Syrian filmmaker gives an inside look at her return home after the fall of Assad regime

Amna Nawaz:

The Assad family's oppressive half-century rule ended one year ago this week, as Bashar al-Assad fled for Russia amid an insurgent takeover.

The Syrian president had spent more than 12 years slaughtering his own people in one of the world's worst wars of recent memory. For the millions of Syrians who'd opposed him, losing family, friends and homes, his flight was a moment of joy and reckoning.

We bring you now a very personal look at going home back to Syria. It comes from the Syrian filmmaker Waad Al-Kateab, an Oscar-nominated documentarian and activist.

And a warning:

Images in her report may disturb some viewers.

Waad Al-Kateab (through interpreter):

Can you believe what's happening? What are we witnessing now? It's real. It's real.

It’s 4:

00 a.m. on the 8th of December, 2024, in London, a historic moment none of us could imagine in our wildest dreams.

Woman:

God is great. The Syrian people have topped the regime.

Waad Al-Kateab:

Assad as fallen and Syria is free.

I'm with Hamza, my husband, and with my mom and dad and our friends. All of us were displaced by Assad's regime. We decided to fly back to Syria as soon as we could.

Almost there.

We carry so many mixed feelings, shock, grief, fear, and hope.

Twelve years away from my hometown this year and eight years away from Aleppo. All this ends today.

For fourteen years, Assad tried to crush us. Millions of Syrians have been displaced in the war. Over half-a-million have lost their lives, a generation lost. But now Assad has gone, and we are back.

I see the flag of the revolution again as we cross the border, the same flag millions believed in, the one the regime tried to erase.

To hell with you, Assad. To hell — to hell with you.

Just one hour away from Damascus is a statue of Assad's father, a symbol of fear. Now it's just trouble. The long road to Aleppo reveals village after village destroyed, and the land is still full of unexploded weapons and mines.

This is the Syria the regime left behind. The last time we left Aleppo, I was pregnant and holding my 1-year-old daughter, Sama, trying to escape. Inside my clothes, I was hiding my footage, hundreds of hours documenting the war crimes we had witnessed.

I'd kept my identity secret from the regime, but my husband, Hamza, who was managing the last remaining hospital in besieged Aleppo, was always always on the news.

Hamza, are you scared of the regime checkpoints?

Dr. Hamza Al-Kateab, Husband of Waad Al-Kateab (through interpreter): Yes, of course. Anything can happen.

Waad Al-Kateab:

Back then, it felt like our life was ending. And we feared we would never see our Aleppo ever again.

Returning now feels like reclaiming something the regime tried to take from us, our voice, our home, our right to exist. Even our wedding rings bear the promise. Together, we will be back, and here we are.

This is the last hospital in Aleppo, where Hamza worked and where we lived during the war and the siege. From the outside, it looks just like how we left it. Our friend Nabeel (ph), who was a nurse here, came back with us to look inside. This building is a witness to the crimes committed here.

(Explosion)

(Screaming)

Waad Al-Kateab:

We make our way through the neighborhood to the house where we got married, where Sama, my daughter, was born. The flowers now are growing back.

I got these plants that were grown out of Aleppo. The last time I saw the garden was when I said goodbye in 2016. Being here makes me feel there is some redemption. Finally, we arrived in my hometown. For 12 years, I couldn't visit (INAUDIBLE) because Assad hunted and punished activists.

I had to hide where I am from to protect my family. But, today, I can come home. I can say my family's name. And Hamza, my husband, can finally meet all of them for the first time, our happiness mixed with grief for all those we lost.

Syria is exhausted, wounded, but it's still breathing, still dreaming. The situation here is uncertain. But for the first time in so many years, I can stand in my country and see a future here.