After nearly a decade and a half of war, fragmentation, and betrayal, and after the geography has been drained and the spirit shattered, Bashar al-Assad fell as if autumn had arrived late, leaving behind a country that seems to have just emerged from a long nightmare, bearing the scars of bombing on its walls and the marks of silence on the faces of its people. This departure was not just a transfer of power, but a rare moment in Syrian history, a moment in which some imagined that the end of oppression had finally been penned, and that a new dawn might be on the horizon after a long darkness.

A transitional government was formed, a step long awaited, a pale dream that only found expression in the voices of the detainees, the hopes of the exiled, and the letters from mothers to their absent sons. A government that pledged to serve all Syrians, but in their hearts was enough pain to make them wonder: Is this the beginning of salvation, or another chapter of deceit? The Syrian who survived the massacres, the prisons, and the exiles no longer measures matters by words, but by actions. He wants a state that protects him, not one that surveils him. Justice, the word that has long been emblazoned on banners and fluttered as a fragile hope against tyranny, has today become the true criterion for any new beginning. There is no justice without a clear acknowledgment of what has occurred, no justice without accountability for those who killed, tortured, and displaced, no justice if Kurds who were denied their language are not vindicated, nor Arabs who were forced to the frontlines, nor Assyrians whose culture has eroded in the shadows, nor Yazidis who were terrorized from their homes, nor Alawites who were deceived by the regime's slogans and then used as human shields for its protection. The justice we seek is not vengeance, but healing. Justice that builds rather than destroys, reconciles without forgetting, and treats people equally because they are human, not because they belong to a favored group or an accepted sect.

The question that whispers in the conscience of every Syrian today is whether the country can piece itself back together and start anew. How can a country whose body has been torn apart by the forces of reality restore its spirit? And how can a broken society trust once again in terms that almost lost their meaning—reconciliation, sovereignty, national unity? The truth is that rebuilding the human is more important than rebuilding the walls. While roads can be cemented, bridging the gap between people requires justice, transparency, mutual acknowledgment of pain, and reciprocal respect for rights.

However, reality cannot be managed by wishes alone. Today, Syria is not a blank page from which to start anew, but a torn canvas left out in the rain for years. We are faced with a shattered state, a military with divided loyalties, a society turned against itself, and institutions emptied of their meaning. The wound is not only political but profoundly humanitarian. Tens of thousands have been killed without trial, hundreds of thousands are in prisons, millions are in camps, children have grown up without fathers, and cities have been erased from the map. How can a homeland be built from these ruins? How can the relationship between the state and its citizens be redefined when it has been founded for decades on fear and humiliation?

At the heart of this scene remains security, the simplest and deepest demand. Today, a Syrian, regardless of his affiliation, only wants to sleep without fear, to speak his language without worry, and not to fear for his children when he expresses his opinion or writes a post. But this security cannot be achieved in a starving country, nor under an economy in ruins, nor in a society divided between displaced persons, refugees, and exiles.

It is no secret that the transitional government, no matter how good its intentions, does not have absolute decision-making power because it remains fragile. The international and regional forces whose interests are intertwined in Syria will not withdraw simply because the façade of governance has changed. The Russians did not come out of love for Assad but for love of the Mediterranean; the Iranians did not send thousands of fighters to return empty-handed; the Turks did not occupy northern Syria merely for border security; and the Americans are not in eastern Euphrates out of concern for civilians. Each party has its agenda, and each agenda has its project. Are we facing the beginning of liberation or a redistribution of influence? Will these powers allow the establishment of a true state in Syria, or will they push towards a paralyzed, fragile state governed by compromises rather than a constitution, subjected to impositions instead of the will of the people?

The Syrian does not want a third republic built on the ruins of the first and second Assads; he wants the birth of an entirely new homeland. He wants a constitution written in public, not in intelligence rooms. He wants genuine participation in decision-making.

Azeddin Mela