The sound of boots echoed through the narrow corridors of the underground cellblock. The sunset call of Maghrib prayer—normally a time of joy for fasting Muslims—had just begun outside the walls of Sednaya one of Syria’s most notorious prisons. Inside, it signaled something else entirely. “They would storm in right at sunset,” Hasm Mahmoud al-Khalid, a former detainee told Levant24 (L24). “They knew we were fasting. They wanted to break us.”
Sometimes they raided in the day, the guards, mostly drawn from the Alawite sect loyal to Bashar al-Assad’s now-deposed regime, says Khalid, kicked over water bottles, threw scraps of food into the dirt, and ordered prisoners to drink water at gunpoint. “They forced us to break our fast,” he recalled. “If we refused, they beat us until we did.”
For prisoners in Assad’s dungeons, Ramadan—ordinarily a time of spiritual renewal and communal strength—became a month of humiliation and starvation. Now, with Assad’s dictatorship finally dismantled and a new government in place, the stories of those who suffered through these holy months in captivity are beginning to emerge.
Systematic Deprivation of Faith
The world often views Ramadan as a time of unity, where Muslims, regardless of status or geography, share in the experience of fasting, prayer, and reflection. Yet under the oppressive shadow of Assad’s rule, even the most basic acts of worship were met with brutal retaliation.
“Praying was forbidden,” said Khalid. “If they saw us, we were punished severely. We had to pray with our eyes only, careful not to move our lips.” To disguise their collective prayers, detainees developed a system where one prisoner would pace back and forth, pretending to be restless, while others silently recited their supplications.
The restrictions were not simply about control; they were an extension of the regime’s systemic persecution of Syria’s Sunni population. “There were no Sunni guards,” Khalid noted. “Only Alawites and Shiites. They saw us as nothing more than traitors and terrorists.” Even access to the Quran was denied. “We memorized it together,” he said. “Since we had no paper, we wrote verses on fabric using soap and tweezers. It was how we kept our faith alive.”
The Cruelty of Sunset
Perhaps the most excruciating part of Ramadan in prison was the time of iftar when families across Syria traditionally break their fasts together. For detainees, it was the moment their suffering was deliberately heightened.
“They would raid every cellblock during Maghrib,” Khalid recalled. “It was never random; it was a calculated act of cruelty.” The guards would enter with batons, destroying what meager food they had. “If they found anything, even a piece of bread, they would take it away and starve us for the night.”
Families Torn Apart by Imprisonment
Ramadan was just as painful for the families of the imprisoned. Khawla al-Ahmad, who lost four of her brothers in Assad’s prisons, described to L24 the unfillable void left at their iftar table. “They left an irreplaceable gap,” she said. “Ramadan is a time of family, of remembrance, but for us, it is a reminder of what we lost.”
Many families waited years—sometimes decades—spending small fortunes in bribes for any scrap of news about their loved ones, only to hear rumors of their deaths under torture. Others were forced into silence, fearing that speaking out or questioning would put their remaining relatives at risk.
“I still remember the last Ramadan we spent together,” Ahmad said, reminiscing about her brothers, “Muhammad loved this dish, Omar loved that one. Now, we only have memories.”
Even after the fall of Assad’s dictatorship in December 2024, many families still do not know the fate of their relatives. “We must not forget them,” she urged. “People must remember the wives, the sons, the mothers of the martyrs—those who were tortured to death.”
A Propaganda Machine Hiding Atrocities
While the world’s attention was drawn to the war crimes committed in Syria’s military prisons, the Assad regime made calculated efforts to paint a different picture. In state-run media, prisons were presented as centers for rehabilitation, where detainees engaged in cultural and artistic activities.
“Assad’s government called them ‘guests,’” said Nour al-Khatib, a researcher with the Syrian Network for Human Rights (SNHR). “They staged events where inmates were seen painting, writing poetry, or studying. It was all a lie.”
Meanwhile, political detainees—the real prisoners of conscience—were subjected to torture, starvation, and extrajudicial killings. The infamous Caesar files, a collection of thousands of smuggled photographs, exposed the scale of the atrocities. They showed skeletal corpses with marks of brutal beatings, electric burns, and ligature strangulation.
“These staged events were nothing more than a smokescreen,” Khatib said. “No amount of propaganda could hide the reality of the military prisons—where detainees were slaughtered like animals.”
Bitterness of the Past Marks the Sweetness of Liberation
This year marks the first Ramadan since Assad’s fall. Under the government of President Ahmad al-Sharaa, Syria is beginning to reckon with the horrors of the past. Mass graves have been uncovered, testimonies are being recorded, and survivors are finally able to speak freely.
For Khalid, this Ramadan feels like emerging from darkness into light. “The difference between Ramadan in prison and Ramadan in freedom is like the difference between heaven and hell,” he said. “To be able to fast without fear, to pray without hiding—it is a blessing I cannot describe.”
Yet for the families of the disappeared, the wounds remain open. Tens of thousands remain unaccounted for, their fates unknown. The scars of Assad’s reign will take years—perhaps generations—to heal.
Al-Ahmad’s message to the world is clear. “Do not forget us,” she said. “Do not forget the ones we lost. Even in freedom, we must remember the suffering. Only then can we truly honor the martyrs of Syria.”
