The uncertainty of freedom

The gate to the former torture center is wide open. Two rebel fighters standing guard out front invite me to take a look inside. I hesitate. I remember this building in Damascus city center from my last visits: the headquarters of the Air Force Intelligence Service, one of seven internal intelligence services of the Assad regime. This place was synonymous with fear and terror. No one spoke about it, as if the place didn't exist.

Now the courtyard is full of scattered documents, most of them copies of the identity cards of those who were held captive and tortured here. Some of the victims were barely out of their teens. Just a few days ago, after the fall of the Assad regime last weekend, the survivors were released.

Abu Wissam, one of the new guards, slings his Kalashnikov over his back and leads me inside the building. The smell of decay hangs in the air. In one corner, lies a pile of torture devices, stacked carelessly, as though in a junk room: iron bars from which people were hung upside down, a green plastic pipe with which the prisoners were beaten, and unidentifiable metal frames and hooks used to force victims into unnatural positions. In another corner lies a bloody T-shirt.

"This is the candle chair," explains Abu Wissam, pointing to a chair frame with the seat missing. A candle was lit under the prisoners forced to sit on it.

In the guards' office, I discover a piece of paper with a note, apparently written by one of the former torturers: "The greatest gift life has to offer is death," it says in beautiful Arabic handwriting. Was this something he also said to those he tortured to eradicate the last shreds of their courage?

The cells are in the basement. "They’re always in the basement of all secret service buildings," explains Abu Wissam, who leads the way with the flashlight on his cell phone. There is no electricity. Anyone who has been locked up down here has never seen sunlight. Locked away "behind the sun," as they say in Arabic. Over a hundred thousand people disappeared under the Assad regime, many of them forever.

Abu Wissam shines his light on a pool of dried blood on the floor and points to the tiny cells into which dozens of people were crammed. Many have immortalised their names on the walls. One wrote a poem for his mother: "My mother is my paradise."

After visiting this place, you want to wash it all off, to forget the memory of this place. But for all those who were traumatised here, and also for the many relatives who lost their loved ones in these cells, a huge question mark remains.

Will they ever be held accountable, those who interrogated, tortured and tormented here, those who ordered it, those who built this system of oppression? 

Freedom begins with the opening of the cells, justice with not letting the tormentors get away. But what do the new rulers want, these mostly Islamist rebel groups that took over the imploded Assad system within just ten days?

An Islamic Syria

Half a dozen rebel fighters are stationed in front of one of the old officers' clubs in the centre of Damascus, right next to the former military headquarters. They belong to the Islamist Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), the largest rebel group. They proudly show off their jeep with a mounted grenade launcher, which they used to drive from the northern province of Idlib to the capital just a few days ago.

The grenade launcher was hardly used, they say. The regime and its troops practically dissolved before their eyes. "We were surprised ourselves at how quickly it happened. But that shows how weak the regime was," says one.

They have taken a few sofas out of the officers' club and set them up around a fire outside. One of the fighters takes a picture frame with the remains of a portrait of Bashar al-Assad, breaks it into small pieces and throws them into the flames. The dictator's remains as firewood for making tea.

The young men come from modest backgrounds and have had little education. The oldest among them is Khaled, a 32-year-old who looks more like he's in his mid-40s, scarred by life. Thirteen years ago, he fled from Homs to Idlib to escape the regime's troops, but ended up with nothing and eventually joined the rebels.

"What kind of new Syria do you envision?" I ask. 

"It must be an Islamic Syria," they reply. 

But what about the different religious groups such as Christians and other minorities?

"They will be treated well, they will be protected. They are safe," they assure me. Everyone wants a functioning government, freedom of speech and elections, they say.

But what if the majority wants a secular state with separation of church and state? I ask.

They shake their heads. They would never accept that. After all, Assad was also a secular dictator.

An officer comes over who calls himself Abu Obeida. His job is to ensure that the troops behave in an Islamically correct manner. With his long beard and Afghan dress, he looks like a classic radical Islamist.

Does he want to hold the old regime accountable? 

"We have guaranteed the safety of all soldiers who were forced to do military service and have laid down their arms. But if there are complaints about people who have tortured, interrogated or killed, there will be consequences."

But how do the new rulers intend to implement this, with judges who have so far ruled according to the will of the regime and a state apparatus completely tailored to the old regime? 

"We have qualified people and specialists from Idlib. But now we need them in all parts of Syria. That requires organisation. Hopefully it won't take too long."

Abu Obeida also emphasises that he wants an Islamic Syria. However, when asked what kind of state he has in mind, he remains vague: 

"The term used to describe us – Islamists – is a constructed term. We are Muslims. We don't want to force anything on anyone, dominate or oppress anyone."

But will such words be enough to reassure minorities in the country, such as Christians?

"No one can force themselves on an entire nation – no religion, no Islamic community. In the end, the people will decide who should govern them," he says, inviting us to another cup of tea.

It is a strange mixture: thoughts of freedom, born of the hour when the dictator was finally overthrown, combined with their Islamist background, which will probably become more prominent with each day of their rule. 

Christians talk to Islamists

The Bab Touma district in the old town of Damascus is predominantly home to Christians. A few days after the fall of Assad, a kind of normality has returned here: the shops are open and people are strolling through the streets. This is also the headquarters of the Armenian Catholic Church.

Archbishop Georges Asadorian describes the situation with mixed feelings: "Change is always accompanied by fear," he says cautiously. Whenever there has been change in the Middle East – whether in Iraq, Libya or Egypt – Christians have been attacked. "The new rulers do not have a terrorist agenda, but they do have an extremely radical background and that scares us," he explains.

Nevertheless, the Archbishop reports that Christian leaders and representatives of the HTS have met several times. "They assured us that everything will get better and that we should not be afraid. The message they keep sending us is: don't be afraid," Asadorian says in summary. 

The National Coalition and the Free Syrian Army have declared that they are even considering a secular state, that is, a separation between state and religion. "That is exactly what we want. One country for all its people. Religious differences divide, secularism unites. They promised us that they are working on a country where everyone has a home," says Asadorian.

Suddenly, a burst of rapid gunfire can be heard from one of the alleys in the old city – a brief reminder that the situation is not yet stable. "Do you hear the shots? That is not encouraging," the archbishop interjects. "But we should wait and see." He says he cannot yet tell the people who have fled the country that everything is fine and that they should return. "We are waiting and offering our cooperation to create a better Syria for everyone. We must work together for peace in Syria."

Later, a motorcade of young people drives through the city centre, honking, singing and cheering. They are celebrating their new-found freedom, while the bearded new rulers, Kalashnikovs slung over their shoulders, wave to the young people and join in the dancing. At the same time, Israeli fighter jets can be heard in the sky, followed by an explosion in the distance that sets another Syrian military facility ablaze. All this is a snapshot of the new Syria.