“我被阿薩德的暴徒強姦了——但我不再害怕露面”

René Shevan is a young man who has faced unimaginable challenges in his life. He is now willing to be photographed because he feels that the 'republic of fear is gone. ' René smiles as he holds a cherished music box that belonged to his grandmother. This music box is not just an object; it is a symbol of his past, a tangible connection to his home in Syria. When he opens it, a sweet melody fills the air, reminding him of the days spent in his sitting room in Damascus. René says, 'This is all I have left of my home. ' He has a gentle demeanor, and his soft-spoken nature reflects the kindness within him. Throughout the week, René has experienced a whirlwind of emotions. He feels joy at the thought of freedom but also heartbreak as he recalls the traumatic memories of his time in Syrian prisons. He vividly remembers a woman who was pleading for help and a young boy, around 15 or 16 years old, who was being assaulted and calling out for his mother. René himself endured horrific abuse during his imprisonment. When I first met him twelve years ago, he had just escaped from Syria. He was visibly shaken and in tears, terrified of revealing his identity on camera. The secret police had apprehended him for attending a pro-democracy demonstration, and they were aware of his sexual orientation. Three officers brutally assaulted René, and despite his pleas for mercy, they only laughed at his suffering. 'Nobody heard me. I was alone,' he recalled, reflecting on the torment he faced in 2012. They told him that this was the consequence of demanding freedom. For six long months, he endured daily abuse. Recently, when he saw images on television of prisoners being released in Damascus, he was flooded with memories of his own experiences. 'I'm not in prison now, I'm here. But I saw myself in the photos and the images of the people in Syria. I was so happy for them, but I saw myself there. I saw the old version of me there. I saw when they raped me, and when they tortured me. I saw everything in flashback. ' Overcome with emotion, he paused the interview to collect himself. On the wall of his sitting room, there is a photo of his destroyed home in Syria, alongside an image of him running in a marathon in Utrecht. He also keeps a picture of Father Frans Van Der Lugt, a compassionate priest who once told René that he was a normal human being, deserving of love regardless of his sexual orientation. After taking a moment to drink some water, René resumed our conversation. I was curious about why he had decided to show his face on camera now. He responded, 'Because the republic of fear is gone. I am not scared of them anymore. Assad is a refugee in Moscow. All the criminals in Syria have run away. Syria belongs to all Syrian people now. ' He expressed hope for a future where everyone in Syria can live in freedom and equality. He takes pride in being Syrian, Dutch, and part of the LGBT community. However, he remains cautious about the reality of living in Syria as a gay person. Under Assad's regime, homosexuality was criminalized, and the new leaders have strong religious beliefs that have led to violence against the LGBT community. 'Many Syrian LGBT fought for freedom and lost their lives. The Syrian regime killed them just because they were LGBT and part of the revolution,' René stated. He is realistic about the prospects for change and emphasizes the importance of protecting all religious and ethnic groups, including the Kurds. René is one of approximately six million Syrians who fled the country, seeking safety in neighboring countries like Lebanon, Jordan, and Turkey, as well as in Europe. Following the fall of Assad, several European countries have paused asylum applications from Syrians, a move that international human rights organizations have criticized as premature. In Germany alone, there are an estimated one million Syrians. Among them is a remarkable girl named Nujeen, who I first met in August 2015 when she was part of a large group of refugees arriving on the Greek island of Lesbos. Nujeen, who has a disability, traveled a long and arduous journey with her sister, who pushed her wheelchair across mountains, rivers, and seas to reach safety in Europe. Nujeen has dreams of becoming an astronaut and meeting the Queen. I remember her infectious spirit and hopefulness as we spoke on a dusty road, surrounded by exhausted asylum seekers. Nujeen, who taught herself fluent English by watching American television shows, grew up in Aleppo and later moved to Kobane, a Kurdish stronghold that faced attacks from the Islamic State (IS) group. Now, she lives in Germany, enjoying the festive atmosphere of the Christmas market in Cologne. However, the memories of her past and the struggles of her family still weigh heavily on her mind. Nujeen has been staying up late watching the news, even though she has an exam for her business administration course. She understands that the fall of Assad represents a moment of hope, but she also recognizes that the real challenges are just beginning. Like René, she desires a Syria that embraces diversity and supports individuals with disabilities. 'I don't want to go back to a place where there is no lift and only stairs up to an apartment on the fourth floor,' she said. As a Kurd, she is acutely aware of her people's history of suffering in the region. With the Kurdish forces being forced to withdraw from cities in the oil-producing north, Nujeen is concerned about the new regime, which is backed by Turkey. 'We know these people that came into power now. We know the countries and the powers that are backing them, and they're not exactly fans of Kurds. They do not exactly love us. That's our biggest worry right now. ' There is also the fear of a potential resurgence of IS if Syria's new leaders cannot establish stability. Nujeen frequently calls her family still living in Kurdish areas, expressing her anxiety about their future. 'They are anxious and worried about the future as we all are,' she said. 'We never stop calling, and we are always worried if they don't pick up after the first ring. ' Despite the uncertainty, Nujeen's experiences have instilled in her a remarkable capacity for hope. Over the nearly ten years that I have known her, her spirit remains undiminished. The fall of Assad has only strengthened her belief in the resilience of Syria and its people. 'There are many people who are waiting to see Syria fall into some kind of an abyss,' she said. 'We are not people who hate or envy or want to eliminate each other. We are people who were raised to be afraid of each other. But our default setting is that we love and accept who we are. ' Nujeen firmly believes that Syria can become a better nation, one built on love, acceptance, and peace, rather than chaos, fear, and destruction. Many hearts in Syria and beyond will be hoping that she is right.