In collaboration with SyriaUntold, Daraj is currently publishing a series of testimonies from survivors of the Coast massacre, as documented and recorded by Syrian writer Rosa Yassin Hassan.
What follows is a sample from a series of messages exchanged with a friend of mine—a woman from the village of Qarfais, located in the Jableh/Latakia countryside. This village holds religious significance due to the presence of the renowned shrine of Sheikh Ahmed Qarfais. Our correspondence spanned many days, beginning with the massacres on the Syrian coast and continuing until shortly before I wrote this testimony. Out of fear, my friend made sure to delete every message from her phone immediately after sending it. The terror that has gripped the people of the coastal region still lingers. Homes and mobile phones are routinely raided and searched by factions affiliated with the Interim Government.
***
Message dated 18 March 2024
Hello,
I have so much to tell you. Words choke me as much as the images do. Maybe writing to you about what has happened to us over the past two weeks will help me breathe—or maybe it won’t. It all began on Black Friday, 7 March, 2025, at 3:00 PM—the beginning of the story, and of the tragedy. A convoy of armored vehicles and trucks mounted with Dushka machine guns entered the village.Before they arrived, there was a barrage of gunfire. The terror induced by the sound of bullets is indescribable. And yet, we stayed in our homes. Not for a moment did we imagine what would happen next. News started pouring in: they had entered the first house on the main road. Inside were two elderly men—Mohsen Al-Omar, aged 70 and retired (I’ll send you his photo), and Fouad Al-Omar, also retired, though I couldn’t get a picture of him. They didn’t ask whether they had weapons or anything else. They asked only one question: Are you Alawite? When the men answered yes, they were each shot in the head—immediately. Their neighbor, a young man, overheard everything and ran to warn the rest of us before fleeing into the nearby bushes. He was gasping for air, his face etched with terror.
Civil Society Spotlight: The Massacres on the Coast
08 April 2025
In a house directly below the shrine, there lived a young university student studying at the Faculty of Sports, a 21-year-old man named Muhammad Suleiman. Poor thing, his mother knelt on the ground, kissing the feet of the gunmen so they wouldn't kill him. She screamed and begged them: "He's alone, by God, he's alone. By God, he's done nothing wrong." They didn't respond. They took him with them, and ten meters behind the house, they killed him with a shot to the head. The poor woman didn't discover his body until the next day. I remember his childish face and his hazel eyes. His poor mother! I saw her yesterday and learned the details from her. It's heartbreaking. You feel as if she's lost her mind, replaying the details over and over again... She's gone crazy!
The second house came a little later. They killed three young men there. They went from house to house in the neighborhood, moving toward us. They reached the Suleiman family's two-story home. The family hadn't fled. They told themselves, "We're innocent. We've never carried a weapon or taken part in anything. Nothing will happen. Maybe they'll search for weapons, find nothing, and leave us alone." A group of armed men surrounded the house—some in military uniforms, some masked, others unmasked, and some in civilian clothes. They forced the women upstairs, cursing and insulting them: "You Alawites, it's a shame you can live."
They brought the homeowner, Yasser Suleiman, outside. He was a farmer with a heart condition. His wife screamed and cried, trying to go down and protect him. They yelled at her to get back inside, then shot him in the head. She slipped away and ran downstairs, only to witness them shooting her two sons. The younger, Ahmed, was a lawyer with a three-month-old baby. The older, Ammar, was a 35-year-old nurse with a four-year-old son. I remember Ammar had an issue with his left eye. The three of them—the father and the two young men—lay in blood. The killers filmed her as she cried over their bodies, laughing and saying, "Yes, yes, wipe their faces." Have you seen the video? I'll send it to you. I saw it with my own eyes. The same man appeared in another video saying, "Ethnic cleansing... ethnic cleansing." Someone asked him:
- Why did you do this?
-Because they are Alawites. They don't deserve to live.
We fled to the shrine of Sheikh Ahmed Qarfeis. I don’t know why we thought we’d be safe there. But they arrived soon after—armed, shouting. Before the shrine disappeared from my sight as we escaped into the nearby bushes, I saw them arresting a group of young men who hadn’t managed to flee. They shouted, "We're civilians... By God, we're civilians!" But the attackers opened fire and killed them in front of the shrine.
The image of bodies piled up in front of the shrine, the gunfire, the screams—they followed us as we ran through the woods.
As I write to you now, imagine that I can hear gunfire and Dushka machine guns in the village!
Oh God, we have to go. The sound of shooting is getting closer... Pray for us.
They brought the homeowner, Yasser Suleiman, outside. He was a farmer with a heart condition. His wife screamed and cried, trying to go down and protect him. They yelled at her to get back inside, then shot him in the head. She slipped away and ran downstairs, only to witness them shooting her two sons.
***
Message dated 21 March 2025
Hello,
Sorry I cut short my messages yesterday. We were so scared; we fled again into the woods. We spent the night in the open and this morning until we returned home. I don't feel safe at all. Armed men are everywhere in the village, and the internet isn't always available, so I want to take advantage of the time to write you the rest of the stories.
“To whom will I say good morning from now on!”
20 March 2025
Let us continue, on 7 March, the armed men entered the shrine. There were people inside the shrine, so they forced them out, beat them, and shot them in the legs. Did you see the video they filmed? They were filming what they were doing. Why do you think they filmed what they were doing?! There was a mentally disabled young man named Mohammed Nabil, whom they killed with a bullet to the head. Why, oh God, why?
In a house directly below the shrine, there lived a young university student studying at the Faculty of Sports, a 21-year-old man named Muhammad Suleiman. Poor thing, his mother knelt on the ground, kissing the feet of the gunmen so they wouldn't kill him. She screamed and begged them: "He's alone, by God, he's alone. By God, he's done nothing wrong." They didn't respond. They took him with them, and ten meters behind the house, they killed him with a shot to the head. The poor woman didn't discover his body until the next day. I remember his childish face and his hazel eyes. His poor mother! I saw her yesterday and learned the details from her. It's heartbreaking. You feel as if she's lost her mind, replaying the details over and over again... She's gone crazy!
They also took a young man named Muhammad Qaddaha, a father of two children. They killed him and left his body on the ground, preventing his family from approaching him or burying him. I forgot to tell you that most of the gunmen who came to the village were not wearing masks. We knew one of them who appeared in a video with the perpetrators of the Sanobar village massacre, in Jableh. I don't know his name!
The first day ended with killing and burning. I also forgot to tell you that many houses were burned after being completely looted. The smell of fire and smoke was choking us—just like the smell of death. They also killed Sami Abdul Rahman, a policeman who had only been reinstated two weeks before his murder, after being previously dismissed. He was 40 years old and had two sons. His brother, Bashar Abdul Rahman, a teacher at the village’s elementary school, was also killed, along with Asef Abdul Rahman, a 34-year-old farmer. The three of them were executed in the village square with bullets to the head. Alongside them was Haidar Aoun, a 23-year-old university student. His body was riddled with bullet wounds. What can I say? There are too many stories to remember. I feel like I, too, am starting to lose my mind.
I’ll continue tomorrow with a voice recording, if that’s okay, and as we agreed, I’ll delete all my messages.
Good night.
In a house directly below the shrine, there lived a young university student studying at the Faculty of Sports, a 21-year-old man named Muhammad Suleiman. Poor thing, his mother knelt on the ground, kissing the feet of the gunmen so they wouldn't kill him. She screamed and begged them: "He's alone, by God, he's alone. By God, he's done nothing wrong." They didn't respond. They took him with them, and ten meters behind the house, they killed him with a shot to the head. The poor woman didn't discover his body until the next day.
***
Message dated 26 March 2025
Good evening.
Sorry for the delay. I know you were worried about me, but the internet was cut off across the entire region—maybe all of Syria, from what I heard. When it came back, it was barely functioning.
I want to tell you more details about the massacre before we lose the connection again.
On the second day, 8 March, a military unit was stationed near the nearby Sin River. It included foreign fighters—Chechens and Uighurs, perhaps. I’m not sure, but I saw them in the neighborhood, and they took part in the killings. How do I know? Their Asian features and broken Arabic gave them away.
They killed many young men from the village, including university students like Habib Douba—I’ll send you his picture—and his cousin Zein, also a student.
Testimonies of Survivors of the Coast Massacre (4).. Observations by a relief volunteer
12 April 2025
And the theft—dozens of cars and homes were looted. They didn’t leave a single thing, not even the batteries, the solar panels, or the wiring tapes in the post office and the communications center. Can you imagine? They even burned the tapes just to get to the copper wires! The school was looted too. They stole the computers and lab equipment, and took the girls’ photos out of the student files, leaving them spread across the table. I don’t know what they meant by that. The school looks like the rest of the village now—desecrated, destroyed, and heartbreaking. You know, there haven’t been any classes or education since then. The children don’t go to school. Haha, I guess that goes without saying. We don’t even dare step outside to send them.
I’ll try to send you some pictures if I can. Here’s one of the mass grave. Of course, they didn’t allow us to photograph it, or visit our dead, or even bury them ourselves. They brought a sheikh and a doctor, and buried them all. I’ll try to send you the list of names. But someone—whose name I won’t mention—managed to secretly film the grave five days later. Oh… unfortunately, I forgot to delete the files. I’m afraid to keep any pictures or videos on my phone in case it’s searched. But the mass grave will remain—and it will testify! Allah is sufficient for us, and He is the best Disposer of affairs.
I forgot to tell you—they killed Hussein Suleiman, a 40-year-old farmer, and Hussein Saleh, aged 75. Right now, there’s still an armed faction among us called the Othman faction. The internet is starting to slow down, so I want to quickly tell you one last thing: All that matters to us now, my dear, is the safety and well-being of our children. We want to learn, to educate our children, and to live in peace—without killing.
Please pass this on to the world.
Good night. I will definitely delete the messages.
The school was looted too. They stole the computers and lab equipment, and took the girls’ photos out of the student files, leaving them spread across the table. I don’t know what they meant by that. The school looks like the rest of the village now—desecrated, destroyed, and heartbreaking.
***
Message dated 9 April 2025
Good evening,
Sorry it’s been so long since I replied to your messages.
About Mila, who was killed but did not die, and Mira, who was not killed but did die
26 March 2025
I’m really sick. Everything that’s happened makes me want to die. I no longer feel any desire to live. I’ve lost faith in the value of everything—even my children.
Will they ever forget what they saw and heard? Still, I keep telling myself I should be grateful they weren’t killed. In other areas, they killed children and women. I don’t even know if I can describe how I feel. We are not remnants, my friend. We are an educated, aware people—with culture, knowledge, and a deep-rooted civilization.
It feels like everything happening now is trying to reduce us to the image of barbaric killers. But we didn’t kill. We didn’t slaughter. We didn’t mutilate corpses. And if there are Alawite killers and criminals, that is not our fault. We are paying a terrible price for a crime we didn’t commit! There are criminals in every sect and religion. That doesn’t mean we should all be judged for their actions. I am very sad. Broken. Surrounded by darkness. I used to hear the song “In a Wide-Reaching Sorrow” and never felt all this pain. Maybe mothers in other places felt it before me. But it wasn’t my fault. Now… sorrow really has reached us. I’m afraid for my children—for their future, and for ours. We’re still afraid to leave our homes. The roads aren’t safe—but neither are the homes. Where can we go? We’re lost.
There are now three factions in the village. So, I thought maybe you should postpone publishing what I sent you about the village massacre—until they leave. The fear of revenge grows with every passing moment. I’m scared—for the people, my children, and myself.
It feels like everything happening now is trying to reduce us to the image of barbaric killers. But we didn’t kill. We didn’t slaughter. We didn’t mutilate corpses. And if there are Alawite killers and criminals, that is not our fault. We are paying a terrible price for a crime we didn’t commit! There are criminals in every sect and religion. That doesn’t mean we should all be judged for their actions.
Please postpone publishing my testimony for a while, until things calm down. I’m very sorry.
The message was cut off...
Note: I later went back and, with great difficulty, persuaded my friend to allow the testimony to be published—after I “stripped” it of anything that could reveal her identity.
