organizations. These groups have perpetrated similar crimes against Sunnis and others, particularly in Idlib.”
“These transgressions are not unique to one side — they are rampant across all factions in the Syrian conflict,” the activist added. “However, addressing these grievances now risks further inflaming tensions. We must wait for an independent and fair judiciary to address these issues; without it, the bloodshed in Syria will never cease.”
On the first Friday after the fall of the Assad regime, the people of Latakia flocked once again to Sheikh Daher Square, filling the streets and listening to speeches. The rhetoric, however, sounded eerily familiar, echoing the empty platitudes of the previous regime — calls for “national unity, brotherhood and tolerance,” now cloaked in an Islamic tone. Yet this time, joy was the dominant emotion. The gloom had lifted from people’s faces, and chants of “Syria is free! Syria is free!” filled the air. Latakia had not experienced such collective euphoria in decades.
Even those who just days ago cheered for Bashar al-Assad now joined the celebrations. Rama, a university student from the Sleibeh neighborhood who participated in the demonstrations, expressed the mood: “No words can describe what happened. We got rid of the tyrant in the blink of an eye. Now we will build a real, civil, democratic country, one that rejects any form of religious or sectarian extremism.”
Still, despite the joy, Latakia — like the rest of Syria — now lives under a cloud of anxiety about the future. The current political system is shaped by international consensus, entangling regional and global interests and leaving the country’s trajectory uncertain. Latakia’s cultural and ethnic diversity, once a source of pride, now mirrors the complex challenges it faces.
At the local level, the formation of community committees has emerged as a crucial step. These committees could play a vital role in encouraging civic participation and addressing daily challenges with localized solutions. Building bridges of trust between Latakia’s diverse social groups and strengthening the role of civil society could be key to navigating this critical period and fostering a safer, more stable future for both the city and Syria as a whole.
Politically, Latakia has a long history of civil and leftist movements that championed change and progress. However, these forces are not currently strong enough to resist the de facto power of HTS, which has managed to gain relative goodwill among the population by providing services and maintaining order. This strategy appears to be setting the stage for the next political phase. Speculation is growing that HTS may dissolve its military wing, transform into a political party, and integrate its forces into a restructured national army, replacing the military apparatus of the former regime.
Meanwhile, the specter of partition looms large in the minds of Latakia’s residents. Will Syria transform into a religious state? Will the Turkish model inspire a civil administration with an Islamic guise? Or will the country return to a civil, democratic system, as dreamed of by the majority of Syrians?
These questions remain unanswered, and the uncertainty is palpable. All eyes are now on March 1 — the supposed start of the transitional phase — when the future of Syria may finally begin to take shape.
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