'He was still a child': Grief and fear at Latakia hospital

At Latakia National Hospital, located in the heartland of the Alawite minority, the surveillance of Syria's new government is omnipresent. Since the ouster of Bashar al-Assad's regime, the country has seen its deadliest wave of violence, with fearful Alawite Syrians arriving to identify the bodies of their loved ones.

The conflict began with attacks by Assad loyalists on security forces, many of whom were from the former president's Alawite sect. But it quickly escalated into retaliatory attacks against civilians, resulting in hundreds of deaths and thousands displaced. Civilians in Alawite communities have been particularly targeted.

Medical personnel say that security forces, some unidentified, have been stationed at the hospital since the outbreak of violence on March 6 and remain there to this day. On the morning of March 11, the day after the government ended its military operation, distraught families flocked to the hospital on Syria's western coast, searching for their relatives.

At the National Hospital, a man came to the morgue to identify the body of his neighbor, one of two brothers killed on March 7. When asked about the perpetrators, he glanced at an armed man wearing a mask that covered half his face, who was closely monitoring their conversation. He lowered his voice and replied, "Maybe thieves, I really don't know." At the same time, a mother who came to identify her murdered son was interrupted by her husband: "Don't reveal any information, it could endanger our safety."

Another mother, Rim, stood nearby with her neighbor, both there to identify her son's body. The mother's eyes were filled with anxiety, but she remained silent. Her neighbor referred to the deceased as "our son," saying he was killed two days earlier by "armed men." Another armed security guard stood a meter away. Fear was etched on the faces of the few Alawites present. Rim seized a moment of distraction to quietly share her phone number.

Speaking by phone, Rim (a pseudonym to protect her safety) recounted her story with agitation, her voice filled with shock. Her son, a 19-year-old engineering student, had told his mother not to call him before going out with friends in the evening. But fearing the clashes that had erupted on the coast earlier that day, she called him the next day anyway: "Ahmed?" she asked anxiously. But instead of her son's voice, she heard a stranger identifying himself as a member of the security services. "Your son is dead. He is here, shot in the head. He was a loyal supporter of the regime," the man said. Rim hoped it was a misunderstanding, pleading, "He hasn't even served in the army. Can you describe what he was wearing?" "He was wearing black pants and a black jacket," the man replied.

That morning in the morgue, Rim found her son. "When they took me there, the bodies were piled on the floor. But I was lucky. My son was in a refrigerated cabinet," she said. "My son was tall and fat, with a beard, and looked older than he was," she added, thinking he might have been mistaken for a "military man" because of this. "He never held a weapon. He was just a child." Syrian authorities told Rim she had two days to claim her son's body. "I never thought I would experience something like this," she said. Fearing retaliation, she decided not to hold a funeral.

The government led by Syria's interim President Ahmed Shala is facing increasing pressure to investigate the killings of at least 1,500 civilians, including women, children, and entire families. The Syrian Network for Human Rights stated that all parties involved in the conflict, including Assad's loyalist forces, government troops, groups loosely affiliated with the Syrian government, and individual gunmen, have committed at least 803 extrajudicial executions.

The sectarian violence in Alawite-majority villages is the biggest challenge Shala has faced since taking office in December after the ouster of the Assad regime. Aron Lund, an analyst at Century International, said the violence demonstrates the fragility of the new regime, parts of whose support base are Islamists "hostile to Alawites." Lund told Middle East Eye that the interim president's comments are aimed at reassuring minorities and advocating a policy of appeasement, even if that approach is not "uniformly adopted by all factions under his command."

At Latakia National Hospital, the unease of the authorities is palpable. An administrative official repeated in a mechanical tone: "I am not allowed to give interviews. No statistics will be released until official permission is granted." A young and fearful doctor sat in a car parked on the empty coast, recounting the ordeal she had endured since the outbreak of violence. Like about 50 other staff members, she did not leave the hospital during the conflict, but slept in the hospital dormitories, fearing for her safety.

She recalled that on March 7, she witnessed a patient who had come to the hospital for a scan being beaten and accused of being loyal to Assad. "They hit him in the chest and face, and I was just a meter away." The doctor did not know what happened to the man later. Since Assad's downfall, the atmosphere of mistrust between communities, sparked by the 14-year civil war and perpetuated by the Assad family, has reached unprecedented levels.

The doctor criticized the Syrian army's interference in the hospital's operations. "They enter the hospital armed, interrogating patients: 'Where are you from? How did you get injured?'" she said. Her claims were supported by several colleagues who spoke to Middle East Eye. A doctor in his thirties said: "The hospital has become their base. They come and go armed, and we can't even determine their affiliation."

The new government's security forces now include several factions, including Hayat Tahrir al-Sham, which led the offensive to overthrow Assad. Another doctor commented: "It was worse under Assad. The 'Shabiha' – the regime's enforcers – would enter the hospital and do whatever they wanted, with no respect for the doctors." A voice message received on March 11 from a Latakia health administrator said: "The situation has returned to normal. We are now tracking absenteeism. It is a safe country, God willing." A subsequent message emphasized: "The roads are open, there are no more excuses."

The new government appointed a Sunni deputy director a month ago, Dr. Moataz Fadliye, to the hospital, which is mainly staffed by Alawites. Sitting in his office, with the new three-star Syrian flag hanging on the wall, he seemed reluctant to discuss the recent events, mentioning only "the hundred wounded who were treated here in the first two days: soldiers, security personnel, and members of the Syrian army" – with no mention of civilian casualties.

On March 9, Shala announced the formation of an "independent" committee to investigate the recent unrest in the coastal region, including the causes of the outbreak, the abuse of civilians, and the attacks on institutions. However, this has not reassured the Alawite community. The doctor who spoke in the car admitted: "I don't trust him." Another doctor said: "Every time I leave home for the hospital, I see my mother's eyes filled with fear, worried that it might be the last time she sees me. How can we feel safe in this country after something like this has happened?"