‘Caesar’s’ Partner ‘Sami’: I Wept at First When I Saw Pictures, Then Became Emotionally Numb

Syrians gather outside a prison in Damascus the day after Assad’s fall, hoping to uncover the fate of their missing loved ones (AFP)
Syrians gather outside a prison in Damascus the day after Assad’s fall, hoping to uncover the fate of their missing loved ones (AFP)
TT
20

‘Caesar’s’ Partner ‘Sami’: I Wept at First When I Saw Pictures, Then Became Emotionally Numb

Syrians gather outside a prison in Damascus the day after Assad’s fall, hoping to uncover the fate of their missing loved ones (AFP)
Syrians gather outside a prison in Damascus the day after Assad’s fall, hoping to uncover the fate of their missing loved ones (AFP)

In the final installment of his interview with Asharq Al-Awsat, Osama Othman, the man who smuggled the “Caesar Files” documenting Syrian torture victims, described how the photos became a haunting part of his life.
“I lived with these images for years until the victims felt like friends,” he said.
Othman recalled his early emotional struggles.
“At first, I cried whenever I saw the photos,” he said.
“But over time, my feelings went numb. When I cried, I felt human. But when I started looking at the pictures coldly, just searching for specific ones, I felt like a stranger to myself. Bashar al-Assad disfigured the victims physically and destroyed us emotionally.”
For 11 years, Othman was known only by his codename “Sami” until he revealed his identity through Asharq Al-Awsat.
He shared one of the most heartbreaking moments: “Hearing a mother or wife recognize a loved one in the photos and say, ‘Thank God they’re dead. At least the waiting is over.’ It’s a pain that breaks your heart.”
Among the nearly 27,000 photos, some left a lasting impression on Othman. He mentioned victims with large tattoos of Assad on their chests and security officers smiling next to mutilated bodies, as if posing for a tourist photo.
The following is the text of the interview:
How did you handle seeing so many torture photos?
“The first images I got from ‘Caesar’ were devastating. You can’t imagine,” said Othman. “It’s one thing to see someone killed in a battle or a crime—you can understand it. But when you see photos of victims with burn marks all over their chests, it’s beyond comprehension.”
Othman shared how he coped.
“I saw these victims as my family—my brother, my father. That made it hurt even more. I felt their pain as if it was my own. What kind of person tortures someone like this? If they were going to die in prison, just kill them. Why subject them to such barbaric torture?”
“No regime in history has gone to such lengths to detain and torture its own people in ways no sane mind can comprehend. The cruelty is unimaginable,” he added.
Did you suffer from sleepless nights and tears?
“In the beginning, I couldn’t stop crying,” said Othman.
“These victims aren’t just numbers. They had mothers waiting for them, children, siblings, and lives. Assad turned them into photos with numbers. Even now, 10 years later, we have thousands of images with no names. We hoped to access records linking these numbers to identities when the regime fell, but that hasn’t happened.”
Othman and the Caesar Files for Justice organization are now working on a solution.
“We’re creating an app to match missing persons’ photos from families with our files, using forensic methods like skull measurements and other details beyond what the eye can see.”
Over time, Othman’s emotions changed.
“After looking at thousands of photos, certain details stick with you. For example, Branch 227 reminds me of victims with eyes gouged out, while Branch 215 committed over half of the recorded violations. These numbers and images are burned into my memory. I’ve seen so many that I can often tell which branch they came from at a glance.”
“These victims felt like my friends,” said Osama Othman.
“In some photos, you could see a victim screaming in their final moments, their mouth frozen open. That silent scream, heard only by God, reached us through the images. I felt as if they were entrusting me with a responsibility.”
Over time, Othman’s emotions dulled.
“At first, I cried and knew I was still human. But later, as I searched through the photos without feeling, I felt like a stranger to myself. Assad didn’t just destroy the victims physically—he broke us emotionally too.”
Were doctors involved in torture?
“There were reports of killings in hospitals,” confirmed Othman.
“We had photos of victims with medical tubes still in their arms and bandages on their bodies. It’s unclear what happened—were they arrested and taken to the hospital, or detained directly from there? I don’t know.”
Othman emphasized the lack of evidence.
“Without proof, I can’t confirm these claims. Some doctors have faced trials in Germany for alleged abuses against detainees, but many stories circulating publicly lack the legal backing to hold up in court.”
“Unfortunately,” he added, “any claims of torture or killings without solid evidence can’t withstand scrutiny in any court.”
The pictures uncovered the fate of some missing people, did the relatives of those missing contact you and how did you feel about them?
Othman frequently received photos from families of the missing, hoping to find their loved ones among the Caesar Files.
“Relatives would send me images, asking if their loved ones were in the files,” Othman said.
“I would compare these photos with thousands in the Caesar Files, searching for similarities.”
Othman explained that the process was slow and painstaking.
“It took a lot of time, but often I was able to find a match.”
Othman described the emotional toll of working with the Caesar Files.
“Often, when we send full-body images of victims to their families, it’s not their loved one. But sometimes, it is. What’s most heartbreaking is hearing them say ‘Thank God, thank God.’ Why? Because they’re relieved their loved one has died. A mother or wife says this in agony, grateful that their suffering has ended. This makes you wonder—how could a mother see her son tortured and dead, yet say ‘thank God’?”
Othman also recalled disturbing images.
“We have photos of victims who lost their eyes. One photo shows a man with a tattoo of Bashar al-Assad’s face, and the words ‘Syria, Assad’ under it. This man was tortured to death in the Air Force Intelligence branch in Damascus.”
One image, Othman said, still haunts him.
“In another, there are many bodies in a cart, from different branches, not just one. Some bodies are piled up outside a garage, decaying. What’s chilling is a soldier smiling in the background. It makes you question—why is he smiling? Is it happiness, or has he lost all sense of feeling in the face of such cruelty?”
Othman described a disturbing photo of hospital staff smiling, seemingly unaware of the horror around them.
“In the background, you can see bodies wrapped in plastic, others on tables, and some limbs visible. Hospital corridors were used to wrap up the bodies,” he said.
Othman also pointed to detailed images of victims’ eyes, which forensic experts can use to assess injuries and decay caused by insects.
He emphasized the pain of sharing these images.
“I don’t want to show more—it’s too painful for viewers and the victims’ families. But our message has reached the world. After 10 years, the Caesar Files exposed the regime’s crimes, and today, institutions and former prisoners are revealing even more about these atrocities.”
How did you feel about Russian President Vladimir Putin’s asylum offer to Assad?
Othman expressed his reaction to Russian President Vladimir Putin granting Assad asylum.
“Since Russia’s intervention in Syria in 2015, the Russian regime has been a partner in the Syrian regime’s crimes,” Othman said.
“We viewed the Russian officials as true partners in these atrocities, and they likely bear greater responsibility than the Syrian regime itself.”
Othman was not surprised by Assad seeking refuge in Russia.
“I don’t think this asylum will last long. We are committed to working tirelessly to bring Assad back to Syria, recover the stolen funds, and ensure he is prosecuted in Damascus.”
Othman shared his hopes for justice in Syria, expressing his desire to see Assad in the defendant’s cage.
“I pray I live long enough to witness that moment, just as I lived to hear the news of Assad's fall and the liberation of Damascus,” he said.
Asked whether Assad knew about the atrocities taking place in Syrian prisons, Othman was firm.
“In Syria, nothing happens without the president knowing. This is a repressive, security-driven regime led by Assad, or previously by his father, Hafez al-Assad. No security official under this regime would act without the president’s approval.”
Othman acknowledged that while they lack direct evidence linking Assad to specific crimes, the responsibility falls on the heads of the security agencies.
“Legally, the blame lies directly with the heads of security agencies, as the chain of command flows from them. But in Syria, everyone knows that even the smallest actions in any security branch or prison are part of a systematic plan known and approved by the regime's top leadership.”
On whether the victims in the Caesar Files were from specific regions or sects, Othman clarified, “The victims in the Caesar Files are Syrians, and we defend all Syrians. Since the victims are identified by numbers, not names, I can’t determine if they belong to a particular sect or group.”
However, he noted signs of certain affiliations.
“Some victims have tattoos on their bodies. You might be surprised to learn that several victims have a large tattoo of Bashar al-Assad on their chests. You could assume these men were Assad supporters. I don’t know their sects, but someone who tattoos Bashar al-Assad on their body surely has strong support for him.”
Othman pointed out that some tattoos found on victims might provide clues about their identity, but not with certainty.
“A tattoo of Palestine, for example, isn’t unique to Palestinians. We all support Palestine. But it’s likely this person was Palestinian, especially from the Palestinian community in Syria,” he said.
He emphasized that tattoos could hint at political beliefs or nationalities, but he wouldn't make assumptions.
“These tattoos may suggest political views or connections to certain countries, but I can't say for sure if the victims belonged to a specific sect or group.”
Othman added that once names are linked to numbers, he may be able to provide more concrete answers.
“When we can match names to numbers, I'll be able to say if many of these victims came from a particular sect.”
Do you believe that Syria is on its way to a rebirth?
Othman shared cautious hope for Syria’s future.
“God willing, a new Syria will be born,” he said, but added a note of caution.
“I don’t want to be pessimistic, but the real fight for Syria's rebuilding began on December 8, 2024, with Assad’s fall and Damascus’ liberation. Everything before that was just about toppling the regime and removing its leader.”
When will you return to Syria?
Othman said he is eager to return to Syria but faces administrative hurdles.
“I’m waiting for the right moment, but there are still many bureaucratic obstacles,” he explained.
“If it were possible, I would have gone back earlier.”
Regarding his fears due to his involvement in the Caesar Files, Othman admitted the risks remain.
“The fear is still there. We hid our identities to protect ourselves and our families, and that need still exists,” he said.
“The risks are greater now because we are pushing for accountability. This puts us in conflict with many people. I know the dangers, but I’m committed to this path and prepared for whatever comes. If I could do more from hiding, I would, but now it's important to be visible and move the case forward.”



Sweida’s Druze, Bedouin Tribes Locked in Historic Grievances

Druze woman from Israeli-Occupied Golan gazes toward Syria (Reuters)
Druze woman from Israeli-Occupied Golan gazes toward Syria (Reuters)
TT
20

Sweida’s Druze, Bedouin Tribes Locked in Historic Grievances

Druze woman from Israeli-Occupied Golan gazes toward Syria (Reuters)
Druze woman from Israeli-Occupied Golan gazes toward Syria (Reuters)

Sweida, a province in southern Syria, is teetering on the brink after days of deadly violence and clashes between local communities and government security forces, an unrest that signals deeper turmoil across the war-battered country.

The latest flare-up has laid bare tensions that go beyond the provincial borders, raising concerns about the future of coexistence and civil peace in a region long known for its rich tapestry of religious, social, and cultural diversity.

While the Syrian government in Damascus seeks to reassert control over all of its territory, local groups are renewing calls for greater recognition of their rights and “distinct identity.” The result is a fragile and combustible equation in a strategically vital region.

Sweida has long been a flashpoint, shaped by decades of uneasy relations between Druze communities and neighboring Bedouin tribes. That legacy of mistrust now intersects with a crumbling economy, a lack of essential services, the rise of armed factions, and a newly entrenched central authority in Damascus, factors that together threaten to turn the province into a flashpoint for wider instability.

Competing narratives have further muddied the waters, with each side offering starkly different versions of recent events, accounts that are often shaped not just by what happened in the past few days, but by long-standing grievances and buried animosities. The deepening rift and absence of trust among local communities highlight just how far Syria remains from reconciliation.

As pressure builds, observers warn that without a sustainable political solution that acknowledges local demands while maintaining national cohesion, Sweida may be a harbinger of further unrest in Syria’s uncertain future.

Power Struggles and Fractured Alliances

In Syria’s Sweida, power is fragmented among a complex web of religious authorities, influential families, and rival armed factions, a fractured landscape that reflects the broader divisions tearing at the country.

Local leadership is split between traditional Druze clerical authorities and prominent families, each with their own loyalties and varying degrees of influence on the ground. Political rivalries run deep, and military factions are equally divided, some aligning with the government in Damascus, while others openly challenge it.

Among the most prominent pro-government groups is the “Madafat al-Karama” faction led by Laith al-Balous, son of the late Druze leader Sheikh Wahid al-Balous. He is seen as a key ally of Damascus, alongside Suleiman Abdel-Baqi, commander of the “Ahrar Jabal al-Arab” group.

On the opposing side are factions such as the “Military Council in Sweida” and “Liwa al-Jabal” (Mountain Brigade), which collectively field around 3,000 fighters. These groups are seen as aligned with the views of influential Druze spiritual leader Sheikh Hikmat al-Hijri, who has been increasingly critical of the central government.

A newer alliance has also emerged under the banner of “Counter-Terrorism Forces” or the “Syrian Brigade Party,” bringing together factions such as “Dir’ al-Tawhid,” “Forces of Al-Ulya,” “Sheikh al-Karama,” “Saraya al-Jabal,” and “Jaysh al-Muwahideen.” This coalition formally severed ties with Damascus following Sheikh Hijri’s speech on July 15, in which he rejected the government’s announcement of a ceasefire agreement with local notables.

Also active in the province is the “Men of Dignity Movement,” a relatively large faction led by Abu Hassan Yehya al-Hajjar. Though not officially aligned with the new coalition, the group is also staunchly opposed to the Syrian government.

The growing number of factions and rival power centers has deepened instability in Sweida.

Bedouin Tribes in Sweida Say They Are Marginalized, Blamed and Forgotten

Even after government forces withdrew and a fragile ceasefire took hold in Sweida, clashes reignited, this time between Druze residents and Bedouin tribes, underscoring the deep and historical grievances simmering beneath the surface of the country’s sectarian fault lines.

The Bedouin, who see themselves as long-marginalized stakeholders in the region, say they have been caught in the crossfire - blamed for violence they did not initiate and excluded from political life and public services.

“We are the perpetual scapegoats,” said Mohammad Abu Thulaith, a lawyer and member of the Sweida Tribal Council. A descendant of one of the Bedouin tribes long at odds with the Druze population, he told Asharq Al-Awsat that “Bedouins are the weakest link in the local power struggle.”

The sense of injustice voiced by Abu Thulaith runs deep and is rooted in historical narratives. According to his account, the Druze - who migrated to the Jabal al-Arab area around two centuries ago - gradually expanded their influence, curbing the pastoral livelihoods of the Bedouin, particularly livestock herding. This, he said, led to the forced migration of nearly half of the Bedouin tribes from the mountain region toward Jordan, rural Damascus, and Daraa.

He cited the example of Saad Hayel al-Surour, a former speaker of the Jordanian parliament, who remains a Syrian citizen to this day. His father, Hayel al-Surour, once headed the Syrian parliament before the 1958 union between Syria and Egypt.

Many in the Bedouin community consider themselves the original inhabitants of the land, victims of what they describe as “a prolonged injustice” that denied them citizenship rights, political representation, and even basic services.

Abu Thulaith argues that the source of current tensions must be addressed at its roots. “We are blamed because the other side does not dare confront the real actors behind the violence,” he said, referring to armed groups operating in the area.

He called on the Druze tribal leadership - often referred to as “the people of the mountain” - to assume responsibility for protecting the Bedouin community and ending decades of exclusion. “We’ve suffered from a double injustice,” he said. “One at the hands of the Assad regime and Baathist rule, and the other from our neighbors. We have no access to employment, no political representation, and we’re deprived of the most basic public services.”

Despite the mounting frustration, Abu Thulaith insists that the Bedouin do not seek confrontation. “We don’t have the means to fight,” he said. “All we want is to live in peace with our neighbors. No one can erase the other. Since the fall of the former regime, tribal communities have hoped the state would step in to offer protection and ensure the most basic rights.”

As tensions in Sweida continue to spiral, voices like Abu Thulaith’s are demanding a deeper national conversation about identity, land, and the future of Jabal al-Arab - one that addresses long-neglected wounds before they erupt into further conflict.

Druze Grapple with a Perpetual Identity Crisis

For Syria’s Druze minority, identity is not just a question of culture or belief, it is a matter of survival. That fear of erasure has long shaped their political instincts, social structures, and geographic presence in the country.

“The Druze, like many minorities, live with a constant sense of threat,” said Khaldoun Al-Nabbouani, a professor of political philosophy at the University of Paris and a native of Sweida. “This persistent anxiety drives them to close ranks around their identity in a collective effort of self-preservation.”

Speaking to Asharq Al-Awsat, Al-Nabbouani explained that the community’s inward turn is not only symbolic or cultural - it also manifests demographically. “Just as the Alawites are concentrated in the coastal mountains, the Druze have built their stronghold in Jabal al-Arab. It reflects a broader pattern among minorities to cluster in specific regions where they can reinforce their social cohesion and safeguard a perpetually anxious identity.”

That reflex dates back centuries. The very formation of the Druze sect, he said, was a political and cultural rebellion against traditional Islam. “Since its inception, the community has developed a deep need for internal solidarity and social insulation,” he said. “Even today, that’s visible in things like marriage practices - interfaith unions remain extremely rare.”

This insularity, he noted, extends to the political realm. The community has historically resisted the appointment of governors or officials from outside the Druze fold, a trend dating back to the 1930s and continuing into recent decades. One of the more controversial examples was the appointment of a non-Druze governor under the government of Ahmad Al-Sharaa, which sparked uproar, resignation, and a political standoff before the governor ultimately returned.

Tensions between the Druze and the central government are nothing new. Under President Adib Shishakli in the early 1950s, relations with Damascus deteriorated sharply. Shishakli accused the Druze of plotting against the state and in 1954 ordered artillery strikes on Jabal al-Arab, an assault that killed civilians, displaced families, and left deep scars that still echo in local memory.

When the Baath Party seized power in 1963, Damascus shifted tactics, pursuing what Al-Nabbouani described as a policy of “soft containment.” Symbolic appointments of Druze figures to government positions were coupled with tight security oversight in Sweida, a strategy aimed at managing rather than integrating the province.

As new waves of unrest ripple through southern Syria, the Druze community once again finds itself wrestling with existential questions caught between historical trauma, present instability, and an uncertain future.