This entire place is a mass grave. You can't erase the scene of the crime.
In the aftermath of Assad's fall, Syria stands at a crossroads familiar to societies emerging from long darkness: the tension between the urgent need for order and the deeper human need for truth. The arrest of intelligence officer Amjad Youssef for the 2013 Tadamon massacres briefly kindled hope among survivors, but a staged confession video revealed that the new government is navigating accountability selectively — arresting some perpetrators for display while quietly negotiating with others for stability. What unfolds in Damascus now will determine whether Syria's transition becomes a genuine reckoning or merely a reshuffling of impunity.
- A celebrated arrest turned hollow when the interior ministry aired a confession video in which Youssef claimed sole responsibility — transforming a moment of justice into what researchers call performative accountability.
- Behind closed doors, the government is cutting deals with former regime war profiteers and militia commanders, trading prosecution for intelligence and cooperation against ongoing loyalist insurgency.
- Fadi Saqr — accused of involvement in mass civilian killings yet shielded as a useful intermediary — embodies the contradiction at the heart of Syria's transitional moment: utility and criminality coexisting in the same person.
- Victims and families are growing visibly frustrated, demanding transparent processes rather than televised spectacles, while their advocates inside the government find themselves sidelined by a narrow security-first circle around President al-Sharaa.
- Syria's legal framework offers no foundation for the work ahead — war crimes and crimes against humanity are not defined in the penal code, and no transitional justice law has yet been passed — yet the Commission for Transitional Justice is pressing forward with broader cases regardless.
When news broke that Amjad Youssef had been arrested, Ahmad al-Homsi ran into the streets of Tadamon to join the celebrations. For days, the neighbourhood marked the moment with communal meals and tears — the arrest of the intelligence officer whose name had become synonymous with the 2013 massacres felt like the beginning of a reckoning. Video evidence had long shown Youssef executing blindfolded civilians in killings that claimed at least 300 lives. Accountability, so long denied, seemed finally within reach.
The hope fractured within a week. Syria's interior ministry released a confession video in which Youssef sat before cameras claiming he had acted alone. For al-Homsi, joy curdled into anger. The confession looked less like justice and more like a performance designed to contain the story — to name one scapegoat and close the file on a crime with many authors.
Researchers and transitional justice advocates see this as symptomatic of a broader pattern. The new government, they argue, has shifted from genuine accountability toward what one Utrecht University scholar calls 'selective and performative justice' — arresting a visible few while negotiating quietly with others. Former regime war profiteers have struck reconciliation deals in exchange for assets and information. Some past security officials have been temporarily shielded from prosecution in return for intelligence. A former NDF militia commander widely accused of involvement in Tadamon killings remains free, valued as a middleman between the old guard and the new administration.
The government is internally divided, but power rests with a narrow circle that prioritises security. Former activists and lawyers brought into the administration find their influence limited. Meanwhile, Syria's legal architecture offers little support: the penal code does not define war crimes as independent categories, and no transitional justice law exists. The Commission for Transitional Justice is nonetheless preparing broader cases, and its deputy chair has been unambiguous — an arrest alone is not justice.
For al-Homsi, who spent years documenting atrocities in silence, the frustration is inseparable from the ground itself. People are returning to Tadamon wanting to rebuild their lives, but the neighbourhood is layered with mass graves. 'You can't build yet,' he says. 'You can't erase the scene of the crime.' The evidence he gathered at great personal risk now sits at the centre of a struggle over what kind of society Syria will become — and whether its new government will treat survivors as partners in that future, or as spectators to be managed.
Ahmad al-Homsi woke to news that jolted him from sleep. Amjad Youssef, a Syrian intelligence officer responsible for killing civilians in the 2013 Tadamon massacres, had been arrested. Al-Homsi, a 33-year-old documenter of atrocities in the Damascus neighbourhood, ran into the street where celebrations were already underway. For three or four days, the neighbourhood marked the moment with livestock sent from surrounding areas, slaughtered and distributed, tears flowing freely. The arrest felt like a turning point—a reckoning finally arriving for crimes that had defined the Assad regime's brutality.
Youssef's name had become inseparable from those massacres. Video footage showed him executing blindfolded civilians in a series of killings that claimed at least 300 lives. His capture seemed to promise something Syria had long been denied: accountability. But that promise fractured almost immediately. When Syria's interior ministry released a confession video the following Sunday, Youssef sat before cameras claiming he had acted alone. Al-Homsi's joy curdled into anger. "Of course it upset us," he said. "This was a cover-up for others. There are many more criminals. We want to know everyone who held a position or was responsible."
The arrest exposed a fundamental tension now shaping Syria's future. Victims and their families demand transparent processes of accountability for the civil war's atrocities. But elements within the new government have chosen a different path: prioritizing internal security by showcasing arrests of some regime figures while negotiating deals with others in the name of stability. Ali Aljasem, a researcher at Utrecht University's Centre for Conflict Studies, describes this as a shift from transitional justice to what he calls "selective and performative justice." The strategy amounts to arresting a handful of people, putting them on television, and using them as scapegoats while the machinery of accountability stalls.
The same week Youssef's confession aired, Atef Najib, the former head of political security in Deraa province and a cousin of Bashar al-Assad, appeared in court. Images of him sitting in a cage, confronted by one of the teenagers he had tortured, circulated widely and were celebrated as a first step toward justice. Yet Nousha Kabawat, head of the Syria programme at the International Centre for Transitional Justice, warns that focusing narrowly on punishing a few "bad guys" obscures the deeper work required. "Transitional justice is not just a punitive process; it is about rebuilding a society and rebuilding trust," she said. "The Syrian people should be treated as partners rather than spectators."
Behind the scenes, the government has been cutting deals. Former regime war profiteers like Mohammed Hamsho and Samer Foz have negotiated reconciliation agreements in exchange for assets and information. Some past security officials have been temporarily shielded from prosecution in return for intelligence and cooperation in suppressing an insurgency by Assad loyalists on Syria's coast. A key figure in these arrangements is Fadi Saqr, a former commander of the Assad regime's NDF militia who now serves as a middleman between the old guard and the new government. Saqr has helped mediate with some regime figures while aiding in the arrest of others. He is also widely accused of involvement in the mass killing of civilians in Tadamon and other Damascus districts—accusations he denies. "Even those now protecting Fadi will tell you he's a criminal, but he's useful to them," Aljasem observed. "Their reasoning is: if you arrest Fadi, you only arrest one person, but if you keep him, he will lead you to many others."
The Syrian government is internally divided on transitional justice, but decision-making power rests with a narrow circle around President Ahmed al-Sharaa, who favour security over accountability. While the administration has brought in former activists, lawyers, and academics committed to transitional justice, their influence is limited. This approach has angered victims. Al-Homsi, who has met with officials to press Tadamon families' concerns, expressed cautious frustration: "We have trust in the government; we don't want to immediately say: 'No this is not correct.' But we will demand our rights and the rights of all the families."
The legal architecture itself is inadequate. Syria's penal code does not define war crimes or crimes against humanity as independent categories. Parliament has yet to pass a transitional justice law. Still, mounting public pressure has begun to shift certain parts of the government. The Commission for Transitional Justice is preparing a case against Saqr for war crimes and crimes against humanity—charges he denies. The commission's deputy chair, Zahra al-Barazi, made clear that a single arrest falls short: "Just an arrest is not justice." A broader case against those implicated in the Tadamon massacres is expected to follow.
For years, al-Homsi documented atrocities in silence, stealing moments to photograph evidence and gather information in whispers. Now that Assad is gone, he is determined to see that evidence used. But the path forward remains blocked by the very ground beneath it. "People are returning and want to live in their homes," he said. "They want to rebuild. But we are standing there saying: 'This entire place is a mass grave. It's full of martyrs; you can't build yet. You can't erase the scene of the crime.'"
Citas Notables
This was a cover-up for others. There are many more criminals. We want to know everyone who held a position or was responsible.— Ahmad al-Homsi, Tadamon Coordination Committee activist, on Youssef's confession
You arrest a couple of people, put them on TV and use them as scapegoats.— Ali Aljasem, researcher at Utrecht University's Centre for Conflict Studies, describing performative justice
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does the government seem to prefer deals over trials?
Because they're afraid. Stability matters more to them than justice right now. They think if they arrest everyone at once, the whole structure collapses. So they keep useful people close and parade a few others in front of cameras.
But doesn't that just recreate the old system?
That's exactly what the researchers are warning about. You're not breaking the cycle of power; you're just changing who sits at the top. The same logic—might makes right, information buys protection—stays intact.
What do the victims actually want?
They want their dead named. They want to know who gave the orders, not just who pulled the trigger. A confession from one officer doesn't answer that. It closes the door on the investigation.
Is there any chance this changes?
Popular pressure is real. The Commission for Transitional Justice is pushing back. But it depends on whether the president's inner circle decides accountability is worth the risk. Right now, they don't think it is.
So Tadamon stays a mass grave?
For now, yes. Until someone decides that rebuilding trust matters more than keeping the peace through silence.