In the heart of Damascus, information technology student Huthaifa Munir stands on a bustling street corner, clad in a bright orange vest marked with reflective silver stripes. He is helping untangle traffic jams and guide drivers in a city that is suddenly devoid of its former heavy police presence.
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Munir admits. “But after liberation, there’s a new sense of belonging, a feeling that this is truly our Syria, and we owe it something.”
In the last days of November, a coalition of rebel forces led by Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) launched a decisive offensive that secured control over major Syrian cities. By December 8th, they had reached Damascus, the capital, and Bashar al-Assad had fled to Russia, ending his family’s 53-year rule, which included the last 13 years of civil war.
What comes next is uncertain, but regardless of how benign or stable the new government may be, for many Syrians, the long-fought civil war that has torn their country apart has, for the most part, ended. They are preparing for what could yet go right.
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On December 17th, nine days after Assad’s fall and the disbanding of the police, the Sanad Youth Development Foundation, an organization that has long been empowering youth across Syrian cities, announced on Facebook its intention to carry out the traffic task in Damascus. Volunteers like Munir have stepped in to handle traffic at chaotic intersections while police officers, once loyal enforcers of the Assad regime, await reassignment by the military authorities now governing the capital.
Across Damascus, similar grassroots efforts are flourishing, fueled by a collective desire to self-organize and rebuild a country scarred by years of war and repression. The newfound freedom, unburdened by the fear of intelligence agents or sudden arrests, has inspired Syrians to reclaim public spaces and assert their agency.
Three days after Assad’s fall in Damascus, Wahib Saeed, who has led a hiking group since 1997 and organized a tree-planting campaign in rural Damascus in 2008, rallied 70 volunteers to clean the streets of Jaramana. This diverse suburb of Damascus, initially with a Druze and Christian majority, was nicknamed “Little Syria” by locals due to the number of Syrians from various backgrounds who increasingly settled there during the war.
Armed with brooms, trash bags, and an “indomitable spirit,” as Saeed describes it, the team began their work in Karama Square, a site that once bore the name and statue of former President Hafez al-Assad. Locals had toppled the statue and renamed the square—which translates to Dignity Square in English—to mark a new chapter in their community’s history.
“When the war ended here, garbage piled up because sanitation workers stopped showing up,” Saeed explains. “We decided we couldn’t wait any longer and took matters into our own hands.”
For Saeed, the act of cleaning his community’s streets is as symbolic as it is practical: “Our goal wasn’t just to clear the trash,” Saeed tells The Urban Activist. “We wanted to send a message: it’s time to clean our hearts and minds, too. We’re entering a new era, and we must all work together.”
His message resonated. Shopkeepers began sweeping in front of their stores, and within days, municipal workers resumed their rounds, hoping their salaries would be paid.
Building on this momentum, Saeed’s group launched a reforestation campaign titled “Let’s Make It Green,” wherein over 80 volunteers planted trees in a local park. “This phase is unlike anything we’ve experienced before,” Saeed says. “For the first time, we’re organizing without having to submit requests or navigate layers of security approvals. It’s honestly empowering.” During the Assad regime, getting endless permits was not only the main obstacle; undercover security personnel often infiltrated volunteer groups, making participants feel uncomfortable.
Other environmental grassroots groups, like Green Gold—founded in 2021 to raise awareness about climate change—and the Syrian Environmental Association also experience this new sense of freedom. Fifty of their volunteers took to the streets of Baramkeh, a university district, cleaning up the ecological park at the Faculty of Science and painting road curbs. They also joined the initiative “Rebuilding with Love,” launched by the Violet Organization in partnership with a commercial cleaning products company, to clean and beautify Damascus and its outskirts, such as a playground in the Mashrou’ Dummar area.
“Our work ensures children can return to these spaces and play freely in a clean environment. Sustainability and community service will remain our focus,” explains Rahma al-Boushi, the group’s executive director of the Violet Organization.
The Violet Organization is a grassroots group of young volunteers who came together at the beginning of the Syrian uprising and lent a helping hand to meet basic needs as the humanitarian situation deteriorated at the end of 2011. The organization was officially founded in 2013 in Idlib, in collaboration with several international organizations, during Assad’s siege of the governorate.
“This is our first project in Damascus after years of displacement,” says Saleh Junaid, a member of the Violet Organization and a native of Aleppo. He was displaced to Idlib during the war and has now returned to Damascus with hope and purpose. “We still can’t believe we’re back.”
Meanwhile, others like Abdul Karim Shaheen, an IT engineering student at the Arab International University, are tackling the strained healthcare system in the capital. In the chaos following Assad’s fall, hospitals in Damascus faced a sudden influx of patients, including freed detainees, victims of stray bullets, and civilians with pre-existing conditions exacerbated by years of war.
On December 10th, just two days after the city’s liberation, Shaheen began reaching out to hospitals to assess their needs. “The situation was critical,” he recounts. “Hospitals like al-Mujahid were overwhelmed, lacking essential supplies.”
Shaheen mobilized his university network through WhatsApp groups, proposing a fundraising campaign to support hospitals. To his surprise, the initiative raised 25 million Syrian pounds ($1,851) in just three hours. Starting with a modest team of 15 volunteers, the group swelled to 35 as they expanded their support to al-Mowasat and Ibn al-Nafees hospitals.
They provided critical items, including specialized medicines, a $600 echo-doppler device for vascular surgery, and everyday essentials like bread and heating fuel.
“Everything we delivered was based on the hospitals’ specific requests,” Shaheen explains, adding that his team prioritized “quality and efficiency.”
As the dust of conflict settles in Damascus, Munir, Saeed, and many others see the acts of cleaning, planting, and organizing as tangible manifestations of a long-dreamed-of reality: a country reclaimed by its people, free from the shadow of fear that once loomed over every endeavor.
The collective efforts of Syria’s volunteers are driven by a shared dream of a brighter future, one that stands in stark contrast to the 13 years of hardship that many describe as “a waking nightmare.”
“There’s still a long way to go,” Munir says, adjusting his reflective vest. “But, for the first time, it feels like we’re moving forward together.”
This article was produced in collaboration with Egab
