Joud Monla-Hassan is the Director of Citizens for a Secure and Safe America (C4SSA), where she leads strategic advocacy and organizational efforts in support of a free and democratic Syria. A Syrian American of Circassian heritage with roots in Aleppo, she works to elevate survivor voices and advance justice-centered, Syrian-led solutions. X: @joudmonlahassan; Instagram: @joudmhassan; LinkedIn: Joud Monla-Hassan
There is a buzz of energy on my flight from Istanbul to Aleppo. For most onboard, this will be their first visit back to their home country in well over a decade. On the plane, I cannot help but think that I had not been back in 15 years, until earlier this year. Yet, after the excitement and the clapping among those on the flight eventually subsides, there is still a noticeable air of caution.
Will the passport control operators give us a hard time? Will we be questioned at the border because of our expired Syrian passports? How much money should we expect to give the difficult security agent to expedite the process?
Such questions reflect the pain of the past, which unquestionably lingers today. The fear felt under the Assad regime is so deeply ingrained that there remains a feeling of disbelief that the situation in Syria could be better after the collapse.
Dec. 8, 2024 at 6:18 in the morning. Syria was freed of Bashar al Assad. Decades of the family's chokehold on Syrian society is now gone. The first few weeks that followed the collapse of the regime were celebratory. Yes, there were questions of what would come next, but Syrians understood that anything would be better than the tyranny they faced before.
For a country long suffocated by surveillance and fear, learning to breathe again has proven to be its own complicated process.
- Joud Monla-Hassan
There was a moment, sometime in late January, when this euphoria began to give way to a more complex feeling: relief, yes, but also uncertainty, grief and a collective exhale that Syrians had never experienced. For a country long suffocated by surveillance and fear, learning to breathe again has proven to be its own complicated process.
The government of Syrian President Ahmed al-Shara'a entered this landscape with a near impossible mandate: stabilize a nation still processing its transition while synonymously addressing the skeletons left behind by the regime.
The most profound change this year has not been political, but rather, psychological. In Syria, people now speak more freely than ever. I spent time in Aleppo in September, holding open dialogue with Syrians about the government in cafes playing Sabah Fakhri songs—conversations that I previously had to whisper under the hum of generators, wondering who was listening. Former political detainees who survived Assad's torture machine now sit on panels and speak freely about the horrors they experienced.
In private roundtables with Syrian civil society, Al-Sharaa has promised that fear will not be the state's organizing principle—sentiments repeated publicly numerous times, including during his visit to the United States. That promise, if upheld, is neither symbolic nor abstract. It is the line between a revolution that merely changes leaders and one that shifts the very foundation of an entire nation.
But rebuilding a country after decades of tyrannical violence is not a linear process. The absence of Assad did not magically undo the deeply-rooted trauma that defined his family's regime. Stories remain untold of the horrors of the regime's prisons, forcibly disappeared citizens and systematic torture. Thus, in many ways, this first year has been defined by a nation that is reckoning with its wounds.
That truth is why transitions are delicate, both for the psychology of the citizens unlearning a restrictive way of life and for a bureaucracy attempting to keep up with its citizen's demands. A lack of records, destroyed facilities and the scale of destruction—which the World Bank estimates will cost between $140 and $345 billion—pose major obstacles to the nation's reconstruction. The hard truth is that a country cannot move forward without confronting the machinery of its past—a truth that Syrians understand.
Syria is still wounded, with a long path toward full recovery. But Syria, for the first time in decades, is breathing.
- Joud Monla-Hassan
One year after its liberation, the question remains: Will political will and institutional courage match public demands? Will the process be as transparent and human-rights centered as needed to be successful?
Al-Sharaa regularly mentions the need for "unity" in post-Assad Syria, in what should be viewed as a focus on developing a new social contract. Syrians are, for the first time in decades, participating in public consultations, local councils and constitutional forums without fear of reprisal. Civil society organizations, long criminalized by the regime, have assumed their rightful place as central actors in shaping the new, free Syria.
Another striking shift is the state's relationship with the diaspora. Millions of people who fled persecution are now returning and investing in their country. Some, like myself, return to play a role in the success of the country's reconstruction. The practical changes in this state-to-diaspora relationship are undeniable and provide new pathways for professional repatriation.
Still, the transition is fragile. Syria has never witnessed this degree of internal and external pluralism in its modern history, and there remains a level of cautious optimism across society.
One year after liberation, the new government's human rights record remains mixed, with state forces playing a role in horrific atrocities along the coast and in Suwayda. Still, that record is undeniably better than the regime that preceded it, with few expecting the transition to be perfect under such difficult conditions and amid a real need for societal reconciliation to address the traumas of war. There remains some resistance from former regime networks still embedded in institutions. The process of documenting atrocities on all sides of the conflict remains stalled but ongoing. However, the establishment of independent human rights monitors in several provinces and security support for peaceful protests show that this government is listening to the demands and criticisms of its people.
Such progress amid difficult challenges should be cautiously acknowledged and further encouraged. Early transitions often reveal the fragility of a state, but if progress can remain steady, it becomes a core function of the state's processes and is noticed by the people and world leaders.
While political advancements offer a hopeful horizon, the humanitarian and economic realities on the ground are sobering. Infrastructure remains damaged, unemployment is high and basic resources are limited. The new government inherited a broken and corrupt economy—Syrians feel this viscerally in the price of bread, medicine and basic goods.
Yet beneath this hardship, there is momentum: International partners have reopened channels of investment, diaspora investors have launched numerous initiatives and technology entrepreneurs have begun channeling skills into programs on the ground. Electricity is returning to Syrian households. Ensuring this recovery is successful and sustainable, state institutions must be rebuilt and public trust must be re-earned—efforts already underway.
As I land in Syria for the second time since Dec. 8, 2024, the clapping on the plane restarts. But this time, on the eve of the anniversary of liberation, the energy feels different. Excitement—yes—but with an air of recognition superseding it. Syria is still wounded, with a long path toward full recovery. But Syria, for the first time in decades, is breathing.
One year after liberation, the question is no longer if Syria will be free. It is whether Syrians—both within the country and in the diaspora—can safeguard the fragile, but extraordinary, opportunities ahead.
Liberation is not a single moment. It is a long, unfinished promise. This year, for the first time in my life and for many others, that is a promise we may finally be able to keep.
