NADIA AL-BUKAI Just before we begin, I wanted to let you know that this podcast contains some descriptions of physical and psychological violence. Please use discretion.
In 2015, during my last call with Riyad before I left Syria with my family, someone came to meet me to take over connecting Riyad with his family in Turkey, the way I used to do. That person was Angela. Angela had seen Riyad in Adra Prison while she was visiting her brother there. He was arrested from a demonstration and was Riyad's closest cellmate at that time.
RIYAD AVLAR I saw Angela. And Angela fall in love with me. She began to help me, and she went to ask the lawyers about my papers and how they can help me.
NADIA AL-BUKAI From Message Heard and The Syria Campaign, this is Behind the Sun. I'm Nadia al-Bukai.
By 2015, Riyad had spent almost twenty years in detention. Wanting to do everything she can to help him, Angela hired a lawyer to write an appeal for Riyad to get a pardon.
RIYAD AVLAR She told me, "Riyad, when I saw your file, it was maybe thousands paper. I will fall down and died."
The judge open it, reading it. "No pardon to this man. No pardon."
NADIA AL-BUKAI Riyad had served his full sentence at this point. A life sentence in Syria means twenty years behind bars. So, they kept pushing.
RIYAD AVLAR They went to – to another court and a judge, and he said, "Okay. I will let him."
After twenty years, they began to working in my papers, and it took almost one year to finish.
NADIA AL-BUKAI In 2017 after spending over twenty-one years in several detention centres in Syria, Riyad was about to get his freedom back. During those times, when the guards come to the cell blocks and read the names of those who are getting released, he hears his name. "Riyad Avlar."
RIYAD AVLAR When they brought my name and that they will release me, hundreds of people began to clap, began shouting. "Oh, hey. They will release Riyad."
It was like a dream. Everybody, they was shouting. And I sit on my bed. And I – I was afraid. I was used to inside, thinking about the outside world, if they released me, what I'm going to do. How I will go and look in my mother's eyes? What the community outside do with me? Am I going to work in the street and sit under the trees? Am I going to be a free to look to the sky at night and see the stars? I was missing stars?
All the time I spent, I wasn't seeing any stars. I was forgetting the stars, how it was. I was forgetting the moon. I was missing the moon, the mountain, the sea, the forest, the trees.
I wasn't believe it, but it happened.
NADIA AL-BUKAI Upon Riyad's released from Adra Prison, the regime took him in a car to be immediately deported from the country.
RIYAD AVLAR They brought me to the Turkish border. The Turkish officers came. They was waiting me to – to take me from the Syrian intelligence. I saw a line between them. They was talking with each other, and one of the policemen began. He opened a book, and he began reading something.
I stopped him, and I asked in Turkish. I asked him, "What is this line between me and you?"
He said, "This is the border."
I said, "Okay." And I jump it immediately to other side.
And the man said, "What are you doing? What are you doing?"
I looked to the Syria intelligence. I began to damn them.
NADIA AL-BUKAI All the cursing and swearing in the world would not make up for the thousands of nights Riyad spent in Assad's dark cells, but the act itself must have felt good and intoxicating.
After that, the Turkish officers who are still in disbelief in shock about Riyad's case took him to meet his mother for the first time since his disappearance as a teenager.
RIYAD AVLAR My mum come for the first time. I hugged her, and she began to smell me. Just the smell. Smelled my neck. And she said, "Oh, I lost this for years, my son."
And I began to cry. My mom. Yeah. I let her smell me. And afterwards, she hugged me. And I wish to go back, to be a baby, a little boy, to hug me and don't leave me.
DIAB SERRIH When Riyad was released, I didn't believe it honestly. I was in touch with his immediate family, his siblings and his mother. It was like, "Wow, finally. Finally, he's out." I spoke with him.
Of course, when he just got out. He didn't have an ID. He had nothing. Even the Turkish government wasn't able to recognise him. I told him, "I will let you enjoy the time with your family, with your mother, and siblings. But I have to warn you, I will come after you. Let your mother and siblings see you properly. And then, I'll come."
NADIA AL-BUKAI Riyad and Angela didn't get to be together, but he always remembers her as the guardian angel who saved his life. Everything Riyad 1knew about his original country had changed by the time he was freed. His time in Assad's network of detention centres was longer than the time he had lived in Turkey. He knew more about living in detention than living a normal life. He read books in Arabic during his time in detention way more than he did in his native language. On top of that, Riyad was presumed dead in Turkey and had to prove that he was still alive.
RIYAD AVLAR The court said, "Okay. We have to be sure that you are Riyad Avlar. So, we have to send you and your mum to the hospital to take a DNA test."
They sent us to the DNA a test, and the test results give that "ninety-nine and up, this woman is his mother."
NADIA AL-BUKAI Riyad didn't wait for the court to prove that he was still alive to get to work, though. After one month from his release, Riyad had already met with Diab along with more than thirty ex-detainees from Sednaya, and they established the Association of Detainees and the Missing in Sednaya Prison (ADMSP). They began to build a registry of the missing people in Assad's detention centres and started the process to locate them. They also started providing psychotherapy support for the families of the missing and the survivors.
At their centre in southern Turkey, they often held open sessions, so that those who needed support could attend. In the summer of 2020, a woman came to a meeting, asking if they can help confirm the status of her husband who was once in Sednaya.
RIYAD AVLAR I saw her. I asked her husband's name. She said, "Abu Hassan."
I said, "Oh, okay. I know him. He's my friend. We were together in Sednaya."
"You're sure?"
"Of course," I said.
She said, "He's died. We don't know. He's missed."
I said, "No. No. No. No. He isn't died. He's alive. So, one of detainees, I interviewed with him, told me that he is still alive. He's alive."
She couldn't believe this. She said, "This is right?"
"Of course," I said. "This is sure." And I called the guy. I said to him, "Muhammad, could you tell Abu Hassan about her husband." And he began to give her the news. And I saw that she turned from a stone to a bird. She began to smile. She began to scream.
NADIA AL-BUKAI Abu Hassan was abducted by Syrian intelligence in 1999 for speaking about politics with a business client. The client was a Turkish man. That was during the turbulent times and the relationship between Syria and Turkey in the nineties. The same circumstances that led Riyad's arrest. The intelligence was surveilling almost every Turkish national in Syria.
For two and a half years after he first vanished in 1999, his wife, who was taking care of their six children, didn't know where he was. What happened was that Abu Hassan was eventually sent to the second field military court at Sednaya. This happened about ten months after he was taken by the authorities. And as usual with Assad's military court, Abu Hassan didn't know his sentence. They just put him in a solitary confinement cell in Sednaya 's red building.
ABU HASSAN I went to see the judge. He got up from his table and slapped me. I told him that I didn't do anything.
He said, "Yes, you did. If you don't admit, I will send you back to be beaten and tortured. You will speak whether you like it or not."
This is how he treated us.
NADIA AL-BUKAI Abu Hassan's wife lost track of her husband inside Assad's labyrinth of detention locations in 2014. She had also lost all their income when he disappeared, because he was the sole provider for the family. It was only after two and a half years of solitary confinement that Abu Hassan was transferred to an ordinary cell where he was finally allowed visitation.
ABU HASSAN I used to think of my kids the most. What happened to them? What happened to my wife? But then, when they came, I was comforted. My sister, my brother, my wife, and my kids came to visit me.
One must speak of. I told my wife, "You don't have to raise the kids alone. My future is unknown. You can leave them with my patents and have your own life."
She said, "No. God gave me six kids, and I will take care of them. Whenever you come out, we are here for you." This was her answer. Such a great person
NADIA AL-BUKAI Each month, the family visited Abu Hassan until the riots took place in 2008.
Do you remember Nizar Rastanawi, the human rights activist who was murdered during Sednaya 's riots in 2008?
Abu Hassan was Nizar's cellmate as well and was present before Nissan's death.
ABU HASSAN Nizar and I were sitting together at that moment. He asked me for a cigarette while we were drinking coffee. Diab was there and other men as well. Among them was a poet, Ahmad Hamdu al-Mahmud.
NADIA AL-BUKAI Ahmad Hamdu al-Mahmud had been detained without a trial for twenty years at that point. Since 1988.
ABU HASSAN Suddenly, people we don't know came inside. They were masked. It was chaos. They were a group, but only two of them entered the cell. They made a gesture to Nizar to come. As I was sitting next to him, I thought that gesture was for me. I got up, but they said, "Not you. Him."
Nizar was inside. There was a bed and a table and another bed with around five to six people drinking coffee. So, all of us got up, even Ahmad Hamdu al-Mahumud, and told them, "I was in Tadmor Prison, and I took a thousand lashes for defending an old man who was being insulted. Can't you leave Nizar alone?"
They told him, "It's none of your business. We want Nizar."
NADIA AL-BUKAI Nizar's death was heavy on Abu Hassan.
ABU HASSAN Nizar Rastanawi never expected to be imprisoned and sentenced to four years. And he died in prison. God bless his soul. He didn't deserve what happened to him. He must have his own platform or become a role model in the country. He must be honoured in his life and in his death as well.
NADIA AL-BUKAI The brutal response from the regime to the detainees of Sednaya's demands in 2008 and the subsequent chaos of the riots that led to many deaths like Nizar didn't shake Hassan's faith that things will get better.
ABU HASSAN I thought to myself, "I didn't die. I survived and I will survive. What happened to us will someday get out to the. We will teach it to our kids. The story of Nizar will be told. The story of Ahmad Hamdu al-Mahmud will be told."
I'm optimistic about the future. I like to think that I could be set free at any minute. I love freedom and I love life.
NADIA AL-BUKAI After the regime had demolished Sednaya around the detainees, the intelligence distributed Sednaya's inmates between other detention centres while they rebuilt Sednaya.
Abu Hassan was sent to the political guidance branch of the military police. There, he discovered that his original sentence was fifteen years in prison. This happens with so many detainees. They only find out about their sentence years and years after they've been detained. The regime denies them even that basic piece of information.
ABU HASSAN Assad hasn't got anything. He's only got oppression, killing, and everything that's arbitrary. He only speaks the language of oppression, of burning, of destroying. This is not a way to rule a country.
He's not a human being. He's a monster. He's a savage.
And this is my opinion. I would talk about it in front of all the radios of the word
NADIA AL-BUKAI Abu Hassan was sent back to Sednaya in 2009 and remained there with Riyad and Diab until 2011. When the regime was turning Sednaya into a death camp after the revolution, Abu Hassan was sent to Aleppo Central Prison in June 2011.
ABU HASSAN They took whoever was from Damascus to a prison in Damascus. And the ones from Aleppo were taken to Aleppo. And so on. They transferred each one to where his case was based. So, thanks God, I was hopeful. I said, "Now, I can at least hire a lawyer and get out."
NADIA AL-BUKAI The lawyer was trying to use the momentum of the revolution to their advantage. He tried to transfer Abu Hassan's case from the military court to a civilian one. In late 2012, the efforts would be a success.
ABU HASSAN What was left for me to be free was the consent of the penal court and Aleppo after the lawyer has secured the consent of the prison director. He prepared the papers and we submitted a request to reduce the sentence to a quarter of the original sentence.
Then, I would get out. Suddenly there was a bombing in the Palace of Justice in Aleppo where my papers were. They said the papers were burnt.
NADIA AL-BUKAI By that time, towards late 2012, the Free Syrian Army and other armed groups had advanced in some parts of Aleppo city. In response Assad's tanks and planes had started to bomb the neighbourhoods of Aleppo to the ground with zero regard for civilian lives.
ABU HASSAN I asked the lawyer to go to Damascus again and redo all the paperwork. That was in 2002. But he apologised. He said that the last time he was crossing the President's Bridge in Damascus, there was an explosion five minutes later. That terrified him. The lawyer was terrified.
NADIA AL-BUKAI Then came the siege of Aleppo Central Prison in early 2013.
NEWS REPORTER 1 And staying in Syria. Rebels have attack the central prison in the northern city of Aleppo, which has been under siege for months now. Fighters from the al-Qaeda-affiliated al-Nusra Front launched the assault.
ABU HASSAN The siege lasts us for one year. And we have seen horrors. We were dying every day. We were either being hit by shells, rockets, or bullets from here and there, from the doors, the windows, or the hospital. We didn't know how we would die. Four people from our ward died, including the head of the cellblock and the poet Ahmad Hamdu al-Mahmud.
Al-Mahmud needed surgery. He had a lump in his body, close to the heart and the stomach. It started to get bigger during the siege. And he died within a month. He died in our arms. May he rest in peace.
NADIA AL-BUKAI When Ahmad Hamdu al-Mahmud died in January 2014, he had spent twenty-four years in detention. He was one of the longest held prisoners in Syria at that time.
ABU HASSAN There was no water or electricity for a whole year. It became a sanitation crisis. The Red Crescents would come and bring us food and water only. The guards, stationed with their weapons, got boxes of honey, canned food, and bread dropped via aid parachutes. They had nothing to worry about, whereas we had nothing. If the Red Crescent didn't come, and sometimes they didn't come for a whole week, then twenty to thirty people would die during that week, whether due to lack of food or medicine. There were a lot of diseases spreading.
NADIA AL-BUKAI During the siege, Abu Hassan and other prisoners managed to get mobile phones smuggled in and were in contact with their families.
ABU HASSAN My last phone call was with my wife. I told her the regime army was closing in. We came close to death, but we might get out safely.
She said that one of my daughters fainted when she heard the news.
I asked her to talk with my daughter. As a father, I had to send her a message. I told her, "We are all fine, and we would be out soon."
Because there was a sanitation crisis inside the prison and it's not liveable anymore, we had to go out.
NEWS REPORTER 2 Eight kilometres northeast of Aleppo City, Assad's forces are now within reach of Castello Road, which links rebel-held parts of the city to the northern countryside. And the army's advanced in and around the prison means Assad's government will not be able to cut off weapons, food, and medical supplies to rebel fighters who are on the outskirts of the city and on the Turkish border.
NADIA AL-BUKAI The first thing Assad's forces did after breaking the siege over the prison was gather the detainees from the political cellblock and punish them. Abu Hassan and others were gathered and tortured by Assad's forces in the prison yard. Then, they were moved to the criminal security branch in Aleppo.
ABU HASSAN They told us, "Tomorrow or after tomorrow, you would go to Damascus."
We knew then that we were summoned to Damascus. But our families knew nothing. Our families received the news that we had been executed, that every one of us died in the break-in. So, our families, fifty-two of us, thought that we were dead. Some of them held funeral services, but others didn't believe the news. They continued to search with the lawyers, judges, and intermediaries.
NADIA AL-BUKAI After two days, Abu Hassan and others were transferred by a military plane from the criminal security branch in Aleppo to Damascus.
ABU HASSAN I prayed to God not to be taken to Sednaya again. After all that time, fourteen or fifteen years, I was waiting to go out. My sentence was served in full. I finished my sentence when I was in Aleppo's prison. Now they took me to Damascus. Not only me, but with the other prisoners.
The leadership. The wise leadership wanted us, they said. For what? We didn't know. Nobody told us.
NADIA AL-BUKAI Abu Hassan wasn't taken to Sednaya. They were sent to Adra Prison, but put in a separate building, away from other detainees. His family didn't believe that he had died and kept pushing for answers about his situation. And after a month, the guards called his name.
ABU HASSAN When my name was called, all of my fifty-two cellmates were happy. They said their farewells. They kissed me goodbye. They said, "Thank God. This is a glimpse of hope."
At the same time, one of my friends asked me for a word in private. I thought he wanted to send a message to his family. Instead, he said, "Just so you don't get surprised, Abu Hassan. They might not let you out. Because everyone of us who got out could be instead of taking to another branch."
I told him, "I wouldn't be surprised, but I don't have any other charges. My name came up for release."
He said, "Just keep this in mind. After everything that happened, they can surprise us with anything."
NADIA AL-BUKAI Well, Abu Hassan's friend was right. He wasn't being released. His name was in a memo to transfer him to another notorious military intelligence branch, 248. But when they arrived, the soldier said that something was wrong with the memo. They said, Abu Hassan should not be there, and one of the soldiers went to check the referral with his commanding officer.
ABU HASSAN He went upstairs in the same building and came after ten to fifteen minutes. He said, "You're not wanted here."
I said, "Thank God."
But the officer who was with me said, "How come he's not wanted?"
The first one replied, "Whoever referred him here, he's stupid." Then, he turned to me and said, "In which branch were you first arrested?"
I said, "285. State security."
He took the memo and scratched 248 and wrote 285.
NADIA AL-BUKAI Just like that, with a pen scratch from a security officer, since fate was decided.
ABU HASSAN We arrived at State Security Branch 285. The security officer said something to the officer who received me. Then, the latter turned to me and slapped me. He said, "Look down at the floor. Don't look up."
I told him I'm here to be released.
"What are you talking about?" He said, "Do not say a word."
NADIA AL-BUKAI The moment Abu Hassan was taken downstairs at Branch 285, he disappeared completely. That was in 2014. They put him in an underground solitary confinement cell for seven months. No interrogation. Nothing.
All of his requests to speak with the director of the branch were turned down. Until one day, they asked him to prepare himself.
ABU HASSAN I was out, and I thought they would take me to Adra Prison and we would be released. But they walked us for ten metres outside the building to a new block inside the same branch.
NADIA AL-BUKAI Abu Hassan was kept inside this underground block completely cut off from the outside world for five more years. All his please for release or for a change in his living situation were denied. He couldn't take it anymore.
ABU HASSAN After five years, the director of the branch called for me after many attempts where I tried to hang myself. What shall I do? I wanted to do something. I was done.
There were two men. One ran to tell the block warden. The other untied me. I had tied myself to the water faucet and told everyone that it's better to die than to live in in this life. Only then did the director call for me. He said, "Why did you do this?"
I said, "What do you mean? This is not a way to live? What have I done? I haven't done anything."
He said, "Okay. I will talk to my commander. Your family is waiting for you. You have a family, right?"
I said, "Sure. I have a wife and kids."
And he said, "They're waiting for you. You don't have to do that again. The director told me your case is with the National Security Command."
I said, "Okay. Check with the National Security. My sentence is done."
He said, "We can't. Enough. The high leadership knows what they are doing."
NADIA AL-BUKAI The director used Abu Hassan's wife and kids to talk him out of hurting himself. Yet at the same time, he didn't even care about the fact that Abu Hassan had been disappeared for years for no reason and that his family must be living in agony, not knowing anything about him.
The inexplicable cruelty of Assad's intelligence officers is because of the total impunity they enjoy. They could and still can detain people endlessly in horrific conditions without any fear of justice or accountability.
If it wasn't for the ex-detainee who told Riyad about seeing Abu Hassan, Abu Hassam's wife would never have known that he was still alive. His family wouldn't have kept asking about him and calling for his release.
After seven years of his enforced disappearance, the guards once again called his name.
ABU HASSAN They said the brunch commander, the general, has asked for me. They said my name had come up for release. I felt that he was joking. No. It's impossible. That can't be it. I asked one of my friends to tell them that I am sick and I can't take such jokes. But the guard opened the cell door, saying, "What jokes? Everyone's waiting for him there. The commander and the director. He must be out in less than a minute."
I put on my clothes and took some personal belongings and went out.
NADIA AL-BUKAI Finally, Abu Hassan I was able to meet the commander of the branch for his release.
ABU HASSAN I said to him, "Since I came to the branch, I have been writing you many requests, pleading to meet you. Why wouldn't you just meet me?"
He said, "Why would I do that?"
I said, "Because I stayed here for seven years. More than my sentence. Why?"
"I didn't know." He said, "Listen, I could not meet you, because I didn't have a solution for your situation."
I said, "How come?"
He said, "The National Security was in charge of your case."
I said, "Okay. You could have written to the National Security.
He said, "We did our best. And you must understand what that means."
I told them that I did. But, of course, I didn't understand anything.
NADIA AL-BUKAI It took just over twenty-one years of detention, after being so close to dying in Sednaya, Aleppo Prison, and Branch 285, Abu Hassan was united with his family in the summer of 2021.
ABU HASSAN My daughters ran to me. They wanted to kiss my hands and feet. The people were all gathered. My relatives A'zaz City and my two daughters. I hadn't seen them for such a long time. I told them, "Honey, enough. You should be happy, not crying."
They were crying with happiness, but I also saw sadness. I couldn't tell whether they were happy or sad. There were mixed feelings.
NADIA AL-BUKAI Abu Hassan went to Turkey to reunite with his wife and the rest of his family. They couldn't live in Syria, in his hometown Aleppo. Their house was turned to ruins like almost half the city.
Between 2012 and 2017, the regime, joined later by Russia, used unprecedented brutality to crush those who refused to live under Assad's rule in Aleppo. In addition to besieging thousands of families to force them to surrender and flee their homes, highly destructive weapons like missiles and barrel bombs were used to destroy homes, schools, and hospitals with no regard whatsoever to human lives.
In Turkey, Abu Hassan also reunited with his old friends, Riyad and Diab. A year and a half before Abu Hassan's release, their organisation had been the one to discover he was still alive and give the news to his family.
DIAB SERRIH With all the pain that I endured and all my sad stories, when I remember Abu Hassan and how he was released after seven years of forcible disappearance, when I remember the happiness of his family and his grandkids, the happiness of his daughters, I forget everything. I feel like there is hope in our work. There is always hope, and our work will be fruitful in the end.
RIYAD AVLAR He came our office. Now, he is with us all times. And he began to make advocacy for feminists to tell them that their songs do will come one day.
NADIA AL-BUKAI What fascinates me the most about the stories of survivors from Assad's detention centres is the strength and resilience of the Syrian people. And this sense of unity in defiance between the detainees and their families shows this to the world. They don't tire of asking for justice for their loved ones. They insist on telling the stories of all those left behind. I see this courage in every survivor I have met. I saw it in my father and in Riyad. The first thing my father Najah did after we reached Europe was to draw everything he remembered seeing inside the intelligence branch. He wanted to document and show the world all the horrors that happened inside Branch 227, where he was.
My father, Riyad, Diab, Abu Hassan, Ghufran, Noor, and thousands like them are all calling for one thing: The killings, torture and disappearances in Syria must stop. Assad and his backers must be held accountable. Justice must prevail for those who died and continue to die inside Assad's dungeons.
ABU HASSAN There are a lot of things that must be done. I hope there will be some actions, not just words.
DIAB SERRIH ADMSP is about telling our stories as detainees. Getting the stories of that place Sednaya, so they aren't forgotten. This place affected me personally on all levels. I lost my job. I lost my future, because of this prison. In this place, I saw death twenty times. It's where we wished for this to be relieved. This place affected me and many, many others.
My friends before the prison and after were not the same. Even the people I knew before told me that I had become a different person. And this is something that happened to everybody. Everybody who entered there had their lives turned upside down. The story must be told. The truth must see the light of day. This place isn't a normal place. This place is a death camp.
What motivated us to create ADMSP was the need to take care of each other, to give each other that feeling that we aren't alone. No. Quite the opposite. There are people who cared about you.
GHUFRAN KHULANI Once I saw, like, very thin elderly woman, very, very old, and she was holding, pick a chair for her son. And then, another side, the soldier hold his gun and start the soldier shouting about to make her go away and to leave the place. But she never left. She tried to explain to him and facing him by eyes. She wants her son. She was very strong and inspired all the women to keep asking. And I always remember this moment. I always dream that we'll release them, all the detainees. All of us will be happy to see them again.
RIYAD AVLAR My mother, for twenty-one years, twenty-one years, she didn't saw me. And I am helping matters every day. Always, I saw them, I talking with them. I try to give them hope. Even when we take news for their sons that he died, we try to stand beside them and try always give them hope.
NADIA AL-BUKAI Behind the Sun is a co-production between Message Heard and The Syria Campaign, in collaboration with the Association of Detainees and the Missing (ADMSP) and the Syrian Center for Justice and Accountability (SJAC) under its project, On the Margins No More.
This series was written and produced by Muhammad Farouk.
Thank you to Ranim, Ola, Sarah, Mais, and Ruairi from The Syria Campaign and Rahaf from ADMSP for helping put this series together.
Additional thanks to Mahmoud Nowara and [name] for their support with voiceovers.
Editing, mixing, and sound design was done by Jarek Zaba and Ivan Easley.
Additional production support from Molly Freeman, Tom Biddle, and Lincoln Van der Westhuizen.
I would also like to say a very special thanks to everyone who bravely shared their stories in the series. The theme music is by Milo Evans. My name is Nadia al-Bukai
The theme music is by Milo Evans.
My name is Nadia al-Bukai.
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