For over a decade, Syria has been at the center of one of the most devastating conflicts of the 21st century. A once-thriving nation known for its rich history and culture, Syria was torn apart by a brutal civil war that left millions displaced and cities in ruins. The conflict, sparked by peaceful protests in 2011, escalated into a multi-faceted war involving local factions, regional powers, and global superpowers. Now, after years of unimaginable suffering and strife, Syria has entered a new chapter: liberation. A fragile but hopeful peace has taken hold, offering a glimmer of possibility for the nation’s reconstruction and the rekindling of its cultural identity. Amid this pivotal moment in history, we turned to Syrian creatives to understand their hopes for a newly freed Syria.
Sarah, 29
After Syria’s liberation, I experienced a whirlwind of emotions, each one revealing a different truth. At first, I was in complete shock—it all happened so quickly, and I didn’t see it coming. Then came a wave of profound emotion as I watched scenes of celebration and the powerful images of prisoners being released. But alongside that hope, a sense of worry crept in. The uncertainty of what might come next was hard to ignore. Ultimately though, I chose not to surrender to cynicism or despair. I felt hopeful, inspired, and energized. I realized that while doubt and caution are natural, so too is the right to feel joy in moments of liberation.
The recent events in Syria have been a powerful reminder of the values I want to fight for and embody. They’ve challenged the way I think about revolution, justice, and liberation. This moment has made it clear to me that true liberation doesn’t come from oppressive regimes or top-down strategies. It comes from the people— their resistance and mobilization. Syria and Syrians have expanded my critical thinking. Instead of feeling trapped by cynicism, I feel inspired and reconnected with the belief that, even in the face of overwhelming forces, people’s movements remain the true engine of change.
My hope is that the people truly achieve liberation— that refugees can finally return in their homeland, and that those of us born abroad have the chance to visit again. Personally, I haven’t been back in 15-years. I don’t know if or when it will be possible, but if it is, it would be incredible to return. I hope that the dreams people fought, protested, and sacrificed for become a reality. I hope for the emergence of a democratic society that is inclusive, secular, and rooted in justice. Of course, I’m not naive about the complexity of the situation. I’m fully aware of the external powers manipulating events on the ground and the long road that lies ahead. But my hope remains simple: that the people finally receive the rights, dignity, and humanity they have long been denied. They deserve nothing less.
Lana, 30
As a Syrian living abroad, hearing the news of Syria’s liberation was deeply emotional. It was a mix of joy, pride, and longing—a bittersweet moment. While I felt immense relief and hope for the future, it also brought a wave of reflection on the distance between me and my homeland. It reminded me of the sacrifices so many Syrians have made, both within the country and in the diaspora, and the shared responsibility we all carry to rebuild what was lost.
My greatest hope is that Syria becomes a place where peace, stability, and opportunity flourish—where people don’t feel the need to leave in search of a better future. As someone whose family left to build a life abroad, I dream of returning one day to contribute what I’ve learned and built here. I believe it’s our duty as Syrians in the diaspora to bring back the skills, knowledge, and resources we’ve gained to help rebuild and strengthen our homeland, so it can be a source of pride and hope for future generations.
I dream of seeing a Syria where everyone feels they have a future—a country rebuilt with compassion, inclusion, and a vision for progress. I hope for thriving cities, an economy that supports innovation, and institutions that value justice and human dignity. Most of all, I dream of a Syria that welcomes back its people, where we can use what we’ve learned abroad to contribute to its growth. It’s our responsibility to turn the dreams we’ve chased outside the country into realities within it.
I envision a future where young Syrians are empowered to dream big without limitations—a Syria where they don’t have to leave to achieve their aspirations. I hope for a future where education, jobs, and opportunities are readily available, and where the youth feel supported to build their futures at home. As someone who left, I feel it’s part of our mission to ensure the next generation doesn’t have to make that same choice. I see a Syria where the resilience of its people is the foundation of a brighter, united future.
Dahlia, 30
When I first heard the news, my brain struggled to process it. My sister had called me in tears. On WhatsApp, I found a forwarded video of Hafez’s statue being toppled by the people. Shortly after, my mother sent me a video of the news—she was filming the screen, and I could hear her crying in the background. More than anything, I couldn’t stop thinking about my grandmother and how she was forced to leave Syria. She’s 85 now, and the thought of her finally being able to return home has brought me to tears over the past few days. I can’t wait for her to see her house and her little hometown, Talkalakh.
I wish for Syria to become what it has always deserved to be—a place for everyone, a place for all. A place where our children will one day visit, touch, taste, and feel. While our people may be free from the horrors of the regime, this is just the beginning of a long road ahead. I pray that Syrians will be the ones to decide their own future. The path forward is uncertain and difficult, but it should be paved by Syrians and Syrians alone.
I’ve been reflecting on Nizar Qabbani’s poem “Damascus, What Are You Doing To Me?” and the longing in his words. I can only hope we all return to witness the beauty he describes. Here’s a piece of it:
“I am your Damascene rose . . . People of Sham
So he among you who finds me . . .
let him place me in the first vase . . .
I am your mad poet . . . People of Sham
So he among you who sees me . . .
let him take a souvenir photograph of me
Before I recover from my enchanting insanity . . .
I am your fugitive moon . . . People of Sham
So he among you who sees me . . .
Let him donate to me a bed . . . and a wool blanket . . .
Because I haven’t slept for centuries.”
Free Syria. Free Lebanon. Free Palestine. Free Sudan. Free Congo. Free them all.
Main image: Anas Alkharboutli
