Syrians Recall ‘Apocalypse’ Chemical Attack, 10 Years On

 20 August 2023, Syria, Idlib: A member of the Syria Civil Defense, known as White Helmets participates in a commemoration event for the 10th anniversary of the Ghouta chemical attack. (dpa)
20 August 2023, Syria, Idlib: A member of the Syria Civil Defense, known as White Helmets participates in a commemoration event for the 10th anniversary of the Ghouta chemical attack. (dpa)
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Syrians Recall ‘Apocalypse’ Chemical Attack, 10 Years On

 20 August 2023, Syria, Idlib: A member of the Syria Civil Defense, known as White Helmets participates in a commemoration event for the 10th anniversary of the Ghouta chemical attack. (dpa)
20 August 2023, Syria, Idlib: A member of the Syria Civil Defense, known as White Helmets participates in a commemoration event for the 10th anniversary of the Ghouta chemical attack. (dpa)

Syrians in the country's opposition-held north on Monday marked the 10-year anniversary of chemical attacks that killed more than 1,400 people near Damascus, one of the conflict's many horrors that went unpunished.

"I was in such shock. I smelt death," said Mohammed Sleiman, a paramedic from Zamalka in Eastern Ghouta who lost five members of his family that day.

On August 21, 2013, regime forces attacked Eastern Ghouta and Moadamiyet al-Sham, opposition-held areas outside the capital.

The opposition accused the regime of using toxic gas in the attacks, which killed around 1,400 people, including more than 400 children.

The government denied the allegations.

Speaking from the northern city of Afrin, held by pro-Turkish opposition factions, Sleiman recalled rushing to the scene after hearing news of the attack.

He wrapped his face with a piece of cloth to protect himself from the gas.

"I found a large number of people hurt or dead. It was like the apocalypse. The scene was indescribable," the 40-year-old told AFP ahead of the anniversary.

When he went back to his family home, he found it empty. With one of his brothers, he went to look for them at a nearby medical facility.

"I found my father and all the neighbors, all of them just with numbers, no names. I remember my father was number 95. I identified the bodies of the people I knew," he said.

Trauma

Syria's war broke out in 2011 after President Bashar al-Assad's repression of peaceful demonstrations escalated into a deadly conflict that pulled in foreign powers and global extremists.

The war has killed more than half a million people and forced around half of the country's pre-war population from their homes.

Sleiman later learned that his other brother, his sister-in-law and their two children had also been killed in the attack.

"We dug a communal grave for hundreds of people and buried them close together," he said.

"When I tell the story, I can see it all in front of me as if it was now," he said, adding that he was receiving psychological counselling because of the trauma.

Activists in 2013 posted dozens of amateur videos on YouTube said to show the effects of the attack, including footage of dozens of corpses, many of them children, outstretched on the ground.

Other images showed unconscious children, people foaming at the mouth and doctors apparently giving them oxygen to help them breathe.

The scenes provoked revulsion and condemnation around the globe.

A United Nations report later said there was clear evidence sarin gas was used.

World's 'failure'

Despite insisting the use of chemical weapons was a red line, then US president Barack Obama held back on retaliatory strikes, instead reaching a deal with Russia on the dismantlement of Syria's chemical arsenal under UN supervision.

Eastern Ghouta returned to regime control in 2018.

Survivors and activist gathered at several sites in Syria's opposition-held north and northwest Syria on Sunday to mark the anniversary.

At a commemoration in Afrin, survivors shared their stories while young children put on a small performance, re-enacting the horror.

Syria agreed in 2013 to join the Organization for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons (OPCW) global watchdog and give up all chemical weapons.

The OPCW has since blamed Damascus for a series of chemical attacks during the war.

Syria's OPCW voting rights were suspended in 2021, in an unprecedented rebuke following poison gas attacks on civilians in 2017.

"We are not organizing this event in order to remember the massacre, as it is always on our minds," said Mohammed Dahleh, a survivor from Zamalka who helped organize the Afrin commemoration.

"We are reminding the world... of its failure to support justice and rights," he said.

"We will continue to insist on the need to hold Bashar al-Assad accountable."

US National Security Council spokesperson Adrienne Watson on Monday called the attacks "gruesome".

"The Assad regime, backed by Russia, is hoping the world will forget the atrocities that have occurred in Syria. We will not," Watson said in a statement.



In Assad's Hometown, Few Shared in His Family's Fortune. They Hope they Won't Share in His Downfall

A defaced portrait of ousted president Bashar al-Assad hangs on the wall of a building in the capital Damascus on December 17, 2024. (Photo by Sameer Al-DOUMY / AFP)
A defaced portrait of ousted president Bashar al-Assad hangs on the wall of a building in the capital Damascus on December 17, 2024. (Photo by Sameer Al-DOUMY / AFP)
TT

In Assad's Hometown, Few Shared in His Family's Fortune. They Hope they Won't Share in His Downfall

A defaced portrait of ousted president Bashar al-Assad hangs on the wall of a building in the capital Damascus on December 17, 2024. (Photo by Sameer Al-DOUMY / AFP)
A defaced portrait of ousted president Bashar al-Assad hangs on the wall of a building in the capital Damascus on December 17, 2024. (Photo by Sameer Al-DOUMY / AFP)

On the walls of the palatial mausoleum built to house the remains of former Syrian President Hafez Assad, vandals have sprayed variations of the phrase, “Damn your soul, Hafez.”
Nearly two weeks after the ouster of his son, Bashar Assad, people streamed in to take photos next to the burned-out hollow where the elder Assad’s grave used to be. It was torched by opposition fighters after a lightning offensive overthrew Assad's government, bringing more than a half-century rule by the Assad dynasty to an end, The Associated Press said.
The mausoleum's sprawling grounds — and the surrounding area, where the ousted president and other relatives had villas — were until recently off limits to residents of Qardaha, the former presidential dynasty's hometown in the mountains overlooking the coastal city of Latakia.
Nearby, Bashar Assad’s house was emptied by looters, who left the water taps running to flood it. At a villa belonging to three of his cousins, a father and his two young sons were removing pipes to sell the scrap metal. A gutted piano was tipped over on the floor.
While the Assads lived in luxury, most Qardaha residents — many, like Assad, members of the Alawite minority sect — survived on manual labor, low-level civil service jobs and farming to eke out a living. Many sent their sons to serve in the army, not out of loyalty to the government but because they had no other option.
“The situation was not what the rest of the Syrian society thought,” said Deeb Dayoub, an Alawite sheikh. “Everyone thought Qardaha was a city built on a marble rock and a square of aquamarine in every house," he said, referring to the trappings of wealth enjoyed by Assad's family.
In the city’s main street, a modest strip of small grocery stores and clothing shops, Ali Youssef, stood next to a coffee cart, gesturing with disdain. “This street is the best market and the best street in Qardaha and it’s full of potholes.”
Families resorted to eating bread dipped in oil and salt because they could not afford meat or vegetables, he said. Youssef said he dodged mandatory military service for two years, but eventually was forced to go.
“Our salary was 300,000 Syrian pounds,” a month, he said — just over $20. “We used to send it to our families to pay the rent or live and eat with it" while working jobs on the side to cover their own expenses.
"Very few people benefited from the former deposed regime,” Youssef said.
So far, residents said, the security forces made up of fighters from Hayat Tahrir al-Sham — the main group in the coalition that unseated Assad, and which is now ruling the country — have been respectful toward them.
“The security situation is fine so far, it’s acceptable, no major issues,” said Mariam al-Ali, who was in the market with her daughter. “There were a few abuses ... but it was fixed.” She did not elaborate, but others said there had been scattered incidents of robberies and looting or threats and insults.
Al-Ali called Assad a “traitor,” but she remained circumspect about her Alawite community's position in the new Syria.
“The most important thing is that there should be no sectarianism, so there will be no more blood spilled,” she said.
Dayoub, the Alawite sheikh, described “a state of anticipation and caution among all citizens in this area, and in general among Alawites,” although he said fears have started to ease.
At the town’s municipal building, dozens of notables sat on bleachers discussing the country' s new reality and what they hoped to convey to the new leadership.
Much was centered around economic woes — retired public servants' salaries had not been paid, the price of fuel had risen, there was no public transportation in the area.
But others had larger concerns.
“We hope that in the next government or the new Syria, we will have rights and duties like any Syrian citizen — we are not asking for any more or less,” said Jaafar Ahmed, a doctoral student and community activist. “We don’t accept the curtailment of our rights because the regime was part of this component.”
Questions also loomed about the fate of the area's sons who had served in Assad's army.
Since the army's collapse in the face of the opposition advance, residents said several thousand young army recruits from Qardaha have gone missing. Some later turned up on lists of former soldiers being held at a detention center in Hama.
“These are young guys who are 22 or 23 and they never took part" in active combat, said Qais Ibrahim, whose nephews were among the missing. Over the past few years, active combat was largely frozen in the country's civil war. “We send our children to the army because we don’t have any other source of income.”
Um Jaafar, who gave only her nickname out of fear of reprisals, said the family had no information about the fate of her two sons, stationed with the army in Raqqa and Deir Ezzour, though one son's name later turned up on the list of those imprisoned in Hama.
“My children got the best grades in school, but I didn’t have the ability to send them to the university,” she said. “They went to the army just for a salary that was barely enough to cover their transportation costs.”
Syria's new authorities have set up “reconciliation centers” around the country where former soldiers can register, hand over their weapons and receive a “reconciliation ID” allowing them to move freely and safely in Syria for three months.
But Ahmed, the doctoral student, said he wants more. As the country attempts to unify and move on after nearly 14 years of civil war, he said, “We want either forgiveness for all or accountability for all.”
Ahmed acknowledged that during the war, “rural Latakia was responsible for some radical groups,” referring to pro-Assad militias accused of widespread abuses against civilians. But, he said, opposition groups also committed abuses.
“We hope that there will be either an open process of reconciliation ... or transitional justice in which all will be held accountable for their mistakes, from all parties," he said.
"We can’t talk about holding accountable one ... group but not another.”