How the Assad Regime Covered Up Its Crimes

Piles of ransacked papers in a room in Maher al-Assad's private office in the hills above Damascus. (AFP)
Piles of ransacked papers in a room in Maher al-Assad's private office in the hills above Damascus. (AFP)
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How the Assad Regime Covered Up Its Crimes

Piles of ransacked papers in a room in Maher al-Assad's private office in the hills above Damascus. (AFP)
Piles of ransacked papers in a room in Maher al-Assad's private office in the hills above Damascus. (AFP)

Thousands of documents and interviews with Assad-era officials reveal how the Syrian regime worked to conceal evidence of its atrocities during the civil war, according to a report published by The New York Times.

The heads of the security agencies arrived in convoys of black SUVs to Bashar al-Assad’s presidential palace, a maze of marble and stone on a hillside overlooking Damascus.

Leaks about his regime’s mass graves and torture facilities were mounting and top Syrian leaders wanted them to stop.

So, in the fall of 2018, they summoned Assad’s feared security chiefs to discuss how to cover their tracks better, according to two people briefed on the meeting.

One of the security officials proposed scrubbing the identities of Syrians who died in secret prisons from their records, the two people said, recalling what participants in the meeting had told them.

That way there would be no paper trail. Assad’s top security chief, Ali Mamlouk, agreed to consider the suggestion.

Forging evidence

Months after that meeting, security agencies began interfering with evidence of the regime’s crimes, an investigation by The New York Times found.

Some security officials doctored paperwork so deaths of detainees could not be traced back to the security branch in which they were imprisoned and died.

Some omitted details like the number of the branch and the detainee’s identification number. And top government officials ordered security agencies to forge confessions of prisoners who had died in their custody.

Written confessions, they reasoned, would give the government some legal cover for the mass deaths of detainees.

Top secret memos

The Times reviewed thousands of pages of internal Syrian documents, including memos marked “Top Secret,” many of which we photographed inside Syria’s most notorious security branches.

The newspaper also interviewed more than 50 security and political officials, interrogators, prison guards, forensic doctors, mass-grave workers and others government employees, many of whom helped verify the documents.

Taken collectively, the documents and accounts provide the most comprehensive picture to date of the regime’s efforts to evade accountability for its industrial-scale system of repression. They also offer a rare look at how a secretive dictatorship responded in real time to growing international isolation and pressure.

Under Assad’s rule, more than 100,000 people disappeared, according to the United Nations, more than in any other regime since the Nazis.

The documents show that the government went to elaborate, sometimes tedious lengths to cover it up. Officials held meetings to discuss public-relations messaging. They strategized about how to handle families whose loved ones had been imprisoned. They worried about paperwork that might be used against them if they ever faced prosecution.

From documentation to threats

Early in the war, security agencies kept meticulous records of their activities, and the Syrians who vanished in their custody. Every interrogation was transcribed, every death noted, every corpse photographed.

Then the records became a liability. In January 2014, images of more than 6,000 bodies from secret prisons, some bearing signs of torture, were smuggled out of the country by a Syrian military photographer, code-named Caesar.

The photos were the first detailed evidence of torture and executions by the Assad government since the war began. Months later, France submitted the images to the United Nations Security Council, which lent them greater legitimacy and raised the prospect that the regime would be charged with war crimes.

The Syrian security apparatus decided to mount a defense.

In August 2014, senior military, political and intelligence officials met with Syrian legal scholars to discuss their strategy, according to a memo viewed by The Times that described a meeting of the National Security Bureau, the coordinating hub for Syria’s intelligence and security agencies.

The Times verified the deliberations laid out in the memo with two former officials who were briefed on the discussions.

Over two days, according to the memo, the senior officials plotted to discredit the images. Because there were no names connected to the photos, they could argue that only a handful were of political prisoners and that many were opposition fighters killed in battle or petty criminals, the memo said.

The officials also advised others in the government to “avoid going into detail and avoid attempts to prove or deny any facts,” the memo said. They urged them instead to “undermine the credibility” of the leaker, Caesar.

The mass grave

Some of the most damning evidence of the regime’s crimes were the mass graves where it dumped prisoners’ bodies during the civil war.

The mass-grave operation in the capital was overseen by Col. Mazen Ismandar, who organized teams to pick up bodies from military hospitals in Damascus and then bury them in sites around the city, according to three of his former colleagues.

Ismandar was ordered to move all of the bodies to a new site, two of his former colleagues said.

That operation, which Reuters first reported in October, was carried out over the next two years. The team used excavators to dig up bodies, piled them into dump trucks and drove them to a site in the Dhumair desert, northeast of Damascus.

“There were civilians, people in military clothes, old people with white beards, people who were naked,” said Ahmad Ghazal, a mechanic in Dhumair city who frequently repaired the trucks and eventually got to know the drivers.

He often tried to get a look at the bodies, he said, in the hope of finding the remains of two cousins who disappeared in 2015. He never found them.

The downfall

When the United States passed the Caesar Act in late 2019, many hailed the sanctions as a step toward justice for the victims of war crimes by the Assad government.

But the sanctions appeared to have little deterrent effect.

Interrogators in two agencies, Branch 248 and the Air Force Intelligence Directorate, said that they and their colleagues had become still more ruthless with prisoners, because they were angry about the plummeting value of their salaries as the economy weakened, in part from sanctions.

Despite the cover-up efforts, by 2023 the regime’s crimes were catching up with it.

In April 2023, French criminal investigative judges issued arrest warrants for three senior Assad officials, including Mamlouk, for the torture, enforced disappearance and death of two Syrian French nationals.

Then, in December 2024, the regime quickly came crashing down.

The opposition coalition led by Ahmed al-Sharaa, now the Syrian president, swept into Damascus in a lightning advance.

Assad, Mamlouk, Hassan and other top officials fled to Russia.

Ismandar, the official in charge of the mass-grave operations, also fled. The night the fighters arrived, he pulled a wooden box from the locked cabinet behind his desk in his office, according to one of his aides. Inside were the identification cards of Syrian civilians who had died in custody or been executed. He handed out the IDs to some of his staff, believing they might help them escape, the aide said.

Ismandar remains at large.



The Ethiopian Dam Dispute and Egypt’s ‘Right to Self-Defense’

Egyptian Foreign Minister Badr Abdelatty. Photo: Foreign Ministry
Egyptian Foreign Minister Badr Abdelatty. Photo: Foreign Ministry
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The Ethiopian Dam Dispute and Egypt’s ‘Right to Self-Defense’

Egyptian Foreign Minister Badr Abdelatty. Photo: Foreign Ministry
Egyptian Foreign Minister Badr Abdelatty. Photo: Foreign Ministry

Over the past two weeks, Egypt has repeatedly stressed its right to prevent any actions by Addis Ababa on the Nile River that could harm its water interests, stressing that it possesses the “right to self-defense” over Ethiopia’s Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam (GERD).

According to experts who spoke to Asharq Al-Awsat, Egypt’s signaling means that it “will not hesitate to use all legitimate means to safeguard its water security.”

They explained that the message is a stern warning to Ethiopia and suggests that Cairo is seeking to shift from a policy of protesting Ethiopian measures to preventive deterrence, aimed at stopping the establishment of a new status quo on the Nile.

New Egyptian Warning

Egyptian Foreign Minister Badr Abdelatty said that “Egypt will not allow the construction of additional dams ... that affect its water interests,” stressing Cairo’s commitment to a legally binding agreement that guarantees its water rights.

In a television interview on Wednesday evening, Abdelatty said that Egypt does not oppose African countries’ right to development, noting Cairo’s participation in dam and infrastructure projects in several Nile Basin states. However, he stressed the need to balance the right to development with the rights of downstream countries.

He also underscored Egypt’s commitment to protecting its water interests. “We have the right to self-defense to protect our interests and water security,” said the minister. “We will not accept any agreement regarding the Nile River unless it is legally binding,” he reiterated.

Mohamed Hegazy, a member of the Egyptian Council for Foreign Affairs and a former assistant foreign minister, says the right of self-defense is protected under international law after all peaceful means have been exhausted.

According to Hegazy, the core message is that Cairo still prefers agreement and negotiation, but it no longer accepts using negotiations to impose a fait accompli.

He argued that the most significant aspect of Abdelatty’s statements is that they send three simultaneous messages - Rejection of unilateral measures, rejection of additional dams, and insistence on the right of self-defense to protect water security.

Hussein El-Behairy, an African affairs expert at the National Center for Middle East Studies, said the minister’s recent statements reaffirm Egypt’s right to defend its historical and water rights in the Nile by whatever means the Egyptian state deems appropriate to preserve what Egyptians view as a matter of life and death.

Ethiopia’s Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam (GERD). Reuters

Escalating Egyptian Position

This is the third time Egypt has signaled the possibility of using its “right to self-defense” and preventing dam construction on the Nile.

On August 16, Egypt’s state news agency quoted an unnamed Egyptian official as saying that Cairo “will neither accept nor allow any party to control the flow of Nile waters to downstream countries,” stressing that the Egyptian state possesses multiple tools capable of protecting its people’s interests in the Nile.

The statement came in response to remarks attributed to Ethiopian Minister of Water and Energy Habtamu Itefa concerning the construction of additional dams on the Nile and control over water flows to downstream states, namely Egypt and Sudan.

Earlier, on August 4, Egyptian Minister of Water Resources and Irrigation Hani Sewilam stated during a press conference that Egypt “will not allow the construction of new Ethiopian dams on the Nile River.”

He said: “It is well known that Ethiopia has plans to build additional dams, but will the Egyptian state allow this? No.”

According to Hegazy, the ball is now in Ethiopia’s court. If Addis Ababa agrees to resume serious negotiations leading to a legally binding agreement on GERD, the crisis can be contained.

However, if Ethiopia continues to create new realities on the Nile, the scope for a diplomatic solution will narrow, making risk management and deterrence a more prominent part of Egypt’s strategy.

El-Behairy does not expect the escalation to pave the way for new negotiations on GERD unless the Ethiopian government is willing to make concessions in response to Cairo’s demands. These demands include reaching a legally binding agreement that guarantees Egypt’s water rights during periods of drought and severe drought, and providing Egypt with information regarding the operation of the dam in a manner that does not harm its water interests.


Train to Nowhere? South Korea’s Lonely Push for Peace with the North

A locomotive is seen at the Woljeong-ri Station in Cheorwon, Gangwon Province, in South Korea, near the demilitarized zone separating North and South Korea on August 10, 2026. (AFP)
A locomotive is seen at the Woljeong-ri Station in Cheorwon, Gangwon Province, in South Korea, near the demilitarized zone separating North and South Korea on August 10, 2026. (AFP)
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Train to Nowhere? South Korea’s Lonely Push for Peace with the North

A locomotive is seen at the Woljeong-ri Station in Cheorwon, Gangwon Province, in South Korea, near the demilitarized zone separating North and South Korea on August 10, 2026. (AFP)
A locomotive is seen at the Woljeong-ri Station in Cheorwon, Gangwon Province, in South Korea, near the demilitarized zone separating North and South Korea on August 10, 2026. (AFP)

Near the heavily fortified frontier dividing the Korean peninsula, the abandoned Woljeong-ri station is being recast as a symbol of South Korea's hopes to reconcile with the North.

But plans to reconnect South Korea's northernmost station to the rail network come at an awkward moment, as Pyongyang ignores Seoul's overtures while the South's old ally Washington pursues its own talks with Pyongyang.

A turbulent few days have raised doubts about the role of South Korea in any diplomatic push, despite President Lee Jae Myung's dovish line on the North since taking power last year.

US President Donald Trump abruptly scaled back annual military drills with Seoul this week, calling them "inappropriate and hostile" towards the nuclear-armed North.

He also berated South Korea for not helping in his war against Iran and said he would meet the North's leader Kim Jong Un this year.

North Korea then fired around 10 short-range ballistic missiles on Thursday, while Kim's powerful sister mocked Seoul's "master-servant" relationship with Washington.

The developments have overshadowed the Lee administration's outreach, including the Woljeong-ri project aimed at "eventual" reconciliation.

The modest station -- originally located inside today's demilitarized zone (DMZ) -- once sat on a line linking Seoul to Wonsan, but was destroyed during the 1950-53 Korean War. It was reconstructed at its current site in the border town of Cheorwon in 1988.

It is now an attraction for visitors to the nearby DMZ separating the two countries, and the line's former terminus -- Wonsan -- lies in North Korea.

Its history, however, underscores how vulnerable such hopes are to the politics of the peninsula.

Work began in 2015 but ground to a halt just a year later after North Korea's fourth nuclear test.

The latest reboot inspires more skepticism than hope for some in Cheorwon.

"It seems like they keep trying to reconcile with North Korea (through the railway project), but from our point of view, it isn't really practical," said resident Moon Jae-yong, 70.

- Lonely push for peace -

South Korea's reconciliation program eventually aims to restore rail links, such as Woljeong-ri, with the North.

Lee has also said he is ready for talks with Pyongyang without preconditions, including on formally ending the Korean War, which concluded with an armistice.

His unification minister said in July that Seoul had shifted from prioritizing denuclearization to curbing the expansion of North Korea's nuclear program.

But Pyongyang -- emboldened by support from traditional ally China, and Russia, whose invasion of Ukraine it is backing -- has been unmoved.

It has repeatedly declared itself an "irreversible" nuclear state and labelled Seoul its "most hostile" enemy.

The US leader may be trying to revive diplomacy to record a foreign policy win ahead of November's midterm elections, with many voters disenchanted by his intervention in the Middle East.

That has sidelined Seoul, with Lee voicing respect for Trump's decision and pledging to "do his utmost" to support his peacemaking efforts.

South Korea is "reasonably afraid that it gets sidelined -- China, Russia and now America are all engaged with Pyongyang in different ways, while Seoul is not," Vladimir Tikhonov, Korean Studies professor at the University of Oslo, told AFP.

"So, Seoul is desperate to get some opening with North Korea. But it can do very little, so far."

- Impossible dream? -

That leaves the rail project standing as a symbol of South Korea's lonely push for peace.

Along the disused line from Woljeong-ri towards Baengmagoji station to the south -- the section to be restored under the peace project -- vegetation crowds both sides of the tracks, nearly swallowing a stone wall.

"The iron horse wants to run," a sign reads, alongside a phrase in English: "We want to be back on track."

Preparing infrastructure in the South now could save time if inter-Korean links are eventually restored, said Lim Eul-chul, a professor at Kyungnam University.

"But realistically, it is virtually impossible under the current circumstances, and everyone knows that," he told AFP.

With few options on North Korea, Seoul has turned to projects it can "pursue unilaterally", Lim said.

The project also aims to boost tourism along the border, where residents face frequent disruptions and security risks.

Pyongyang sent trash-filled balloons and broadcast unsettling noises across the border during the administration of Lee's hawkish predecessor, Yoon Suk Yeol.

Kim Sun-hee, 70, described them as "like scraping cement, or even ghost-like noises. It was really frightening".

A bombed-out locomotive from the Korean War remains near Woljeong-ri station as a reminder of the division.

It is "heartbreaking to see", said visitor Ahn Seung-hyun.


Lockerbie Specter Returns in Netflix Drama: Who Was Bombmaker Marwan Khreesat?

Marwan Khreesat (Facebook)
Marwan Khreesat (Facebook)
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Lockerbie Specter Returns in Netflix Drama: Who Was Bombmaker Marwan Khreesat?

Marwan Khreesat (Facebook)
Marwan Khreesat (Facebook)

In the shadow world of Palestinian factional operations and intelligence wars that defined the 1970s and 1980s, few names were as mysterious or controversial as Marwan Khreesat.

Linked to what became known as the “engineering of airborne death,” Khreesat was described in Western intelligence accounts as a skilled bombmaker for the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine-General Command, or PFLP-GC, led by Ahmed Jibril.

For decades, he remained an elusive figure, moving between world capitals. West Germany arrested him, then released him in circumstances that fueled speculation. Israel’s Mossad pursued him. He eventually died in Amman at about 70, taking many of his secrets with him.

To some, he was a fedayeen who used his electrical skills against the Israeli occupation. To Western investigators, he was linked to aviation attacks that shocked the world.

His death did not end the questions.

Khreesat’s fingerprints, at least in the investigative sense, continued to hover over the Lockerbie case. More recently, his name returned to international attention as a Netflix docudrama revisited the hidden battles, intelligence operations, and unresolved questions of that era.

The electronics expert inside the PFLP-GC

Khreesat’s story began with technical skill.

A talented electrician and technician, he became involved in armed activity early, driven by his nationalist background. As radical Palestinian factions expanded, he joined the PFLP-GC, which had split from the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine and focused on specialized cross-border military operations.

Ahmed Jibril, born in 1938 in a village in the Jaffa district, founded the faction in 1968 after breaking away from the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine.

He quickly recognized Khreesat’s ability to work with electrical circuits and plastic explosives such as C-4 and Semtex.

Khreesat was not a front-line fighter.

He worked instead in secret, specially equipped laboratories, designing sophisticated explosive devices triggered by changes in air pressure or by digital timers.

That technical skill turned ordinary objects into devices capable of defeating airport security systems.

From El Al to Operation Autumn Leaves

Khreesat’s expertise did not suddenly emerge in the 1980s. It had been developed years earlier in the laboratories of the region’s shadow wars.

One early episode came in Rome in the summer of 1972.

The PFLP-GC used what the source describes as an emotional deception involving two British women, who were persuaded to carry a household record player presented as a farewell gift before boarding an El Al flight to Tel Aviv.

Hidden inside the record player was a charge of powerful plastic explosives fitted with a barometric trigger.

The device was designed to detonate automatically when the aircraft reached a high altitude over the Mediterranean, sending the wreckage — and potentially the evidence — into the sea.

The bomb exploded about 20 minutes after takeoff, tearing a large hole in the aircraft.

But airport security had insisted the record player be placed in the baggage hold rather than the passenger cabin. That reduced the blast’s impact and allowed the pilot to make a safe emergency landing in Rome.

The incident became an early warning to international intelligence services: an engineer was turning ordinary household electronics into sophisticated airborne bombs.

The most serious threat to Khreesat’s operations came 16 years later.

In the autumn of 1988, West German authorities penetrated a PFLP-GC cell in Frankfurt led by Hafez Dalkamoni as part of what became known as Operation Autumn Leaves.

German police arrested Khreesat and seized explosives concealed inside modified Toshiba radios and cassette players.

The devices were designed to explode automatically once an aircraft reached a specific altitude, triggered by changes in atmospheric pressure.

Then came the mystery.

German authorities released Khreesat only days after his arrest.

The decision triggered years of speculation. Later Western intelligence reports and suspicions suggested he may have been acting as a “double agent,” passing sensitive information to Jordanian, US or other security services.

Lockerbie and the question that would not disappear

On Dec. 21, 1988, Pan Am Flight 103 exploded over the Scottish town of Lockerbie, killing 270 people.

The technical similarities drew immediate attention.

The bomb used in the attack had also been concealed in a Toshiba cassette player, echoing devices seized from Khreesat in Germany just two months earlier.

Although the international judicial process later convicted Libyan Abdelbaset al-Megrahi, Khreesat’s name never fully disappeared from the investigation.

Decades later, it returned to public view through The Bombing of Pan Am 103, a major docudrama produced by the BBC and Netflix.

The series examined the criminal investigation and the joint pursuit by Scottish investigators and the US Federal Bureau of Investigation.

It also revived the theory of an “Iranian-Palestinian connection.”

Khreesat appeared in that context through references to fragments linked to the bomb and comparisons with devices he had designed that were seized in Germany.

The old question returned with it:

Was Marwan Khreesat the man who actually built the bomb that destroyed Pan Am Flight 103 over Scotland?

The secret file left behind

Khreesat spent his final decades largely silent at his home in the suburbs of Amman, refusing repeated approaches from Western media.

In later years, however, he began publishing memoirs and documents online, attacking some Palestinian leaders and at times boasting about earlier operations against Israeli interests.

After his death, the story took another turn.

His daughter, Suha Khreesat, made claims to British media, again pushing his name into the headlines.

In a 2018 interview with Britain’s Daily Mirror, marking the 30th anniversary of the Lockerbie bombing, she said her father had played no part in the deaths of the victims.

But she also said he had left behind a “large secret file, documents and recordings” kept by her mother, his wife.

She said the material proved that Ahmed Jibril — who later died in Damascus at about 83 — had carried out the Lockerbie operation under a major direct financial deal with the Iranian government.

Marwan Khreesat died, leaving behind a legacy as murky as the intelligence wars in which he operated.

He was a bombmaker whose technical skills challenged security services across two continents, a figure whose story fused electronics, covert operations, and regional power struggles.

And decades later, his name still shadows the Lockerbie file — preserved in intelligence documents, revived in investigations and retold on screens, revisiting one of the era’s most enduring mysteries.