“My son is not a terrorist!” Om Eyhab screamed, as the crowded court held its breath and listened. “I am Om Eyhab Al-Mhamid,” she added. “You killed him in Ramadan, on August 15, 2012, because he was handing out bread. And the Syrian media said that the terrorist Eyhab Awwad Al-Mhamid had been neutralized. I will sue you, the Syrian Radio, the pilot who bombed our house, the officer who gave the order, and Bashar al-Assad!”
Om Eyhab hurled her words at the lone prisoner in the dock, dressed in a striped uniform. As she finished, the voices of more than ten men rose into the air: “Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!” mixed with camera shutters and women’s ululations.
These men and women are family members of victims of the Assad regime, former detainees, neighbors, and relatives of children who were arrested and tortured at the beginning of the Syrian revolution in 2011. And on April 27, 2026, they had gathered at the old, dilapidated Damascus courthouse, known to Syrians as the “Palace of Justice”. Security forces in black uniforms and plastic shields had taken their positions outside the four-story building, located near the Citadel of Damascus and the historic Souq al-Hamidiyya. Dozens of people were pressing at its entrance, their voices rising in anger, while security forces struggled to hold them back.
Inside, the building doesn’t look as glorious as one would expect from a palace. Rooms are gray and dusty, with peeling paint and remnants of unfinished construction scattered throughout, a stark contrast to its imposing facade. On the third floor, one room stands apart. It has been freshly painted and decorated in shades of green, white, and gold.
The courtroom was packed beyond capacity. Every seat was taken; even the aisles were filled with victims’ families, journalists, and live broadcast crews, leaving no space to move. To the right stood a large metal dock, surrounded by security. Inside sat a defendant in his sixties, his posture calm, his expression stoic. He didn’t react to the insults, accusations, shouts, or tears directed at him. He appeared detached as if removed from the room entirely. Only when the guard called for order did he rise, briefly, in respect for the court as the judge entered.
He is Major General Atef Najib, a cousin of former dictator Bashar al-Assad and the former head of the Political Security Branch in Daraa, a southern city in Syria, near the border with Jordan, considered as the birthplace of the 2011 revolution.
The absents
Judge Fakhir al-Din al-Arian opened the session: “Today marks the beginning of the first transitional justice trial in Syria, of a defendant present in the dock, as well as others who remain fugitives from justice.” He read out the names of the other defendants, all absent: Bashar Hafez al-Assad; his brother Major General Maher Hafez al-Assad, former Commander of the Fourth Division; Lieutenant General Fahd Jassim al-Freij, former Minister of Defense; Brigadier General Mohammed Ayman Ayoush; Brigadier General Louai Ali al-Ali, former head of the Military Security Branch in Daraa; Brigadier General Qusay Ibrahim Mahyoub, of the former Air Force Intelligence; Major General Wafiq Saleh Nasser, former head of the Military Security Branch in Daraa; and Brigadier General Talal Fares al-Asimi.
After the judge announced each name, the court clerk would repeat it, and the people in the courtroom would mutter curses under their breath. Then the judge read the names of the plaintiffs. Most of them were from Daraa Governorate, specifically Daraa al-Balad, where people suffered under the oppression of the former regime’s security forces, particularly the Political Intelligence Branch led by Atef Najib. They had filed a lawsuit against the defendants, holding them responsible for their suffering, the loss of family members, and their displacement. Among them was Om Eyhab, choking back angry sobs after recalling the killing of her son. “My eldest son left first; they killed him during Ramadan while he was distributing bread. Then my daughter left, a rocket hit her house, and she left behind her two children. Our home was destroyed, we were displaced, and we have nothing left,” she recalled. “My son was not a terrorist, and I will hold accountable everyone who called him that.”
Tragic stories poured out from every corner of the hall. The plaintiffs also spoke to the media about stories of displacement, arbitrary detention, the torture of children, and the violation of freedoms and sanctities.
The judge explained that these plaintiffs were the only ones the court had been able to locate, and that any party with a stake in the case has the right to appear in future hearings. Then he called the absent defendants to the stand one last time, and seemed to state that, in the event that they failed to appear after having been duly notified, the Transitional Justice Commission shall issue decisions on their cases and oversee their enforcement in accordance with Syrian law.
The brief hearing was adjourned until May 10. Shouts of “Allahu Akbar” rang out in the courtroom.
An initial appearance before a new court
After the celebratory shouts and songs of victory filled the courtroom, the security escorted the defendant, who had been assisted by a lawyer, out of the courthouse. He was completely compliant and silent, as if in a state of submission that seemed closer to bewilderment. Then confusion and uncertainty began to spread among the crowd: What happens next?
“People are confused because they expected a verdict today, but the legal process is still long before any ruling is reached,” explained attorney Anas Skaf, a former detainee and a criminal lawyer with 27 years of experience. He said this hearing was primarily about establishing which defendants are present or absent, how they are represented, how notifications are served, as well as identifying the plaintiffs and their legal representation – in short, procedural formalities in preparation for the next stage, known as the preliminary phase. That is when the court would begin hearing witnesses and the parties, and questioning the defendants.
Meanwhile, Damascus Public Prosecutor Husam Khattab stated that the charges against Atef Najib include murder and ordering the shooting of protesters — charges that could carry the death penalty under Syrian law. He stressed that the trial is currently proceeding in accordance with existing laws, with the possibility of incorporating it into a transitional justice law that is still to be approved.
This trial takes place before a newly established chamber, the Fourth Criminal Court, in Syria’s capital city. According to one lawyer, “its staff and judges were not previously present in Damascus”. Legal staff at the Palace of Justice even said they were unfamiliar with the presiding judge’s name.
From Intelligence chief to defendant, from death row to the bench
Atef Najib’s calm demeanor in the courtroom, his deference and measured movements gave the impression of a polite, subdued man. Yet he once headed key intelligence branches of the defunct regime targeting political opponents. He is accused of overseeing the disappearance, detention, and repression of hundreds, if not thousands, of human rights and political activists during the Assad era. He has also been on U.S. and European sanctions lists since late 2011. Najib reportedly ordered the first shots fired at protesters in Daraa, a moment now seen as the opening spark of the uprising that ultimately challenged the regime he served. The torture of children who were then arrested led to the death of Hamza al-Khatib, 13, in May 2011, that became a symbol of the oppression and a turning point in the Syrian uprising.
Najib was arrested in January 2025 in Lattaquié, on the Mediterranean coast of Syria. His high-profile past and his arrest made Najib to be widely known in Syria – in sharp contrast with Judge Fakhr al-Din al-Arian.
The judge presiding over Najib’s trial is a former dissident who was sentenced to death by the Assad regime. On March 13, 2013, he appeared in a recorded video announcing his defection from the institutions of the Assad government, where he had served as an advisor at the Civil Court of Appeals in Idlib. In response, the regime issued in-absentia rulings against him, including a death sentence, the confiscation of his property, and the auctioning of parts of it. Following the fall of the regime in December 2024, the charges against defected judges were dropped, and Al-Arian worked within the Ministry of Justice of the Syrian Interim Government before he was appointed president of the Fourth Criminal Court in Damascus last January.
In a Facebook post ahead of the trial, the judge addressed the Syrian public about what he described as “a new phase of justice”.
Gallows in front of the courthouse
After the hearing ended, the crowd poured out of the courthouse as one, sweeping through the streets and pushing past journalists. The brief session appeared to do little to ease years of accumulated anger, loss, and grief. Outside the building, the crowd gradually gathered into a single mass, forming a demonstration in front of the courthouse. Demonstrators carried banners calling for the execution of Najib and demanding no leniency for him or other figures from the former regime.
A group of young men arrived carrying wooden poles and a rope and began constructing makeshift gallows, presented as a symbol of the punishment they believe former regime figures should face. “We will accept nothing less than execution. We will not forgive, we will not pardon,” said one young man from Daraa province, as another held a sign reading, “If you don’t execute him, make him wish for execution.”
Another protester carried a sign stating, “Respecting human rights when holding these inhuman monsters accountable is an insult to those rights.” He added: “We are not incapable of taking justice into our own hands, but we trust the state to secure our rights. However, we will not accept anything less than the execution of figures like Atef Najib.”
These reactions seemed to reflect the depth of emotion surrounding the case and the broader tensions around accountability and transitional justice in Syria. While the process still appears long and uncertain, this moment underscored how fragile and charged the early stages of transitional justice remain.
