Syria INSIDE: Beyond the narrative - What really happened when the Arab Spring reached Syria?

Syria INSIDE: Beyond the Narrative

Thabo Motsieloa meets Treka Z, a Syrian comedian and activist. Not an analyst. Not an expert. Just an ordinairy Syrian who was there from the beginning of the war.

His story begins in a world that no longer exists. In Damascus, before 2011, the future felt bright. Treka Z was a young Syrian student in a secular, thriving society, one that was considered the safest country in the entire Middle East.

He saw a world that was about to be erased. But it is not just the war that concerns him. It is the narrative that was built on its ruins. And the truth that was buried.

A World Unraveling

For a young man whose biggest concerns were where to go on a Friday night, politics was for other people. Treka was 18, living in Damascus, and the world felt full of possibility. He was not thinking about governments or ideologies.

Then, in 2011, everything started crumbling down.

He is careful to describe what he actually saw. There were people with legitimate grievances, a frustration with decades of one-family rule, real criticisms of corruption and the Baath Party. He could hear those arguments and understand them.

But alongside that, there was something else.

Extremist groups with a Wahhabi ideology who did not want to change Syria for the better. They wanted to take it backwards.

In the areas they began to control, the transformation was immediate and brutal. Women who were not wearing hijab were attacked in the street. Men caught drinking alcohol had their hands cut off. Shops were forced to close during prayer time. For a young man raised in a secular society where a mosque, a church, and a bar could all stand on the same street, it was unimaginable.

This was not the revolution Syrians had asked for. And it was being imposed on them from the outside.

A War Fought with Lies

It is not just bombs that destroy a country. It is the lies that justify them.

On the front lines, a strange pattern emerged. In areas retaken from extremist groups, Syrian soldiers found American-made weapons. The official narrative from the West, that they were fighting terror, did not match the reality on the ground.

For Treka, the conclusion was inescapable.

The same powers that claimed to be saving Syria were pouring fuel on its fire.

When that failed, another war began. A slower, quieter, and perhaps more brutal one.

A Slower Kind of Death

Economic sanctions.

To the world, it sounds like a peaceful alternative to war. A diplomatic tool. For the people living under them, it is something else entirely.

“Economic sanctions are worse than bombs,” Treka says. “With a bomb, you die in an instant. With sanctions, they’re killing you slowly, day after day.”

He describes working three jobs and still not having enough to survive. A country being suffocated. A population pushed to the breaking point. He's right: According to Unicef around 90 percent of Syrians live below the poverty line. Most struggle to cover daily expenses or put enough food on the table. Households have exhausted their savings and assets. Jobs are scarce, prices for essentials have shot up, and basic goods remain in short supply.

It is a war fought not on the battlefield, but in the banks, in the ports, and in the empty cupboards of ordinary families.

The Truth Is Not an Insult

From the rubble of Damascus, Treka watched the world. He began speaking up. He saw the refugee crisis in Europe, and he speaks with a clarity that is often missing from the debate, the clarity of someone who has earned the right to be honest.

He saw his own people fleeing a war, but he also saw others who were not Syrian claiming to be, exploiting a system meant for the desperate. And for those who were granted refuge, he believes in responsibility.

To be granted asylum is a gift, not a right without obligation. He argues that to fail to integrate, to learn the language, to contribute, or worse, to commit crimes, is a betrayal of the country that welcomed you. For Treka, the consequence is simple: you should be sent back.

“There’s nothing racist about it,” he insists. It is not an attack on migrants; it is an argument for accountability. A belief that actions should have consequences, and that to say so is not an insult, but a basic requirement for a functioning society.

A Life Rebuilt

The questions Treka brings up is bigger than Syria. Bigger than geopolitics. Bigger than any single narrative.

It is about what happens to a person who survives it all.

After a decade of war, Treka escaped. Across the border to Lebanon, and from there, onwards. He lives in Lagos, Nigeria now. A comedian. An activist. A survivor.

He has rebuilt a life from the ashes of the one that was stolen from him. He is not bitter. But he is not quiet.

Syria is still burning.

Treka Z is still watching.

And he is not done talking.

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