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Amid the rubble of Saraqib, some of the wall graffiti dating back to its time as a centre of the the 2011 Arab spring uprising remains. “The revolution will go on,” one reads. “Tomorrow the sun rises,” says another.
A week after the astonishing rout of Bashar al-Assad by rebel forces led by the Islamist group Hayat Tahrir al-Sham, this small town of concrete, red earth and olive groves in Syria’s north-west was a stop on the Guardian’s 280-mile (450km) journey along the M5, the highway threading all of the country’s major cities and six provinces together.
Suffering was palpable everywhere, from children rummaging through bins for food in Aleppo and Homs, to relatives searching for loved ones in Damascus’s prisons, to displaced people still living in tents in Idlib. There are huge challenges ahead for HTS’s transitional government, and in some places, sectarian violence has already re-emerged.
Yet after 13 years of sacrifice, blood and exile, the appetite for freedom that fuelled Syria’s popular revolution has endured. In dozens of interviews across Idlib province, the HTS stronghold, as well as the newly taken Aleppo, Homs and Damascus, stories tumbled out of people amazed they could talk openly after more than 50 years of dictatorship.
“We paid a high price for basic human rights, for our dignity,” said Hussein al-Khaled, 37, who fled Saraqib for the relative safety of Idlib city when the city fell to Assad in 2020. “We have been waiting for this moment for decades.”
Retaking Saraqib, on the M5, was a key victory for Assad, allowing the regime to relink the capital, Damascus, with the economic centre of Aleppo, and forcing Sunni-led opposition forces to retreat to the north-west. In December, the same route also became the rebel road to victory.
The unprecedented HTS-led offensive that led Assad to flee to Russia was a year in the making. It began in Idlib city, where the scars of war are still obvious – some buildings have been hit by missiles, and abandoned military positions litter the surrounding countryside.
HTS, which is still listed as a terrorist group by western countries, battled other Islamist groups for years before it managed to cement control here in 2019, bringing some stability to this corner of Syria. Until December, this was the only pocket of the country still outside the regime’s control after Assad’s years-long fight – assisted by Russia, Iran and the Lebanese group Hezbollah – to claw back Syria’s urban centres from rebels.
Idlib province was home to approximately 1 million people before the war, but the population has swelled to about 4 million, as wave after wave of displaced people fled regime offensives elsewhere.
“I came here a few years ago from Raqqa. It’s the safest place in Syria,” said Mohammed, a 45-year-old street vendor selling pastries during the morning rush hour at a roundabout in central Idlib.
His family fled the rise of Islamic State, which used the chaos of the war to establish a so-called caliphate: the desert city of Raqqa was its capital before a US-led coalition defeated the jihadists in 2019. “I would never go back to Raqqa now. We have built a new life here”
Today what sets Idlib apart from the rest of the country is money. Syria has been suffocated by economic sanctions and regime corruption, and more than 90% of the population live below the poverty line. But in Idlib, there is 4G internet, water, electricity services and rubbish collection, and the Salvation Government – HTS’s state-building project – has constructed roads, schools and hospitals.
Proximity to Turkey, which backs several Syrian rebel groups, means goods from the outside world are readily available. The streets are filled with SUVs, and several shiny new malls compete for business with hipster coffee shops and military supply stores selling combat gear, fatigues and gun parts.
Yet Idlib’s prosperity appears to have come at a price. HTS’s rule is authoritarian: critics and protesters have been arrested or disappeared, and minority groups have reported the confiscation of property and restrictions on religious services. In the past, women have been subject to dress codes. Today, there is still a degree of gender segregation and music is not allowed in public spaces.
“Officially you don’t have to wear an abaya or a headscarf, but there is no way you can go outside without your hair covered,” said a female activist originally from Aleppo, who asked not to be named for her safety. “HTS are thugs … This is not the future I wanted for my daughters.”
Whether HTS will export its version of Islamist rule to the rest of the country is now at the forefront of many people’s minds. Aleppo, just 37 miles (60km) from Idlib city, was the first target of the surprise offensive that saw Assad’s rule collapse like a house of cards. Widespread devastation caused by the regime’s blistering air campaign and sieges of rebel neighbourhoods during 2012-2016 came to symbolise the war’s brutality.
Today, almost nothing has been rebuilt. Like many places in Syria, half of Aleppo was left to rot as a reminder of the price to pay for rising up against the regime, and the city is desperately poor. Pollution from locally refined petrol used for generators clogs the streets and almost no one can afford to heat their homes despite the bitter winter weather.
“As a Christian, I was worried, but they did not storm my shop. They came and said: ‘Hello Joseph, how are you.’ I was shocked,” said Joseph Fanoun, 68, the owner of an antiques shop, of the arrival of HTS.
Abu Obeida, 25, a commander with the Turkish-backed Northern Storm Brigade, which fought alongside HTS to take Aleppo, said that Syria’s people did not need to be afraid.
“We have entered all the cities and the people have not seen anything from us but good words and good treatment,” he said. “We do not have sectarian hatred … It is our duty to protect the minorities because they are under our rule.”
Despite repeated reassurances from HTS and its allies, worries remain. “Before the revolution, things were under control to some extent. Emptying the prisons has created a big problem,” said Mahmoud Farash, a 50-year-old restaurateur.
Further down the M5, scenes of destruction and poverty repeat. Homs was the scene of the fiercest early battles between the regime and rebel forces as the Arab spring uprising morphed into civil war. Entire neighbourhoods are now empty shells, holes smashed through walls.
Syrian government troops went house to house after the inhabitants fled, destroying what remained to ensure no one could return. Some of the buildings bear pro-regime graffiti: “You wanted freedom, you dogs,” and “Assad for ever.”
It is now possible for displaced residents to come back, although there is not much to return to. Ali Nadaz, 60, fled Homs in 2013. He came back to find stray dogs living in his apartment building. “It used to be full of people. Where are the families now?” he said. “We have nothing left.”
Many parts of Damascus were relatively insulated from the conflict that raged elsewhere in Syria. Its inhabitants were shocked by the arrival of opposition and Islamist fighters on its streets.
Those who chose to remain here throughout the war are now afraid of being seen as pro-regime. They are also worried that HTS may not follow through with its promises to hold elections and protect women’s and minority rights.
In the city’s famous Abbasid Square, pro-democracy protests have been held for the first time since 2011. Looked at one way, the newfound freedom of expression and assembly is astonishing; in another, it is worrying that residents feel it is necessary.
Nawara al-Baridi, 29, a radio journalist, was among those protesting. She said her station was shut down by HTS a few days after Assad fled the country.
“The youth are gathered here today to ensure Syria is for all Syrians, not just a specific party or ideology … We are not afraid to express our opinions as we were before, but we hope there is no fear of other things in the future,” she said.
Ultimately, the Arab spring uprisings in Egypt, Libya, Tunisia and Yemen all failed. In Syria, the bloodshed of the civil war and the cruel legacy of the Assad regime cast a long shadow – but there is now a chance for the country to forge a different path.
