Fear of retribution is simmering in the Alawite country of Assad

Noor stands and shivers in the cold afternoon light of the yard, not from the cold, but from fear.

Clad in her thick winter coat, she came to file a complaint with the men of Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), Syria’s new de facto rulers, and the new law in town.

She begins to cry as she explains that three days earlier, shortly before nine in the evening, armed men arrived in a black van at her apartment in an upmarket area of ​​Latakia. Together with her children and her husband, an officer, she was kicked out into the street in her pyjamas. The leader of the gunmen then moved into her house with his family.

Noor – not her real name – is an Alawite, the minority sect from which the Assad family is descended and to which many of the former regime’s political and military elite belonged. Alawites, whose sect is an offshoot of Shiite Islam, make up about 10% of Syria’s population, the majority of which is Sunni. Latakia, on the northwest coast of the Mediterranean, is their heartland.

As in other cities, many different rebel groups have rushed into the power vacuum left after Assad’s soldiers left their posts. The regime used sectarian divisions to hold on to power, now the Sunni Islamist HTS has pledged to respect all religions in Syria. But the Alawite population of Latakia is afraid.

Some people don’t even leave their homes after the regime change because they are worried that there will be retribution and that they will have to pay a heavy price for supporting the old regime.

Noor shows CCTV footage from his apartment to Abu Ayub, 34, the commander of HTS’s general security service. In the film, a group of bearded fighters, some wearing baseball caps, others in military uniforms, is pictured on her doorstep.

She says they are not from HTS, but from another group, rebels from the northern city of Aleppo.

“They broke down the door. There were 10 militants standing at our door and another 16 people were waiting outside with three cars,” Nur Abu Ayubu said. His men are mostly from Idlib and Aleppo, where HTS and allied rebel factions were based before the offensive that toppled Assad three weeks ago. They stand in combat uniform, rifles in hand, and listen intently as she describes how the family’s belongings were thrown into the street.

HTS was once linked to al-Qaeda and is still banned as a terrorist organization by most Western countries, although Britain and the US say they have maintained contact with the group. In a few weeks, he turned from an enemy of the state into the law of the land. Abu Ayyub and his men adjust to changing roles from revolutionaries to policemen.

Nur is just one of a long line of complainants who have come to the general security station with complaints. The base, the former headquarters of the city’s military intelligence, was perhaps the most feared place in Latakia. It is now a ruin, with broken radios and equipment scattered around the yard. Torn portraits of Bashar al-Assad lie in the dirt.

A man is standing in line with complaints. He has a bruised eye, broken ribs, and a torn and bloody shirt. He says that people from Idlib broke into his apartment.

“Some of them were civilians, some were in military uniforms and masks,” he says. “My daughter was beaten, and a gun was aimed at my son’s head. They stole money, stole gold.”

Every challenge here is a show of force, especially when there are so many armed groups in the city. Led by the man’s son, the HTS security force drives into one of the poor neighborhoods, driving through mazes of alleyways, past dumps and gaps.

Armed police are taking positions along the street and at the door of the apartment. They bring the two suspects back to the police station for questioning.

But they don’t have time to clean the weapons, as another complaint appears, a dispute over gas cylinders, as a result of which another person was beaten.

He says the three men pulled a gun on him.

Another car race in a crowded shopping and residential area. When the police drag the suspect out into the street with his face still bloody from the previous fight, local women approach them on the balconies and shout “Shabiha! They accuse the suspect of being a member of shadowy militias, mostly Alawites, who did the dirty work of the Assad regime.

Since the lightning victory in Syria, the Islamist HTS has pledged to maintain peace and protect all minorities in the country. And every day Abu Ayyub must fulfill this promise.

“Those who infiltrated the revolution, saboteurs, and some weak-minded people are taking advantage of the situation in the recently liberated areas,” he says.

Abu Ayub admits that the situation in the city was “a bit chaotic”, but turns his attention to Noor. “We are here now, we were not there when the army left. We were first in Damascus, and then we arrived. They are thugs and we will evict them from your house. We will return your items. You have the floor,” he said. And with that he orders his men into their pickup trucks and with sirens blaring they head for the apartment.

Latakia is a liberated city. Last Friday, tens of thousands of people from all sects took to the streets to celebrate the fall of the Assad dynasty. In the town square, they sat on a pedestal where a statue of Hafez al-Assad, Bashar’s father, who ruled for 29 years until his death in 2000 once stood, jubilantly waved the flag of a free Syria.

The message of the day was unity, one Syria, without sectarian division. But after half a century of tyrannical rule by a regime that stoked sectarian hatred and warned that Alawites would be wiped out if they lost power, it’s an adjustment, to say the least.

On Saturday, three HTS fighters were killed and 14 wounded outside the city in a shootout with the criminal group. HTS, which is trying to remain calm, maintains that there was no sectarian element to the attack.

On the way to Noor’s apartment, the HTS motorcade races through the streets, with passers-by cheering them on and waving peace signs.

The new Syrian flag, with a green instead of a red stripe and three red stars instead of two green ones, is a common sight on shop shutters and hanging from balconies. But in Alawite areas, people mostly watch the convoy move in silence. There were fewer new flags.

Azzam al-Ali, 28, an HTS security officer from Deir al-Sur in eastern Syria, sits in the front seat. After so much repression, he says, it will take time for people to trust the government again.

“Most of the repressed who come with complaints belong to two sects, Sunnis and Alawites. We do not discriminate. But the extreme poverty left behind by this regime was the cause of this enormous chaos,” he tells me, when the movement’s participants are in a column.

And he notes that the Alawites, some of whom were among the poorest in Syria, have also suffered under the Assad regime.

We arrive at Noor’s apartment, and half a dozen armed men from the VTS are rushing up the stairs.

The woman behind the door refuses to open it, but after some negotiation the door is opened and she and her family are told to leave. Noor goes to collect clothes and books for her daughter who is preparing for her exams. Weapons and ammunition belonging to the rebels are confiscated.

“When I went to HTS today, I was horrified,” Noor says. “Their appearance was so scary and intimidating. However, to be honest, they were very good.’

But she will not return to the apartment. One nightmare has ended in Syria, and another has begun for the Alawites, she says.

Clutching her belongings, Noor says she no longer feels safe in her home.

“It is impossible for me to live here again. I have hope, but not in the near future. Now I don’t dare.”