Navigating the Way Forward and Reconnecting with Syrian Creatives: Five Months After the Fall of Assad

“There’s still a long way to go until we reach our dream state for the region,” writes Syrian artist and community organizer Yamen Mekdad. “But one of the biggest dams on our minds, bodies, and spirits has finally exploded. And as [Syrian filmmaker] Omar Amiraly puts it, a flood did prevail over the Baath country.” After more than half a century of iron fist rule over Syria, the Ba’athist regime, led formerly by Syrian president Bashar al-Assad, finally collapsed on December 8th, 2024. “I didn’t see it coming at all,” says Mekdad. “For days, I was attached to my phone, completely terrified. However, after watching the operation unfold, I realized that this was different. It was organized and planned. As soon as the opposition forces reached Homs [a city in Western Syria], I knew it was over for Assad, so I dropped everything and booked a one-way ticket out of London.” 

Mekdad remained in Syria for the first 100 days following Assad’s collapse. “It’s hard to put my experience into words,” he says. “It felt as though I had finally found something that I had spent years searching for.” You could hear the grin in Mekdad’s voice as he began reflecting on his journey back to Syria. “A few friends and I flew to Beirut, and from there, we drove into central Damascus. I still remember driving down the highway and feeling this volcano of dopamine and emotions erupt within me…We were moving without any logic or concern for what might come next. The future, we realized, would certainly be difficult, but in that moment, none of it really mattered. All of us had this intuitive sense of trust in the Syrian people.” 

Since 2011, more than half a million Syrians have been killed, and over 14 million have been displaced. Even before the Arab Spring, the lives of people from across the country’s diverse ethno-religious landscape have been fundamentally marked by legacies of external meddling and repression. “We have been through hell,” explains Mekdad. “For the majority of Syrians, all we want is freedom…to coexist, create, and rebuild all that has been lost. I have seen this in almost everyone that I’ve encountered. Despite decades of hardship, most people seem ready to forgive and move forward with their lives.” So, when Mekdad and his friends were able to drive into Syria without the looming fear of detainment or arrest, they found themselves celebrating not only political victory but something far more profound – a renewed sense of hope. 

Despite decades of hardship under imperialism and authoritarian rule, Syrians have, across time and space, managed to connect and create a collective memory through the arts. For many, discrete forms of creative and political expression became the only means through which they could remain connected to their fading homeland. Syrian-born photographer AlBaraa Haddad describes this experience. “Growing up, I was raised to be silent. Out of fear, I learned to kill my feelings and words within my own body…It felt like living in a cage, where you can breathe, but you are not allowed to speak or express yourself.” 

In this silence, he says, “Something grew inside of me…I really began to carry the weight of generational suffering and trauma. After countless years of war and revolution, however…I realized that the real battle was not one of silence but erasure. As Syrians, we must hold on to our own narrative and prevent war and displacement from truly erasing who we are.” It was, therefore, by way of photography that Haddad finally managed to experience some semblance of freedom. “Through art, I learned to speak,” he says. “It enabled me to overcome the silence that we suffered for decades – stripping the complexities of language and, instead, telling stories of truth.”

Like many Syrians, Haddad never believed that he would see the Assad regime come to an end. “I was completely shocked,” he says. “Being back in this new Syria has definitely transformed my work. My priority hasn’t been photography. Instead, I am really just focused on listening and absorbing the words spoken around me. For decades, we have been pitted against one another – unable to speak. Now, it is time for us to unite and learn how to communicate through our common desire for freedom…There are truly so many untold stories that have yet to be understood. Through visual art and media, my hope is to bring these lives to the forefront.” 

Fellow photographer Alaa Hassan describes taking a similar approach since returning to Syria. After having lived abroad for nearly 12 years, he says, “I no longer felt connected to my subject matter…Returning home, however, has reignited my sense of purpose.” Hassan travelled back to Syria ten days after the regime fell. “I wanted to come back as soon as possible…Like many others, I am not sure what the future will bring, but I am still enjoying the fact that Assad is gone. I wouldn’t really say that I am pessimistic or optimistic. I am just a bit disenchanted, which I think is a very healthy mindset to be in right now.”

Despite all the challenges that Hassan endured under the dictatorship, he explains that his “vendetta” toward the Assad regime has quite seamlessly come to an end. “I think the majority of Syrians feel the same way. They are ready to move on…Most families are really just trying to deal with the most basic issues right now, like poverty, electricity, and pollution.” Syrians, he suggests, don’t have the time or the energy to be angry right now. Their priority is to rebuild. “Even the focus of my photographic work has changed,” explains Hassan. “I am no longer concerned with the regime or bureaucratic politics. My attention is on the local Syrian people, the long-term damage and the long-term healing that we will have to overcome. Right now, I want to capture what life looks like between the rubble.” 

As reconstruction efforts in Syria begin, restoring infrastructure for the arts, education, and culture remains crucial. “It’s a really tricky situation,” explains Hassan. “90% of Syrians are living below the poverty line, so of course, the arts are never going to be as essential as bread. However, it remains a vital tool in the path towards freedom.” Through continued engagement with the arts, Syrians are granted an opportunity to create a collective identity for the future, one built around unity, freedom of expression, and human rights. “We must test the limits of expression and ensure that, once the new government is formed, our rights alongside our basic needs are being met…because the Syrian people really do deserve to experience true freedom.” 

Although it has only been five months since the fall of Assad, many Syrians have already made progress in revitalizing the country’s creative sector. Mekdad, for instance, has returned to Syria with the hopes of building an events production company and creative space for archiving and experimentation in the arts. “I don’t want to rely on any temporary grants,” he says, “the stars are aligning, and we have been gifted a physical space. So, right now, I am really just focused on ensuring that our work is sustainable and well-equipped to support creative output and expression in the future…So many people have been deprived for so long. Through open access to artistic knowledge and resources – spanning visual art, music, performance, and film – our goal is to ensure that all Syrians are finally granted the opportunity to express themselves creatively.” 

On Tuesday, May 14th – as this article was being written – US President Donald Trump announced that all sanctions against Syria would be lifted. While the long-term impact of US-Syrian allyship remains uncertain, the first and most important word that comes to mind is relief. The US first began imposing sanctions on Syria in 1979 and has continued to pursue an unrelenting campaign of punitive measures over the past four decades. This did not only cripple the country’s economy, but it inflicted profound suffering on millions of innocent Syrians in the midst of an already painful civil war. Now, as the sanctions have come to an end, there is evermore reason to remain hopeful in the prospect of a Syrian future that is both economically and intellectually prosperous. 

However, for the sake of clarity, it is important to remember that the hero in this story is neither Donald Trump nor the US. Rather, it is the local Syrian people – the millions who remained resilient and committed to change amid profound chaos. With the removal of sanctions opens up an entirely new world of possibilities, led not only by the exchange of capital but also intellect, ideas, and culture. As the country rebuilds its basic infrastructure – tending to the everyday needs of civilians – more opportunities become available to support the work of artists and entrepreneurs like Mekdad, who are seeking to fundamentally transform the future of Syria through culture and creativity. 

Now, as many Syrians begin to return, Mekdad notes that bridging the gap between those inside and outside of the country has become an urgent priority. “While we begin to rebuild, many in the diaspora still have to process all that has occurred…Through both creative and political dialogue, we can unify our goals for the future of Syria.” 

Over the past few months, multidisciplinary artist Yara Said [also known as Noise Diva] has dedicated herself to this. Currently based in Amsterdam, her work focuses on amplifying the voices and perspectives of marginalized communities. Just three days after the fall of Assad, Said returned to Syria alongside Mekdad and a few other friends. The experience, she says, has fundamentally transformed the shape of her practice. 

“For the first time, I realized that I can explicitly make work about my country—our people, our pain, the mass murder, the nightmares—without fear that the Assad family will haunt me.” Returning after ten years, she says, was “both heartbreaking and grounding all at once…It felt like an out-of-body experience, like being a newborn child in my own land. And it made me realize: a country, an identity, even a collective identity—it’s not just a piece of land. It’s something in your DNA. You carry it in the music, in the literature, in the faces of your people. That’s become my main obsession now: to preserve, share, and educate people around the world about the beauty of our culture, not just the horrors caused by imperialism and occupation.”

Ever since returning from Syria, Said has used painting as a means for processing her own emotions. “There’s a collapse of time when you’re there: memories coexist with silence and absence. It shaped me in ways I’m still understanding…Painting has certainly saved me —mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. After the fall of the regime, I needed a way to process what was happening, and painting became that space. I’ve been spending a lot of time with my canvases and with myself. Listening to Warda, thinking about Nizar Qabbani, Ghada al-Samman, and Edward Said. My body surrendered to this moment—it felt like something larger than me, something historical—and painting allowed me to stay with that, to feel it fully without breaking.” 

For the time being, the work of artists like Said feels more urgent than ever. “I want to hold space for what’s been erased or flattened and to resist both nostalgia and spectacle,” she says. As of last week, Said has already begun the process of sharing her reflections with the rest of the world. “My latest exhibition was a collection of paintings I created after returning from Syria. On May 14th,” she adds, “I will be presenting 33 Refugee Nation flags in Rotterdam, marking the opening of the new migration museum, Fenix. It’s a deeply meaningful moment for me and those close to me. I feel supported by both the Dutch and Arab art worlds, and that means a lot.” 

For Said, creativity opens pathways to knowledge and understanding. “I’ve seen how voice and sound can bring people back to themselves—to their memories, to their senses,” she says. “For many in the diaspora, there’s a kind of floating. Creative spaces offer grounding without demanding performance. They make space for vulnerability – for feeling out loud, for remembering together in a way that’s both quiet and powerful.” 

Through her work, Said now hopes to remind people of this power. “Creativity,” she says, “is knowledge for immigrants, and indigenous knowledge is a coloniser’s worst enemy.” Although the future in Syria remains uncertain, most artists will agree that there is every reason to remain hopeful. “After 14 years of watching our loved ones disappear, we can finally speak out. But not everything that comes out will be studied, monitored, or processed—it will often be chaotic,” explains Said. 

“I hope people can give Syrians the space, patience, and respect we deserve after this unimaginable period of paranoia. The same applies to Palestinians, Lebanese, Sudanese, Congolese, and many others. This is not the time for international critique of our pain. Support us, show up for our events, and create space for us to be heard.” As we move forward, she says, “All I can hope is for my friends to find space for their anger and to find sweetness in this bitter world.”