Inside '431': Hidden prisons of Syrian regime

DAMASCUS

A picture shows writing on a prison cell door in the capital Damascus on Dec. 13, 2024.

As the twilight of Bashar al-Assad's fallout reveals the full extent of the Baath rule's operations, new details are emerging about the extensive network of secret prisons. Among them is one known only by its code: 431.

Hidden beneath the bustling activity of Mazzeh military airport, the prison housed detainees in harsh conditions. Prisoners were assigned code numbers instead of names.

One of the individuals who spent time at the facility was Muhammet, who was held for seven months under the code "614." Returning to the site after his release, he recounted the harrowing details to give a firsthand account of his experience.

In single cells meant for one, as many as four people were crammed together. Larger cells, with space for 20, often housed 60 prisoners. Blankets laid on cement floors were their only refuge. The facility under the command of Mahir Assad, brother of the outgoing president, was known for its strict control and harsh treatment of detainees.

"To die there was to find salvation," Muhammet recalled. "They gave us 1.5 kilograms of potatoes for 20 people to share. We were allowed to breathe fresh air for only ten minutes a week... They would take prisoners without reason and torture them."

The plight of female prisoners, Muhammet said, was even more horrific. "I cannot describe the things they did to women," he said.

When the regime fell and Damascus was taken by armed groups led by Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), the prisoners initially feared the worst.

"When the cell doors opened, we thought they would execute us,” Muhammet recounted. “But then we heard a voice: ‘Assad escaped. You are free.’ It was unbelievable. We hugged one another and wept.”

The curfew imposed under Assad’s rule — keeping citizens indoors from 4:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m. — was lifted. Streets once haunted by the fear of arrest were alive with celebration.

By night, jubilant Syrians formed convoys of vehicles, honking horns and waving flags in victory parades. By day, volunteers took to the streets, sweeping away the debris of war. The revival began with small acts of reclaiming the city — cleaning squares, reopening restaurants and cafes and restoring workplaces to life.

For Muhammet and others, the scars remain. Yet amidst the ruins, hope flickers. "Cruelty is over," Muhammet declared. "Freedom is here."