In Syria, Being Wanted Went From Something to Fear to a Badge of Honor

When Kazem Togan returned to Syria for the first time in 12 years, he approached the passport control agent with an unusual request: to check whether he “had a name” — meaning whether he was among the millions of citizens listed as wanted under the ousted Assad regime.

The agent, smiling, delivered the answer: “You’re wanted by branch 235 — the intelligence branch.”

For Togan, a journalist who had worked for opposition Syrian media during the previous government’s rule, the revelation was almost exhilarating.

“Nowadays, every Syrian asks the same question: ‘Was I wanted?’” he said. “For those who were detained or marked as wanted by the Assad regime, there’s a certain pride in it.”

For over 50 years, Bashar al-Assad and his father ruled Syria through fear. Being listed as wanted by any of the regime’s numerous intelligence, military, or security agencies meant one could be stopped at an airport, border crossing, or police station and risk vanishing into Syria’s brutal prison system.

This designation—“having a name”—became a well-known and feared concept in Syria.

Now, those who once lived in fear of being on these lists are openly inquiring about their past status, sharing their stories in conversations and on social media. To have been considered a threat by a government that tortured and killed millions to maintain its grip on power has become a badge of honor—proof of defiance against oppression.

Many recall a famous quote from the 10th-century Arab poet Al-Mutanabbi: “If the flawed find fault with me, it is proof of my perfection.”

The reasons for being listed varied widely. While anti-government activists and armed rebels were obvious targets, even trivial actions—such as making a political joke, carrying foreign currency, or spending too much time abroad—could land someone on the wanted lists.

Men were disproportionately affected, particularly those who evaded military service or took up arms against the regime. However, women and even children were also named.

For those captured, the consequences were severe. Syria’s notorious prison system was infamous for torture and executions, with many detainees never emerging alive. The fear of arrest forced millions into exile or hiding, while others adopted pseudonyms to protect themselves and their families.

Togan, now 36, documented his interaction with the passport control agent upon returning from Saudi Arabia, where he had been living. He later posted the footage on social media. His file contained no details about why he was wanted.

“Imagine if I had returned before this criminal regime fell,” he remarked.

Following Assad’s ousting in December, the rebel forces that took power inherited the old regime’s vast bureaucratic apparatus, including databases filled with intelligence files on millions of Syrians. These records may one day serve as evidence for justice and accountability.

In a recent television interview, Khaled al-Abdullah, an official from the new government’s Interior Ministry, revealed that over eight million Syrians had been wanted by the old regime.

“We have granted amnesty for many, particularly those wanted for reserve military duty or conscription,” he said. “That’s a significant portion—we’ve set those cases aside.”

However, he clarified that civil court rulings and criminal charges from the previous regime would not be automatically dismissed.

Tamer Turkmane, 35, recently returned to Syria after years in Turkey. When he crossed the border, officials did not check his past status. But as he was leaving for Lebanon, a passport officer asked him, “What did you do to have multiple regime branches after you?”

Turkmane simply laughed.

He had long known he was wanted—his relatives in Homs had been harassed by security officials attempting to pressure him into surrendering or ceasing his documentation of the regime’s human rights abuses. However, he had never known precisely which branches had been after him.

During the early days of the Syrian uprising, Turkmane had founded the Syrian Revolution Archive, a database compiling videos, photos, and records of the civil war. His activism made him a target for multiple security agencies.

“I felt proud,” he admitted.

He even asked the officer to take a photo of the screen displaying his file so he could post it on Instagram. The comments flooded in—mostly congratulations.

At the immigration office in Aleppo, crowds of men and women pushed forward, trying to enter through a single open door to renew passports, replace lost IDs, or check their previous security status.

Upstairs, Ahmad Raheem, an employee in the archives department, spent his days running background checks on those applying for new documents.

A man who had been abroad for 12 years handed over his ID. On Raheem’s screen, it showed he had once been wanted for evading military duty—a charge that, just two months earlier, could have landed him in prison or on the front lines of war.

“That’s it, sir. You’re clear,” Raheem told him, omitting the former charge as he returned the ID.

Afterward, Raheem explained his discretion. “I don’t volunteer that information unless people ask. There’s no need to make them worry that the new government is pursuing old regime cases.”

Fuad Sayed Issa, founder of the Syrian charity Violet Organization, had a similar experience at Damascus airport in February as he prepared to return to Turkey, where he had spent the civil war.

As the passport control agent scanned his passport, Issa, now 29, asked, “Am I wanted?”

“Yes,” the agent replied. “You’re wanted by several security branches.”

He was listed under the criminal security branch, immigration control, and for military service evasion.

“For us, it’s almost amusing,” Issa said.

During the war, he had been part of an early warning network in rebel-held areas, alerting civilians to incoming airstrikes by Syrian and Russian warplanes.

“The Assad regime treated us like terrorists,” he said.