Syria searches for the dead swallowed up in the regime's prisons

DamascusEvery forgotten photo on a wall, every garment piled in empty cells, every voice repeating the name of a disappeared person, serves as a reminder that Syria remains marked by absences. A year after the fall of Bashar al-Assad, the liberation of the prisons opened a chapter of hope, but also It exposed the magnitude of the crimes of the overthrown regime.Justice, recognition, and reparations still seem distant.

In the halls of Sednaya prison, a symbol of the regime's horrorMajda Abu Omar walks through the cells, her gaze fixed on the mountains of clothing that once belonged to the detainees. Her husband disappeared in 2013 in Yarmouk, and her children were also victims of the repression. “A year later, we still have no news of my husband and my children,” she says. “The injustice and torture we endured have left deep scars. We ask for help and justice, not only to survive, but for our losses to be acknowledged and for the wounds inflicted by the regime to heal.”

From the office of the Caesar Families Association in Damascus, Fadi al-Aber coordinates efforts to support the families of the disappeared. “We train families to cope with the loss of their children and build their resilience,” he explains. “We want them to participate in the search and recovery of remains, understanding that it is a long process. Our goal is to help them move from mourning to the motivation to rebuild their lives and contribute to the country.” The Association, founded in Germany in 2018 and now operating in Syria following the fall of the regime, is largely funded by contributions from the families themselves.

The situation of the missing is alarming. According to estimates from the Sednaya Association, there could be as many as 150,000 people whose whereabouts are still unknown, and only about 1,500 have been definitively identified. "Most families don't know if their loved ones are alive or dead," says Diad Serreih, coordinator of this NGO. "There are no records, no photographs, no bodies. This is one of Syria's greatest tragedies," he insists. The investigation is complicated by the scattering of mass graves around Damascus and the destruction of archives during the years of repression.

Among the rubble of Hajar al-Aswad, Samar al-Saad tries to rebuild a routine marked by the absence of his brother Usama, detained in 2013. "The hardest part is the waiting and not knowing where he is," he says. His family lost their home and lives in precarious conditions. Samar has joined the Cesar Families Association as a volunteer to help identify remains and give them a proper burial. "We want everyone to know that Usama was not a terrorist. We want to clear his name and ensure his memory is respected."

Keeping hope alive in memory

The identification process is lengthy and requires training. Associations must manage documentation, coordinate psychological support with international organizations, and ensure that families can safely participate in the identification and recovery of remains. Volunteers receive training as civilian investigators and in evidence handling, so as not to compromise the remains when professional teams arrive at the discovery sites. "It's a small step, but in the right direction," explains Samar. "It takes time and collaboration, but we have to start."

While waiting for news, some keep the memory alive through everyday storytelling. Sawsan al-Aaraeh, the mother of a missing son, organizes weekly meetings with other families in Damascus. "We support each other, share memories, and cry together," she explains. "It's the only way to keep the memory of our children alive. Every story we tell is an act of resistance against oblivion." Her voice breaks as she recalls, "My youngest son was 19 when he was arrested. Every time someone mentions his name, I feel that he's still here with us, and that gives me the strength to keep going."

The current situation in Syria remains delicate. Amid rubble, destroyed archives, and persistent fear, the country is attempting to face its most difficult challenge: rebuilding memory, acknowledging the truth, and offering justice to those who still wait. "It's a process that will take years, perhaps between five and ten," acknowledges Hanan Halima, a volunteer with the Sednaya Association. "But every step, however small, is progress toward the dignity of the families and the country."

While the city tries to return to normalThe families of the disappeared live amidst memories and rubble, between shared coffees on mattresses on the floor and framed photos on empty walls. The waiting continues, but so does the resistance of those who refuse to forget.