In Syria, I find hope in the lives we save and the children pulled from the rubble

• Ismail Abdullah, 37, is one of the founders of the White Helmets, a Syrian-led humanitarian group of over 3,000 men and women working to save lives and support communities in areas affected by the war in Syria.

• In November 2024, Bashar al-Assad's regime fell after five decades of oppressive al-Assad family rule, and following 14 years of civil war. On 8 January, the transitional phase of the country was described by the UN special envoy as one of “great opportunities and real dangers.”

I was born 37 years ago in Aleppo, Syria — a city of stunning history, known for its ancient neighbourhoods, bustling markets, and the towering citadel.

Aleppo was my home, a place of immense beauty and hardship.

Before Aleppo turned into a haunting symbol of Syria's unending conflict, it thrived as a hub of vibrant commerce and craftsmanship - where Muslims, Jews, and Christians lived side by side, sharing the bustle of the Middle East's grand bazaars and courtyards.

I grew up in a family of 10 children — four sisters and five brothers. My father, a construction worker, worked tirelessly to provide for us, while my mother, a housewife raised us and life was a daily struggle.

Even in the best times, we endured 12-hour power cuts, limited access to clean water, and barely enough resources to survive. Childhood for Syrians like me wasn’t about thriving but about surviving.

I graduated from Aleppo University in 2011 with a degree in English, full of dreams for a stable job and a better life. However, 2011 was also the year that everything changed.

Syrians, inspired by the Arab Spring, took to the streets, demanding freedom and dignity from Bashar al-Assad’s oppressive regime. The response was swift and brutal. Peaceful demonstrations were met with arrests, bombings, and massacres.

One of the first airstrikes I experienced targeted the public market where I lived. The chaos, the screaming, and the sight of children and civilians suffering shattered me.

With no experience or training, I helped transport the injured to hospitals, pulling people from the rubble with my bare hands. That day marked the beginning of my journey as a first responder.

In 2013, we formally established the Syria Civil Defence, now known as the White Helmets. At first, we had no official name or structure—just a group of ordinary people responding to extraordinary needs.

Over time, we became the White Helmets, a volunteer group dedicated to saving lives in war-torn Syria. Today, our team consists of over 3,000 volunteers, including both men and women, operating in areas across the country.

The fall of Aleppo in 2016 was one of the most devastating moments in Syria’s history. Civilians, desperate to escape, fled along the only available road, which led to northwest Syria in the Idlib area, where I was also displaced along with countless others.

Assad’s forces launched relentless airstrikes on the fleeing families, dropping more than 50 bombs in a single day. I vividly remember rescuing a pregnant woman from the wreckage. Her body was charred, but she clung desperately to her unborn child. That moment haunts me still.

More than 500 civilians lost their lives that day.

The White Helmets were there, responding to the devastation, pulling survivors from the rubble, and giving aid to those who had lost everything. Since our inception, we have saved more than 128,000 lives and lost 308 of our own members, many killed in "double-tap" strikes targeting rescue operations.

The Ongoing Struggle

Syria’s crisis continues to this day. More than 48,000 people have been displaced since late 2024, with widespread damage to schools, hospitals, and displacement camps. Millions live in makeshift camps, roads are blocked, and basic services are nonexistent.

The White Helmets remain at the forefront, clearing roads, assisting in mass graves, and providing hope to those clinging to survival.

My own family has been deeply affected. Two of my brothers live in Turkey, another in Germany, while three of my sisters remain in eastern Syria. My father passed away in 2023, never seeing the regime’s fall.

Our work as White Helmets is both physically and emotionally gruelling. Resources are scarce, and the risks are immense. We often face airstrikes during rescue missions, and the emotional toll of choosing who to save is indescribable. Yet, we persevere because we believe in Syria’s future.

Justice and accountability are on the horizon. Rebuilding Syria will take time, but it is possible. Aleppo and other cities devastated by war can rise again.

This is my story and the story of the White Helmets—a story of loss, resilience, and determination to save lives and rebuild a better future for Syria.

Personally, this work has changed me profoundly. It’s taken everything — my family, my safety, even parts of myself I’ll never get back. But it has also given me a purpose. Amid the horror, I find hope in the lives we’ve saved, the children pulled from the rubble, the communities that still hold on to each other.

I want the world to understand: we are not heroes. We are Syrians. Ordinary people facing extraordinary violence and choosing to fight it with compassion. If you can understand that, you can begin to understand Syria.

Aleppo may never look the way it did when I was a boy but I believe in its spirit, I believe in Syria and that is why I keep going. For every child, for every mother clutching her child, for every family separated and yearning for justice. This is not just my story. It’s the story of a nation refusing to die.

After more than five decades of violence and repression—including over a decade that stands as the bloodiest in the country’s history—the Syrian people have managed to bring an end to dictatorship and oppression.

• As told to Rabina Khan