{"id":8487,"date":"2026-07-20T13:03:41","date_gmt":"2026-07-20T10:03:41","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/?p=8487"},"modified":"2026-07-20T15:45:42","modified_gmt":"2026-07-20T12:45:42","slug":"lm-8","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/lm-8\/","title":{"rendered":"When humanity failed us"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Memory Retold and Witnessed<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\n<\/div>\n

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July was different this time.<\/strong>
It wasn\u2019t the summer heat that exhausted me, but something far heavier\u2014something that sat on my chest like a stone that refused to be lifted.<\/strong><\/p>

During those days, even ordinary sounds stopped feeling ordinary.
Every movement in the street terrified me. Every knock on the door sent my heart racing so loudly I could almost hear it. We sat in silence, as though we were trying to hide inside ourselves, not just inside our home.
But I wasn\u2019t only afraid for myself.
I was afraid for my sister.
She was away at university, in another province.
Every minute that passed without hearing her voice felt like an hour. But this time, the silence wasn\u2019t a choice.
The electricity went out, and with it, every means of communication.
Reaching her became impossible. No message could get through. No phone call connected. Nothing could reassure me that she was safe\u2014or reassure her that we were.
I kept staring at my phone, as though it might suddenly come to life.
I picked it up, unlocked it, locked it again.\n\nOver and over.
Every possible nightmare played through my mind while I remained trapped inside my house\u2014and inside my fear.
I typed the same words again and again:\n\n\"Please, tell me you're okay.\"
But the message remained unsent.
And the silence that followed was more unbearable than any bad news.
Yet beneath the fear, another feeling grew.
Betrayal.
For years, I had believed in Syrian society as a whole.
I worked, volunteered, and took part in initiatives. We sat together talking about peace, coexistence, and the belief that we were one people.
Those words were never just slogans to me.
I truly believed them.
Then, suddenly, voices emerged from that very same society\u2014people who had once been colleagues, partners, or simply familiar faces.\n\nSome incited violence.\n\nSome justified it.\n\nOthers chose silence while strangers entered our communities, killing, looting, and terrorizing innocent people.
One question never stopped haunting me:
How?
How could people who once spoke of humanity justify any of this?
How did blood become something that could be explained away?
How did fear become ordinary?
And when we were finally forced onto the roads,
we were no longer the people we had been.
The roads no longer felt like roads.
They became scenes carved into my memory forever.
Bodies lying on the ground.
Children.
Women.
The elderly.
Faces stripped of their features.\n\nOthers that seemed to be asking one final question:\n\nWhy?
But among all those images,
one remains impossible to forget.
The faces of the displaced.
People who fled their villages, leaving behind their homes, their memories, and everything they had built, running simply to stay alive.
I saw them in the streets.\n\nThey weren't just exhausted.
They were broken.
Their eyes were filled with fear, as though they still couldn't believe what had happened to them.
And it wasn't only the displaced.
Even the faces of the people in my hometown, Shahba, had changed.
Fear was everywhere.\n\nSafety had disappeared.\nEveryone looked at one another as though silently asking:
Who's next?
What awaits us now?
In that moment,
I felt a helplessness I had never known before.
Children in the streets.
Families without homes.
People who were thirsty, hungry, and exhausted.
And I stood there unable to offer anything.
No food.
No medicine.
Not even enough water.<\/p>

There is no feeling more painful than watching suffering unfold before your eyes while being powerless to ease it.
And yet...
Despite the siege imposed on us.
Despite the lack of water.\n\nThe shortages of food, medicine, and medical care.\n\nThe power outages.\n\nThe collapse of even the most basic necessities of life.
There was one thing they could not break.
Our togetherness.
We began sharing everything.
Even a single glass of water.
We shared our bread.\n\nWe shared our fear.\n\nWe shared our grief.
People opened their homes to one another.
And they opened their hearts as well.
Perhaps we could not stop the suffering.\n\nBut we refused to let it divide us.
We became one hand, standing together against everything that tried to tear us apart.
We fell asleep with anxiety.\n\nWe woke up with it.
We counted the roads.\n\nWe followed every piece of news.\n\nWe waited for a phone call, a message, any sign that the people we loved were still alive.
And through it all,<\/p>

one small thing struggled to stay alive inside me.
The belief that, no matter how cruel everything had become, I could not allow it to steal my humanity.
But the truth is...
That July never passed.
It still lives within me.
In my voice whenever fear returns.
In my heart whenever I worry about my sister, my family, and those I love.
And in my memory, every time I remember how a person can be broken\u2014not only by danger,
but by betrayal.
By faces that never leave.
And by the painful realization that sometimes, humanity itself can become the deepest source of pain.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\n<\/div>\n

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\n\t\t\t\t\tWritten and documented by:<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\tAya Abu Assaf<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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How did blood become something that could be explained away?
How did fear become ordinary?<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

July was different this time.
\nIt wasn\u2019t the summer heat that exhausted me, but something far heavier\u2014something that sat on my chest like a stone that refused to be lifted.<\/p>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":7885,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[36],"tags":[34,35],"class_list":["post-8487","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-living-memory","tag-memory-retold","tag-memory-witnessed"],"blocksy_meta":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8487","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8487"}],"version-history":[{"count":17,"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8487\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8505,"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8487\/revisions\/8505"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/7885"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8487"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8487"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8487"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}