Free Syria

Photojournalist, activist, and writer Loubna Mrie on the fall of Bashar al-Assad and what Syrians need to do to ensure a democratic future

When Damascus fell to rebel troops on December 7 and Bashar al-Assad fled for Moscow the following day, it marked the end of a half-century of dictatorial rule by the Assad family. It also brought to a close the Syrian civil war, sparked by the Arab Spring in March of 2011, which killed or disappeared more than 600,000 people and destabilized not just Syria but the entire region as the proxy war intensified between the great and regional powers vying for control of the Middle East.

The end of the conflict — or at least the rapidity with which the regime finally fell — came as a shock for outside observers and even for many who have participated in and watched the rebellion closely since its beginning.

Loubna Mrie, an activist, photojournalist, and writer, grew up in an Alawite family with close ties to the Assad regime; when she joined the rebellion early on, in 2011, she lost her family and was forced into exile. Since then, she has chronicled the fighting, explaining it to the world in her writing, speaking, and photography.

Mrie joined us this week to talk about what the end of the war means for her and her fellow Syrians at home and in exile, what the Syrian people demand from the rebels, and what the rest of the world needs to know about what happened under Assad.

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First, can you just tell us what you’ve been thinking and feeling since the ouster of Bashar al-Assad? This is obviously very personal for you (and you’ve told the story of your family a lot), but it’s also just such a massive upheaval for all Syrians. What’s important now for Syrians home and abroad to do, and what’s important for the rest of the world to understand about what’s happened?

I have so many feelings and thoughts. The few days leading up to Assad fleeing the country were a whirlwind of emotions for me. I was watching the news as closely as I could, though I didn’t have much access to my phone or the internet. And I’ll be honest with you, even with the little access I had to the news, I tried not to let myself hope. When a friend of mine called and joked, “I think you might get an early Christmas present this year,” I ignored it, too afraid to allow myself to feel hope. I knew something major was happening, but I couldn’t allow myself to believe in it fully.

When the evening came and the president fell, I wasn’t glued to the TV or my phone. I only found out a few hours later when I turned on my phone and saw the flood of notifications. My first reaction wasn’t happiness — it was pain. A wave of grief for all those who had died for this day but never lived to see it. But it also feels incredible, like nothing words can truly describe. Finally, a tyranny has fallen — a tyrant who was perceived and often described as immortal had fled.

What’s important now for Syrians home and abroad to do, what’s important to do right now — for me, at least — is just to process. I think most Syrians in exile are experiencing something similar to what I’m going through. I worked so hard to accept that my country was no longer an option, that I had to move forward and be fully present here. I spent the last ten years in the United States trying to build a life for myself, trying to let go of Syria, to let go of the idea of home, and to find other ways to feel rooted. And then, suddenly, I have a country again. It’s as disorienting as it is beautiful and hopeful. It’s impossible to put into words.

So, the next step for me — and, I believe, for many exiled Syrians — is to examine what the future could hold and to be honest with ourselves about what we want, what we can do, and what we are ready to face. Are we going back? Are we capable of going back? For me, Syria is tied to so much pain and loss. For so long, it felt like a country I loved so deeply but one that never loved me back. I know I sound... depressing, but it’s impossible to convey the level of pain this country has caused us. Assad fleeing feels like justice, but that doesn’t erase what he did.

I see the videos of liberated jails, and my stomach tightens. The mass graves, the scattered bones that people are gathering into plastic bags — it’s just so much to take in. The enormity of what’s been done to us, to our people, is overwhelming. It’s not something you can process in a moment or even a lifetime. It’s a lot. It’s everything. However, I truly admire those who went to Syria immediately. I deeply respect their understanding that there is urgent work to be done and that the next six months are the most critical in this transitional period.

Why do you think this happened now? I think for many looking from abroad who may not have enough expertise to understand, the Assad government seemed impervious to the resistance, and then somehow it fell all of a sudden?

Last October, I came across a tweet predicting that the Hamas attack on October 7 would ultimately lead to Assad’s downfall. At the time, I dismissed it — it seemed implausible, especially as the world appeared to be rushing to normalize relations with Assad. For years, it looked like he had not only crushed the resistance but was actively rewriting history. The idea of his regime collapsing seemed impossible.

But I underestimated the shifting regional dynamics. The assassination of Nasrallah destabilized a critical ally in the region. Meanwhile, Russia — Assad’s strongest backer — has become overstretched by its invasion of Ukraine, leaving Assad isolated. Without his foreign supporters, Assad was done.

Also, it’s important to remember that if none of these events had occurred, Assad — with all the crimes, jails, mass graves, and thousands of disappeared individuals that are now coming to light — was well on his way to being rehabilitated on the world stage. Countries like Egypt and the UAE had rallied behind his return to the Arab League and supported public normalization with his regime.

The UAE reopened its embassy, and its foreign minister, Abdullah bin Zayed, visited Damascus. Jordan returned its ambassador to Damascus, and two years later, the king restored ties with Assad. If anything, this shows just how morally bankrupt our region has become and highlights the work that needs to be done — not only in Syria but also in the broader region.

Looking back to the Arab Spring of 2011, and your own involvement in the early stages of the revolution in Syria, do you see this as in some ways delivering on the possibility that was deferred then? Can you talk a bit about what went off-course then and since, and what your hopes are for a free and — hopefully — a democratic country?

I won't lie and say that in 2011 I was a highly intellectual individual who understood politics. My dreams for a free Syria were simple. I wanted a Syria where a father doesn't pass the presidency to his son as if it were a piece of family property. A country where people don't worship the president to the point that the line between politics and religion becomes blurred and ambiguous. A Syria where students could just be students—not little soldiers, not "pioneers of Baath," not children chanting, "With our blood and soil, we sacrifice for you, Bashar." I wanted a country where we could vote. The only time I'd ever voted in my life was for reality TV shows, not for leaders who could truly represent me.

What went off-course during the early days of the revolution and in the years that followed is rooted in both the crackdown of the Assad regime and the failures of the international community. In 2011, the regime’s response was brutal. Assad, along with his army and intelligence officers, carried out extreme violence. Army members defected with their ammunition, and armed groups emerged. With foreign money pouring into the country, these groups and their donors had competing visions of what and how Syria should be. External powers saw Syria as a battlefield. Later, extremist groups capitalized on the chaos, hijacking the revolution.

Meanwhile, the international community missed the opportunities to prevent the regime’s worst atrocities — like chemical attacks and mass civilian targeting. Syrians were left feeling abandoned, with no meaningful support from a world that professed solidarity but did little to back it up.

Today, as I’ve grown, learned more, and had the opportunity to pursue a good education, my hopes and understanding of what it takes to build a free country have evolved. A free Syria isn't just about removing a dictator; it's about rebuilding trust among Syrians. For decades, Syrians have lived under a system that fostered division, fear, and silence — a system where loyalty to the regime meant spying on your neighbors and friends if they dared to criticize the president. Liberation, therefore, isn't just about removing Assad; it's about fostering a culture where dissent is not seen as betrayal. It's about building a Syria where no single family controls the nation's future or monopolizes the economy. A Syria built on transparency and accountability, not on connections and corruption. It's about an educational system that encourages reading, writing, and critical thinking — not memorization. A free Syria will require more than removing a dictator—it will demand the collective patience and will to rebuild something new.

This vision isn't just about freedom from tyranny; it's about ensuring that the values of justice, dignity, and equality are at the heart of everything we rebuild. That is the Syria I dream of.

On that note, the rebellion was led by Hay'at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), an Islamist group (though they’ve moved away from their Salafist roots); you come from the Alawite minority — what are your thoughts on the possibility of a non-sectarian future for Syria?

For those familiar with the Syrian uprising, there's a town called Kafr Nabl, famous for its banners of political commentary and humor in both English and Arabic. The banners were created by a team, one of whom was Raed Al Fares. Raed later founded a radio station, called Radio Fresh.

Over the years, the station was raided multiple times by Hay'at Tahrir al-Sham. They ordered Raed and his team to stop women from being on air; strangers shouldn't hear their voices. To comply temporarily, the station began editing the voices of women presenters.

Raed, however, kept challenging them until 2014, when masked men attempted to assassinate him. When I visited Raed after the incident, covering my hair to avoid trouble at HTS checkpoints, he told me to take it off. He said, "If you stand against Assad, you should also stand against anyone who tries — or is trying — to shape who we are."

Raed refused to close the station despite escalating threats. In 2018, HTS assassinated him alongside his colleague Hamoud Jneid — whose family often hosted me when I visited Kafr Nabl.

I am sharing all of this with you to explain that our grievances with HTS aren't just ideological. They killed friends, sources of clarity and guidance when the situation became too chaotic to navigate — people who represented what the uprising, which I joined when I was 20, stood for.

For now, it is morally hard for me to navigate. It's a feeling I’ve had before — like when Nasrallah was assassinated. His death felt like justice, but a challenging one, knowing it was carried out by the same fighter jets flattening Gaza and entire buildings in Lebanon.

At the same time, Assad's downfall, even if it was led by HTS or similar forces, is indeed something to be celebrated. We deserve this moment of joy. After fifty years of one family ruling and terrorizing a country, Syrians deserve to see him fall. However, if we're serious about building a just future for Syria, we must call for accountability not only for Assad's crimes and prisons but also for those of all other forces, including HTS.

How seriously should people take HTS leader Abu Mohammed al-Jolani’s supposed moderation?

I cannot speak on behalf of all Syrians, but for me, whatever moderation or rebranding Jolani is attempting, it is meaningless as long as he refuses to address the Syrian activists who were killed by HTS.

If he is not willing to hold accountable those responsible for kidnapping and torturing activists in jails simply for criticizing him, then his so-called moderation holds no weight. That is what truly matters — not shaving his beard or wearing a tie. Rebranding without accountability is just theater, and Syrians deserve more than empty gestures; they deserve justice and closure.

You’ve written a lot about this over the years, how there was support among some on the international left for Assad, thinking that his regime was somehow anti-imperialist, despite his own dependence on Russian and Iranian backers. Even now, we have supposed left commentators in the U.S. suggesting the overthrow was a CIA plot. What do you have to say to those people now? Does this dispel the fantasies about Assad?

For me, these people do not represent what the left stands for. They are voices that fail to see our region and struggles without their imperialist lens. They refuse to recognize the humanity of Syrians unless it fits neatly into a narrative about Western power struggles. It’s as if we’ve been reduced to geopolitical chess pieces, stripped of dignity and agency.

The videos emerging from jails and the interviews with recently freed detainees are almost impossible to comprehend — a level of suffering that’s beyond imagination. In areas where mass graves have been uncovered, children joke with journalists about how they’ve seen so many human remains that they can now easily distinguish between dog jaws and human ones.

Now imagine knowing all this and still arguing that Assad "wasn't that bad" or that the Syrian uprising was merely a CIA plot. If you can’t see Syrian suffering without first filtering it through the lens of imperialism, then it’s time for the left to confront its own biases.

If the left truly stands for justice, it should center the voices and experiences of the oppressed — not craft narratives that serve ideological purity. To stand with Syrians or any oppressed people means acknowledging their suffering on its own terms, without twisting it to fit frameworks that absolve dictators of their crimes.

What are your thoughts on how the incoming Trump administration might affect the developing political situation in Syria?

In October, I traveled to Michigan to get a sense of why many Muslim and Arab leaders were backing Trump. One thing I kept hearing on repeat was that “Trump is for peace.” It was this mantra, repeated over and over, as if it were undeniable. Fast forward to when Trump started selecting his cabinet, and the reality became clear. He chose individuals with bizarre and contradictory stances on the region. Like so much of what he promised, his supposed commitment to peace vanished the moment he secured the Arab and Muslim vote.

Trump’s volatility makes it impossible to predict his plans for Syria. His administration will prioritize securing American interests in the region, particularly regarding oil, in the east where U.S. troops are stationed. One thing that Americans could focus on, locally, is ensuring that TPS (Temporary Protected Status) holders are protected and that Syrians’ asylum cases continue to receive fair and thorough consideration. The fall of Assad doesn’t mean that Syria will suddenly become stable or safe — it’s far too early to predict what the future holds for a country emerging from a dictatorship that has ruled with an iron fist for over fifty years.

And looking to the international right, any thoughts on what’s in store for Syrian refugees in Europe and across the Middle East, both those who have settled and those who are likely to be returnees now that European governments are moving towards sending people home?

The situation for Syrian refugees in Europe and across the Middle East is complex. In Europe and Turkey, the narrative around Syrian refugees has shifted over the last decade, moving from compassion to hostility driven by rising nationalists. Governments are pressured to reduce their refugee populations, and many are framing repatriation as necessary.

Today, assuming that the fall of Assad equates to stability and that refugees should be sent back is a dangerous narrative. Syria is, and will continue to be, grappling with the aftermath of fifty years of dictatorship, the destruction of infrastructure, the trauma of war, and a fragmented society. Forcing people to return without guarantees of safety or access to basic needs violates their rights. Governments need to remember their legal obligations to protect those who sought asylum.

You’re a writer and photographer as well as an activist. What role do you think journalists have played and will continue to play in shaping the Syria to come?

From the early days of the revolution, cellphone cameras were the only bridge between what was happening in Syria and the world’s news. Assad had banned foreign journalists, so for us, photography and journalism were not just about reporting — they were acts of resistance.

While Assad was claiming that Syrians loved him and that there was no popular uprising, these images and footage were our way of challenging his narrative. It wasn’t just journalism; it was about survival, about ensuring the truth couldn’t be silenced. For me, and for many other Syrian journalists, it wasn’t just a career — it was resistance, both on the ground and in exile.

Later, when I moved to the United States, I watched from afar as some journalists became complicit in Assad’s propaganda, going on state-sponsored tours to showcase thriving beaches and nightlife while ignoring the mass graves, the disappeared, and the unimaginable suffering. It was sickening. So, I — and many others — kept writing to ensure that Assad, who at times seemed to be winning, would not rewrite the narrative, would not erase what happened. It felt like an obligation, a duty I couldn’t ignore — the same obligation I felt at 21, barely knowing how to use a camera.

Today, after the fall of Assad, journalists are important to document the transitional period. However, many people still fear criticizing openly, as decades of repression have taught them that speaking out comes with severe consequences. The challenge will not only be to hold new leaders accountable but also to encourage those who have been silent for the last 50 years to change their relationship with journalism, to trust that criticizing publicly won’t lead them to detention. So in my opinion the work of journalists will not just be about reporting events but about shaping the narrative of a new Syria — one that acknowledges the pain of the past while pushing for justice and reconciliation.

I also want to add this, there is now a narrative among some Syrians that we were left alone, that no one cared about us. I completely disagree with that. The work that foreign editors, publishers, filmmakers, analysts, researchers, academics, reporters, and photographers have done should not be erased. Some even gave their lives doing this work: Steven Sotloff, Rémi Ochlik, Anthony Shadid, James Foley, and Marie Colvin are just a few of the names of those who died on Syrian soil while telling our story. I knew some of them personally, and I can attest to how deeply they cared about Syria and its people.

So, for now, I want to say to all those who spent the last decade writing about Syria: thank you for not losing hope, for believing in our country, in our uprising, in our right to resist, and in our right to build a free Syria, not Asaad’s Syria.

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Photo by Omar Haj Kadour/AFP via Getty Images; Loubna Mrie photo by Cristias Rosas