Thread by @sakirkhader

Mazen’s body has been found—brutally murdered by the Syrian regime. Assad bears the primary guilt, but the Dutch government is jointly responsible for his death. Mazen lived nearby; I saw him just a short while before he disappeared. I’ll share more details below later.

Mazen once lived in a small town nestled between Haarlem and Leiden. When he arrived in the Netherlands a decade ago, the scars of torture were etched vividly across his body, like an unrelenting shadow of his past..

I’ll never forget the chain marks circling his wrists—ghostly reminders of his time in Sednaya, the notorious Syrian prison where hope went to die..

He had been freed only recently, and his journey to Europe was fueled by a fierce determination to confront injustice. Mazen was on fire with a mission to hold the regime accountable..

Yet, every time he spoke, he was forced to relive the horrors. I can still picture the emptiness in his eyes—eyes that seemed to look past this world entirely..

Mazen had endured torture so cruel, so unimaginable, that his retellings carried an almost otherworldly weight. When he spoke, it was as if he stared into the face of death itself, pleading with the angel of mortality for just a little more time..

Time to tell his story. Time to warn the world. Time to fight for justice before surrendering to the afterlife..

His broken soul clung to this purpose like a lifeline. Sharing his ordeal and battling for accountability became his anchor, his way of surviving, processing, and hoping..

Eventually, Mazen was granted asylum in the Netherlands. But here, his extraordinary struggle became just another file in the towering stacks of a faceless bureaucratic system, one of tens of thousands..

I spent countless hours with Mazen, attempting to grasp what torture truly means, to understand how someone survives such unrelenting pain, and how he remained standing, still so driven by a burning desire for justice..

I was young at the time, and curious about the aftermath of his imprisonment—how, in the wake of such brutality, he found a way to keep going. Mazen was always remarkably hospitable..

Often, he would prepare a Syrian breakfast, serve tea, and we would sit together at the kitchen table, the warmth of the meal almost a ritualistic moment of calm. The television was always on, a steady stream of news from Syria filling the room..

He remained in constant contact with people still in Syria, and with others who, like him, had been forced to flee their homes. He was a kind man, a man whose soul had been shattered into a thousand pieces by pain, yet somehow, he still managed to smile..

His life, in many ways, was defined by the revolution, by the unwavering hope that Assad would one day be brought to justice. “That dog must fall,” he would say, his voice a mix of fury and resolve..

Mazen was a familiar presence at countless protests, his fervor palpable. He was relentless and resolute, driven by a cause that transcended the prison walls. His fight, he knew, extended far beyond those confines..

He began traveling abroad—France, the United States, the United Kingdom. Everywhere he went, he told his story. At major conferences, he was heard, he was respected. Mazen became one of the most important witnesses against Assad’s regime..

He was among the first to speak openly about the slaughterhouse—Hospital 601 in Damascus—where corpses piled up in the bathrooms, where he had to urinate over the bodies..

It was there that he was raped and tortured for days on end, where death seemed the only escape, and where the guards reveled in their sadistic pleasure. Mazen survived by sheer miracle and was eventually freed. But his journey was far from over..

Now in Europe, he traveled tirelessly to raise awareness and bear witness. His voice was heard across borders, yet in the Netherlands, it fell on deaf ears. As he fought for justice beyond the country’s borders, he was met with grave injustice within them..

In the Netherlands, Mazen’s case followed the pattern of many asylum seekers. First, you are placed in a refugee center, then you are given housing and a basic salary, for which, as a sign of appreciation, you are expected to give something in return..

Mazen had been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder and was under the care of a trauma specialist. But the more often he went, the worse it seemed to get..

Meanwhile, the bombardments in Syria intensified. Aleppo fell, countless cities were reduced to rubble, there were chemical attacks—and the international community remained deafeningly silent..

As the violence escalated, so did the pressure from various authorities in the Netherlands. Mazen was told he had to give something in return for everything he had been given..

Every time Mazen traveled abroad to testify against Assad and share his story of injustice, Dutch authorities increased the pressure on him. If he could travel, which they considered more like vacations, then he should be able to work..

They wanted him to perform manual labor, something like street sweeping. But Mazen had become paranoid. The trauma of his past had instilled a constant fear in him. He didn’t want to be seen in public spaces, where he felt vulnerable..

Despite being in the Netherlands, he never felt safe. After all, he was living in a country that refused to listen to him. One of the most important war witnesses, yet treated more like a burden than someone in need of protection..

Meanwhile, things were deteriorating for Mazen. It became increasingly difficult for him to function in a society where he wasn’t heard or respected, and where his pain was downplayed. To the government, he was just one of many Syrians seeking asylum. Nothing more..

The authorities ramped up the pressure to such an extent that Mazen was driven to despair. His benefits were suddenly cut. As a result, he could no longer pay his rent and became entangled—both financially and mentally—in the ruthless grip of Western bureaucracy..

Mazen began to lose himself. He no longer knew how to navigate everything. I went to visit him one last time, but by then, Mazen was no longer Mazen. He had hardened. He no longer felt the need to fight and had thrown in the towel..

Mazen had given up hope. For him, the battle was over, and the war would soon come to an end. He spoke of returning to Damascus, of a peace deal between the revolutionaries and Assad’s regime..

It was a moment I didn’t yet understand—the realization that he saw returning to Damascus as his only option. Going back to the slaughterhouse, it seemed, was a way out of the suffocating grip of the Dutch systems..

I was still too young to understand many things, too blind to see, but the Dutch system led Mazen to his death. He complained constantly about the authorities that kept increasing the pressure on him, making his life unbearable..

He could no longer fight against the injustice he had once sought to confront, because he was now being deeply wronged by a country that presented itself as just..

Mazen was evicted from his house because he could no longer pay the rent. He couldn’t pay it because the social services had stopped his benefits. His benefits were cut because Mazen didn’t conform to the bureaucratic system..

His trips abroad, his testimonies against Assad, went against the rules—he left without permission, and his failure to meet the “requirements” was not taken kindly. Mazen was branded as a work shirker, someone who didn’t obey the law..

The authorities failed to recognize Mazen’s pain—or, more accurately, failed to place it within the context of his suffering. The unimaginable agony of a man who had risen from the dead to fight again, only to be condemned to a slow death in the West..

Mazen was evicted and ended up on the streets. His personal belongings were thrown out with the trash when he was removed from his home. This included his laptop, filled with evidence, and many items of deep emotional value..

Among them, the flag of the revolution—the one he had always proudly waved at the protests he participated in..

And after Mazen was evicted, everything moved swiftly. He would suddenly return to Damascus, believing that he would be forgiven. Not long after, the news came: Mazen was back in Damascus. But he never returned willingly. He was forced to..

His dire situation in the Netherlands pushed him over the edge. Mazen was beyond reason by that point, and his return to Damascus, hoping to be accepted there, underscored just how much he had suffered in the Netherlands. We failed to protect him..

We failed to give the man the recognition he deserved. We failed to help him in his fight for justice. We failed to embrace him when he was alone, when he was on the verge of losing hope. We failed to provide him with safety when he felt none..

We failed to support him when he could no longer stand on his own. Mazen, I’m sorry that I was blind and ignorant, that I didn’t understand everything. I’m sorry that I too failed you.