Why Syria needs a Truth Commission

Yasmen al Mashan is a human rights defender dedicated to advocating for missing persons and victims of enforced disappearance in Syria. Her work centers on advancing international mechanisms that ensure victim participation, support trauma recovery, and uphold human rights. This piece is part of our Syria series, which provides analysis on improving justice outcomes for victims and survivors in Syria.

I was born in Syria in 1980, a year that became infamously known as the “year of terror.” That year, the Syrian regime stepped up its systematic repression of opponents or perceived opponents to unprecedented levels, and in June, was responsible for one of the most horrific mass killings in Syria’s contemporary history took place—the Tadmor prison massacre. Under the command of Rifaat Al-Assad, the Defense Brigades executed over 500 political prisoners in the span of a few hours—no trial, no legal justification whatsoever. Far from being an isolated incident, this massacre epitomized the state’s modus operandi, rooted in the denial of basic human dignity, the criminalization of thought, and the normalization of enforced disappearances as a tool of control over society.

During that time, both my grandmother and grandfather were detained, and later, so was my father. They were not held for long periods of time, but that is when the state’s conduct became all too clear—a state drawing its power from the practice of enforced disappearances, arbitrary detentions, and bodily harm. Such practices started becoming known and were understood to be not accidental occurrences, but rather systemic practices. In 1980, we were still children, and little did we know that 1980 would come to mark the beginning of a long era of rule founded on institutionalized violence and entire communities subdued by a grip of terror.

My own political awareness grew in the form of coded language—a code of fear embedded in everyday expressions. We would say such things as “behind the sun” or “at my aunt’s house” to refer to cases of disappearance or to someone wanted by the security services. There was no legal or judicial vocabulary to go with it. We tried to name the unnamable, and in that sense, these expressions were the first forms of political resistance to imposed silence.

By the mid-1980s, a full-blown economic crisis came about: soaring inflation, sharp devaluation of the local currency, and of people’s purchasing power. Ration cards were used to distribute essential goods such as sugar, rice, heating oil, and gas, which were made accessible through the state’s institutions or through membership in unions or associations tied to the Ba’ath party. People often had to queue for hours to obtain a sack of sugar or a small amount of fuel oil. In many areas, these were sold at exorbitant prices on the black market, often run by networks tied to and overseen by the state’s security agencies.

The economy itself became yet another means to control the people. Ration cards were no longer simply a means for fair distribution; they became full-fledged instruments of control: those not members of state-affiliated unions or who were labeled as “non-loyal” could be denied their share of these goods. Such practices were not just the result of scarcity—they were, in fact, a deliberate politicization of livelihoods, used as a means to ensure loyalty to the state.

During that time and despite the economic crisis, the regime was increasingly referring to a narrative of “resistance” against Israel, claiming that US sanctions and an economic blockade against Syria were the reason why it was boosting its defense budget and reinforcing the army, at the expense of the Syrian people’s welfare. It also used this narrative to impose martial law, which it used to detain political opponents, accusing them of colluding with the enemy, using slogans of a struggle against the “Zionist enemy” and “Western hegemony.” Behind the scenes however, the regime was holding secret talks with Israel in the backdrop of the Madrid Peace Conference (1991) and in subsequent meetings in Washington D.C. This disconnect between the public discourse and action also led to a disconnect between the regime and the people, who increasingly felt they were being subjected to an “economy of punishment,” in which loyalty was rewarded with bread, and dissent punished with deprivation.

As security services were further entrenching their control over society, my uncle was arrested and detained without charges or information about his whereabouts. I remember at the time, my mother’s eyes were always sad, and I saw firsthand how my uncle’s disappearance weighed down on the entire family; there was no room left for joy, just grief. We had no way of obtaining information through official channels, and we later found out that he had been detained in Sednaya prison, where some of the most horrific crimes under Bashar al-Assad took place. This was a routine procedure, part of the systematic practice of enforced disappearance, instrumental in breaking down societal links and installing a permanent climate of threat. My uncle’s disappearance, marked by the total absence of any information about him, shaped my understanding at an early age of the nature of that regime, in other words a structure which, rather than adhering to the rule of law, grants unrestrained powers to its security agencies, leaving the individual citizen lacking any form of protection from the very moment he or she is arrested.

When Bashar al-Assad came to power in 2000 following his father’s death, there was much talk about reform and openness of this new era, also known as the “Damascus Spring.” But any hope of change was short-lived as spaces for dialogue were shut down, and well-known intellectuals and activists were arrested. My brother Tishreen was also arrested at the time and remained in detention for four years. Meanwhile, the regime gained full control over the economy through an oligarchal network directly tied to the ruling family, with notable figures like Rami Makhlouf and the Al-Shaleesh clan. This was not simply a facet of corruption; it was an entire system of economic control in which an individual’s wealth was determined by his or her loyalty to the regime, and which deprived entire regions, including my own city of Deir ez-Zor, of any development or growth opportunities.

Deir ez-Zor, despite being one of the richest governorates in natural resources, particularly oil and gas, was historically marginalized. It was excluded from state-level strategic or development planning, except when it served the central authorities. Instead of focusing on education or employment, the state reinforced the tribal structures as a way to control society, while keeping at bay the educated sectors of society. The Al-Shaleesh clan, cousins of Bashar al-Assad, became a symbol of power and corruption through contracts and deals that exploited local resources.

When the revolution broke out in 2011, my entire family joined in, organizing protests, helping those injured by the security agencies’ lethal repression; for me, the year started out with the successive arrests of my brothers. One would be detained for a period of time, and as soon as he was released, another would be arrested. Then came 2012, during which I lost one brother after another: Zuheir was killed during the protests that were held during the Arab observers’ visit, when security forces opened fire on the protesters, killing 16 young men; two months later, Oqaiba was arrested and disappeared, only later to be identified in the “Caesar” photos. That same year, in October, Obaida was killed as he was tending to the injured, and then Tishreen was killed just ten days later. And then, in May 2015, ISIS overtook the region and kidnapped my youngest brother, Bashar —so named to mean “good news” as he was born on the day my uncle was released from detention.

I lost my five brothers—Zuheir, Oqaiba, Obaida, Tishreen, and Bashar—between the protests and enforced disappearances, and I have only one brother still alive. Their deaths are not individual tragedies but well part of the broader political and social fabric. Deir ez-Zor had in effect become the scene of violence by successive parties: the regime, armed groups, ISIS, and then the international coalition forces, all while its population remained marginalized and benefited from no protection whatsoever from this collapsing environment.

Deir ez-Zor, historically marginalized, later falling prey to successive violent actors, embodies the very reason why Syria needs a truth-seeking commission—one that, rather than reproducing the central state’s narrative, springs from the voices and communities who were directly impacted by the violations. The fragmentation of narratives, especially in marginalized regions such as Zeir Ez Zor, is not only reflective of a gap in documentation but also highlights the absence of an institutional framework that gives equal recognition to victims. As such, efforts towards establishing a genuine truth-seeking process must aim to shift the center of memory production from the political elites to the impacted communities.

My own journey of struggle for justice started when I participated in the creation of the Caesar Families Association, along with other families like mine, and went on to connect with other associations of families of disappeared persons. Together, we launched the Truth and Justice Charter, which identified short-term justice needs necessitating immediate and pressing measures, and a vision for long-term justice. Because the truth about the fate of our loved ones is the ultimate priority to us, families of missing persons, we commissioned a study on options for an international mechanism aimed at uncovering the fate of tens of thousands of forcibly disappeared persons in Syria.

In this process, we collectively became convinced that knowing the truth was not simply an abstract nice-to-have or a mere moral issue but rather a political and societal necessity to stop the Syrian bloodshed. In subsequent years of study and struggle, we went on examining the experiences of truth and reconciliation commissions from South Africa to Guatemala, and Morocco to Tunisia, and came to the conclusion that when pursued as an inclusive, transparent, and independent process, it becomes possible to set a sustainable path of transitional justice towards establishing a new social contract, one that excludes no one and does not silence the victims.

Victims’ participation is, in fact, the first step on the path towards fulfilling their right to truth, justice, remedy, and reparation. It is a right grounded in international human rights law and in international declarations and treaties. It is essential in reforming societies that have been torn apart by dictatorship or conflict. For it is only we, bearers of the harm done, who can identify the scale of this harm and the actions that society in its entirety, victims and the state together, must take to address the harm’s impact. It is necessary to ascertain the recognition of victims and to determine the ways to provide reparation for the harm that has been done. Victims’ participation is not a formalistic measure; it is an essential right that guarantees the recognition of their dignity and of their suffering and reinforces their sense of empowerment and justice. Such participation in transitional justice processes is necessary to identify the needs specific to victims, and then inform the design of programs, such as reparation programs, to make them adequate and effective and able to contribute to a process of reconciliation. The experience of the Truth and Justice Charter in advocating for a standalone institution for missing persons in Syria demonstrates what victims themselves are capable of achieving.

As a Charter group, we advocated before the international community for this body to be international, for practical and legal considerations, arguing that states have a duty to address enforced disappearances as a continuous crime, and that it falls upon the international community to address it, under the United Nations (UN) Declaration on the Protection of All Persons from Enforced Disappearance and as a violation of international law.

The Charter’s sustained advocacy eventually led to the UN General Assembly adopting, on June 29, 2023, Resolution A/RES/77/301, which created the Independent Institution on Missing Persons in the Syrian Arab Republic (IIMP). This decision was precedent-setting, not only because it originated from the victims themselves and their struggle for their right to know, but also because it incorporated into the very structure of the Institution a role for the victims, a first such measure for UN bodies and mechanisms. Today, we are working hand in hand with the IIMP in our search for the truth, in an entirely new era of post-Assad change.

Truth not only means finding out about the fate of the disappeared person; it also means gaining a factual understanding of the past’s patterns of violations, their root causes, and finding pathways to ensure they do not happen again. It is essential in moving towards reconciliation, but truth alone cannot achieve reconciliation—it is part of a comprehensive framework that includes criminal accountability, reparation programs, and institutional reforms—a journey states undertake with the effective participation of victims so that they are part of the new social contract based on equity and justice. As such, truth is the foundational block upon which is construed a transitional justice process.

Since 1974, over fifty official truth commissions have been created around the world; these have included time-limited, non-judicial bodies, mandated to work for one to two years to look into patterns of violations during a specific period of time, and that issue a final comprehensive report with recommendations.

Other truth-seeking mechanisms include parliamentary inquiries, international fact-finding committees, or non-governmental organizations (NGOs) that conduct investigations and organize hearings. The importance of a national truth commission, however, lies in its inclusive nature, specifically, in the participation of victims. All these bodies vary in their levels of independence, scope of work, and powers. A national truth commission is more inclusive and it is public.

Through the work of a national truth commission, it is possible to establish the facts about the past and document violations in an impartial and official manner. This, in turn, contributes to the criminal prosecution of perpetrators by gathering evidence or recommending other measures of accountability. It offers a public platform for victims to share their experiences, which then helps inform adequate individual and community reparation programs. It also helps foster public dialogue on key moral, political, and societal issues, and addresses the sensitive work of addressing the root causes of the conflict, setting therein new horizons, and shaping a new social contract and the healing of social fractures.

A truth commission can also put forward practical recommendations, such as material or symbolic reparation measures that effectively respond to victims’ individual or collective needs, in a way that restores their rights and dignity; or recommendations for institutional and legal reforms aimed at preventing recurrence. Such efforts contribute towards reconciliation and a democratic transition, all while helping restore trust between citizens and state institutions and reinforcing society’s bases for peaceful co-existence.

Bearing in mind its centrality to the process, victims’ participation nonetheless presents a number of challenges; for instance, the failure to be inclusive and impartial can result in the exclusion of certain categories of people, which in turn risks re-creating fractures and grievances fueling future cycles of revenge, as happened for example in Iraq when a large segment of society was marginalized, on the grounds that it posed a threat to national security. As such, it is essential to ensure a truth commission’s impartiality, non-politicization, and inclusiveness in a manner that safeguards the participation of all sides without exception.

Moreover, victims’ participation in truth commissions, including in formulating the rules and procedures, which cover issues such as witness and perpetrator testimonies, represents in itself an essential step towards restoring justice. Without their voices, without truly understanding their needs, by ensuring their effective participation, no commission would be able to gain a genuine understanding of the depths of the suffering and how to address its root causes.

Throughout all this, it is important to be honest with victims on the commission’s ability to manage their expectations, and clearly explain what is achievable and why, what can be expected from it, and how they can work together to achieve these goals. Such transparency helps with restoring trust.

Here, one does ask: Do the current Syrian authorities have genuine political will to pursue the path of truth-seeking? Weak political will or a lack of sufficient resources may lead to a failure to implement the commission’s recommendations, which could make it difficult to ensure effective participation from victims and witnesses, and could also put the commission’s members at risk. If we want the truth commission to succeed, it must address these considerations head-on.

The genuine participation of victims in the design, structure, and operations of the commission, along with providing them with safe spaces and witness protection programs, is the single most important step to ensure its success. Then, there is the commission members themselves; they must have a sound reputation with all parties, be known to be impartial and objective, without any political affiliation, and they must enjoy solid outreach skills to help gain trust in them and in their ability to listen to different perspectives, narrow down differences, and work towards establishing the full truth and creating a space for future reconciliation.

Such participation must include all of society’s communities and victims; there must be consultations with civil society, and these—whether victims’ associations or civil society organizations—in return, must monitor the commission’s work and pay heed to the recommendations, including issues of institutional reform and reparation programs.

The truth commission must be able to understand the multifaceted nature of the violation and its impact on victims, particularly on women and other vulnerable groups. Indeed, the Syrian conflict has generated victims impacted by different types of violations, for example, enforced disappearance, torture, and extrajudicial executions, or forced displacement and property confiscation, or indiscriminate bombardments. As such, it is important to adopt an intersectional lens to better understand the full extent of the harm caused.

Syria has much to learn from the experiences of Morocco and Tunisia in the field of transitional justice, as they offer some of the most developed and enriching experiences across the Arab region, especially as relevant to the creation of a truth commission or a national commission for transitional justice. Syria shares many cultural and religious traits with Morocco and Tunisia, and could offer relevant lessons to Syria, particularly on issues such as collective memory issues and national reconciliation.

First: The Equity and Reconciliation Commission in Morocco (IER)

In 1999, a group of former political prisoners announced the creation of the Forum for Truth and Equity, a body set up by victims and their families, and civil society activists, aimed at demanding truth, justice, and reparation for the victims of years of repression in Morocco. The forum began collecting victims’ testimonies, documenting the violations, and organizing outreach activities focused on collective memory. It was a key participant in the national dialogue that was held to discuss historical violations and ways to address them. The Forum was effectively the first seed that later saw the birth of the Equity and Reconciliation Commission.

This Commission was created in 2004 by royal decree as a key component of a broader transitional justice process that followed decades of gross human rights violations, marked by what were known as the “Years of Lead” (1956-1999). The process was supported by genuine political will to address past violations and foster national reconciliation.

The Commission’s objective was to establish the facts about the gross human rights violations that had taken place (enforced disappearances, arbitrary detention, torture, and forced exile), and to provide individual and collective reparations for the victims and their relatives, as well as present recommendations on measures to ensure non-recurrence, including institutional reforms, and promote national reconciliation.

Victims’ participation was considered central to the Commission’s overall approach to transitional justice; in fact, half the members of the Commission were victims, including its president, Driss Ben Zekri. It laid out clear principles on this issue, namely:

• Acknowledging the suffering of victims and, in the same vein, the need to include them in both the truth-seeking process and in individual and collective reparation processes, while safeguarding victims’ right to share their testimonies and accounts of the violations they suffered.
• Including victims in the public and private hearing sessions, and in the consultations dedicated to reparations and institutional reforms.

The Commission held public and private hearing sessions during which thousands of testimonies were heard. Some cases were selected to be presented in public sessions as emblematic examples, during which victims were able to share their stories with the public and the Kingdom’s official media, while safeguarding the wishes of those who preferred to remain anonymous.

Victims and their families were given the opportunity to submit their requests, files, and testimonies directly to the Commission, either individually or collectively, or through civil society organizations or victims’ associations. The Commission’s consultations with victims or their representatives helped identify the relevant criteria to determine who would benefit from the reparations programs, whether material, symbolic, or collective, and their recommendations were integrated into the design of these individual and collective programs.

Victims and impacted communities were also represented in the subcommittees established as part of the collective regional reparations programs. The subcommittees helped identify local needs and develop context-sensitive collective reparations programs, and they oversaw the implementation of development projects and programs in the affected areas.

Victims and their representatives were also consulted during the development of recommendations pertaining to legislative and institutional reforms as part of the broader goal of non-recurrence. Special attention was given to women victims, who participated in large numbers in the public hearings, and in bringing the Commission to issue reports and analyses focused on women’s experiences with political violence.

Despite all this, there were challenges that impacted effective victims’ participation; the Commission’s final report, in fact, noted there was limited participation from certain groups due to situations of vulnerability or access difficulties. Other criticisms emanating from victims or victims’ associations were about the levels of inclusivity and participation, the ability to hold accountable those responsible for the violations, and the limited involvement of victims from Western Sahara.

All in all, the Commission:

• Documented over 20,000 cases of egregious violations, which include 742 cases of enforced disappearance.

• Developed an individual and collective reparations program notable for incorporating a gender-sensitive lens and being sensitive to the country’s cultural and religious context.

• Formulated detailed recommendations for security and justice sector reforms, as well as constitutional and judicial human rights judicial safeguards.

• Proposed recommendations for reforms in the police and intelligence sectors, safeguard measures for judiciary independence, and legal amendments to align with international standards. It emphasized the need to preserve collective memory and incorporate into the national curricula a history of the violations.

The Commission issued its final report in 2005, which included a detailed account of the violations and the recommendations. Most importantly, King Mohammed VI of Morocco publicly acknowledged the state’s responsibility for the violations and considered the report to be officially endorsed.

The Commission set a precedent in the Arab region and a model for transitional justice in the region. That said, it was not, however, given a criminal accountability mandate; and as such, not only did this draw criticism from certain groups of victims and human rights organizations, but also impacted its fact-finding ability and ability to access the archives of the security services. Despite the recommended reforms, several of these remain only partially implemented, especially regarding institutional reform and the guarantees of non-recurrence.

Tunisia: The Truth and Dignity Commission (IVD)

It was in Tunis that what became known as the “Arab Spring” began, with one incident that shook to the core all peoples across the region. Mohamed Bouazizi had just set himself on fire to protest the injustice he suffered at the hands of the police. This triggered the “Jasmine Revolution”, which led, within days, to the flight of then-President Zine El Abidine Ben Ali. A wave of political and social activism ensued, enabled by Tunisia’s vibrant civil society. The country embarked on an ambitious transitional justice process, with victims playing a visible role from the outset, whether in the national consultations or as representatives in the law-drafting committees. This experience wasn’t without its challenges and problems, however, which affected the results and effectiveness of the overall experience.

Prior to the enactment of the Transitional Justice Law, the Ministry of Human Rights and Transitional Justice launched a six-month national consultation process with civil society and victims’ associations, which led to the creation of a drafting committee. The committee comprised 12 individuals—two representing the ministry and the rest representing civil society.

This strong engagement from the early stages ensured that the law was sufficiently comprehensive and met the demands of victims, including the establishment of a Truth and Dignity Commission (TDC), its timeframe, and the creation of other supporting bodies and committees.

The TDC was set up in 2014, three years after the fall of President Ben Ali’s regime, pursuant to the Organic Law on Transitional Justice. It was mandated to establish the facts about the dictatorship’s crimes, hold those responsible accountable, preserve collective memory, present recommendations for measures of non-recurrence, and, in doing so, hold public and closed-door hearings. It was tasked to cover the period from Tunisia’s independence in 1955 to the date of the law’s enactment. The law stipulated the need to integrate victims’ associations in the Commission’s structure, and as such, helped shape and decide issues of reparations and, later on, reconciliation.

Victims’ participation in Tunisia’s transitional justice process, without doubt, had a clear impact; it helped give a human lens to all the programs and contributed to addressing the multi-layered harm wrought by decades of dictatorship. It allowed the Commission to gain a solid understanding of the harm and its effects, develop innovative, locally relevant solutions, and helped raise overall public awareness about transitional justice as a direct result of the victims’ associations’ active engagement.

In that process, victims helped redefine who a victim was—it included individuals as well as groups, and geographical regions. This redefinition paved the way for reparations programs focused on areas that had been historically marginalized, helping them align with the rest of the country through collective reparations programs that included both financial and non-material measures. A Dignity and Rehabilitation Fund was created. By participating in the Commission and its work, victims’ associations helped identify adequate reparations measures, means of psycho-social support, helped shape the definition of a victim, and played a central role in monitoring implementation.

Victims’ testimonies in public hearings, complaints, and files submitted helped identify clear patterns of violations, which included arbitrary arrest, torture, rape, murder, and enforced disappearance. The Commission afforded victims the opportunity to share their stories in a public setting, bringing about public acknowledgment of their suffering and shaping a victim-centered narrative. Overall, victims’ participation came to be considered an essential step in the national reconciliation process, restoring the victims’ sense of dignity within a supportive environment.

Here too, the TDC dedicated special attention to women and women’s participation: it organized hearing sessions and established a committee for women victims to highlight their specific experiences and suffering. After some debate over the use of the term “gender”—some preferring a more traditional nomenclature—the Women’s Office was set up as an integral part of the Commission.

The Women’s Office played a crucial role in increasing women’s participation from 5% to 35%, partnering effectively with civil society and human rights organizations to achieve this goal. This helped ensure the mainstreaming of women’s perspectives across the Commission’s work. The Women’s Office took part in all of the Commission’s units (research, investigations, memory work, institutional reform, reconciliation, and arbitration).

This was the first time that the voices of victims made their way into legislation and public policy, which in turn led to public acknowledgment of their suffering and raised public awareness. Indeed, the Law stipulated the inclusion of victims’ associations in the Arbitration and Reconciliation Committee. Victims’ participation in the reconciliation process helped ensure it was a societal process rooted in acknowledgment, reparations, institutional reform, and guarantees of non-repetition. It, too, however, had to contend with challenges such as proof of victim status, inadequate compensation, and slow judicial proceedings.

Victims’ groups held protests to demand that the government implement the TDC’s recommendations, and were active in pushing for the issue of compensation to become a political and societal priority. In its final report issued in 2018, the Commission recommended several institutional reforms, reparations, and measures for criminal accountability.

During the course of its work, it faced some opposition and criticism for being perceived as too slow or politicized. The lack of political will at the time further weakened its effectiveness, with some institutions, for example, refusing to hand over archives or judicial files. The Commission’s president, Sihem Bensedrine, was at times viewed as a polarizing figure, accused of bias in the selection of victims and of excluding some individuals for personal or political reasons. The final report notably failed to explicitly recognize sexual violence against Islamist women, reflecting the persistence of certain structural and personal issues within the Commission. Victims’ participation in general was stronger prior to the Law’s enactment, later becoming more limited, and impacting, as such, the overall inclusivity in the process.

Drawing on these experiences, and bearing in mind the momentous change that took place in Syria, and the manner in which it took place, years of bloody violence and diverse communities embroiled in geo-ethnic, racial, and sectarian-religious conflicts, there is a paramount need for a truth commission, one that reflects and aligns with the transformation underway.

Indeed, a commission must be created to establish the facts and clarify the causes that led to this drastic change; there must be emphasis on dialogue with a concerted effort to draw lessons from other experiences, and it should provide clear answers and aim to effectively contribute to societal reconciliation. Underlying all this is the need for clear political will from the Syrian authorities.

So far, there appears to be some political will, but it remains ill-defined and could, in fact, not be sufficiently strong to ensure a truth commission’s success. Two presidential decrees recently published have stipulated the creation of parallel national commissions for transitional justice and for missing persons; the transitional justice commission’s limited mandate, focused only on violations by government forces, raises some doubt about its ability to be truly inclusive; separately, the decrees fail to clearly stipulate the need for meaningful victims’ participation, whether at the design or implementation stages.

A more appropriate and robust approach would be to have a commission created by virtue of a law that sets its mandate and scope of work in a manner that reflects the Syrian context, affords it wide-ranging prerogatives, and clearly aims for it to contribute to societal reconciliation. Key criteria for a successful transitional justice commission would be:

• Full independence and impartiality: the commission must be able to withstand pressure from political or military actors, and should not limit itself to the official narrative.

• Effective participation by victims through clear mechanisms and at different levels, starting with participation as Commission members to representation in its subcommittees and in every region.
• Transparency and public reporting: it must make its reports public and ensure transparency of its work at all stages.
• Cooperation with the UN and human rights organizations to obtain technical, legal, and financial support.
• Collect and preserve evidence to support future criminal prosecution cases.
• Create a national victims’ registry
• Focus on national reconciliation: the Commission should be mindful of national reconciliation considerations rather than vengeance, all while safeguarding all victims’ rights.
• Provide psychological and legal support to those taking part in the hearing sessions.
• Promote the values of human rights in all engagement efforts, as this contributes later on to national reconciliation
• Ensure the integration of marginalized groups and the wide participation of women.
• Seek the expertise of Syrian victims’ associations and civil society on issues such as capacity-building, documentation of human rights violations, psychosocial support, legal and financial support—all this contributing towards reinforcing the capacity of local actors as well as more effective legal and institutional reforms.

In the end, a truth commission is no magic solution, but it is a key tool within the wider framework of transitional justice, along with criminal prosecutions, reparations, and institutional reforms. Victims’ participation is no doubt one of its key factors of success, along with its structure, design, independence, its ability to support victims, as well as clear political will to commit to and implement the commission’s recommendations.

There is no one perfect model as they vary depending on the context, and are constantly evolving to address challenges and problems faced in the various experiences across the world of societies seeking justice and reconciliation following periods of conflict or dictatorship.

As Syrian victims, we understand justice to take many forms—but it all starts with the truth, and the full truth: what happened, why and how; and then, we should be the ones to determine the most adequate forms of justice that would allow us to recalibrate our lives, whether by way of an official apology, and full recognition of our sacrifices and efforts.

Photo: Aleppo, Syria in 2021. © Fadi Alagi/Unsplash.