After the parliament speech, unrest continued to spread across Syria, with protests erupting in the cities of Damascus, Homs, Aleppo, Douma, and Latakia. For a time, it seemed as if the tide was turning in favor of the opposition, as people throughout Syria turned against the government. Emboldened, the protesters vowed they would keep marching until their demands were met. Then, to their surprise, on April 21, just two months after the graffiti incident, President Assad announced on state TV that he would abolish the emergency law that had been in place since 1963.
For the opposition movement, this concession was too little and too late. The abolition of the law was no longer enough; people now had their sights set on regime change. But they soon realized that President Assad was working on a transformation of his own—to fortify his power by replacing the old system he’d inherited from his father with a new one under the pretense of fighting terrorism. Assad changed the laws so that anyone whose actions could be seen as damaging to the status of the nation or insulting to the ruling party or its leaders, or anyone who participated in demonstrations or bore arms, could now be charged with aiding and abetting “terrorists.”
In response to these announcements, the protests swelled. The following day, in what became known as the Great Friday, demonstrations took place simultaneously in over twenty cities and towns across the country. Once again, security forces used tear gas and live ammunition to subdue protesters.
On the streets of Daraa, the standoffs between protesters and government soldiers were becoming increasingly violent, but this didn’t deter Doaa, who went out anyway. One evening, just as a protest that Doaa, Nawara, Ayat, and Saja had taken part in was winding down, security forces suddenly appeared and advanced on the crowd with their guns raised. Everyone knew what would happen next—tear gas and beatings, possibly even death. People panicked and began screaming and running in different directions. Doaa lost track of her sisters in the mêlée. But as people scattered in all directions, Doaa could hear someone yelling after her—one of the organizers.
“Hide the loudspeaker and the tabla [drum],” he shouted, shoving them in her direction. “If they catch us with them, they’ll arrest us!” Anyone caught with protest paraphernalia would be associated with the demonstration and could therefore be classified either as aiding terrorists or terrorists themselves.
Without hesitation, Doaa grabbed the drum and loudspeaker and shoved them under her abaya. These days, Shokri demanded that if the girls insisted on going out in the streets, they had to wear an abaya, a long black garment that covered them from head to foot. Women wearing them attracted less attention and it also allowed them to blend in with other women in the street, offering a layer of protection to Doaa and her sisters. At first, Doaa resisted—she hated the hot, shapeless garment that hid her identity. However, on that night she was grateful for the cover. Cloaking the drum and loudspeaker under the abaya could allow her to get them to a safe location. Her home was just two streets away, so she turned and ran in its direction.
After she’d taken only a few steps, two cars screeched to a stop in front of her. One was filled with protesters, the other with security forces pursuing them. As the policemen jumped out of the car to arrest the protesters, Doaa realized that she was in trouble. If they caught her with the tabla and the loudspeaker, she’d be arrested as well or maybe worse. Struggling to keep panic at bay, she frantically looked around her and spotted an abandoned, partly constructed building just behind her and ran for it. The security forces, intent on capturing the protesters, didn’t notice her. So with heart pounding, Doaa ran to an empty room on the second floor and hid behind a pillar. There she waited silently, trying to catch her breath. But a few moments later, the building was crawling with police looking for demonstrators. Doaa held her breath, afraid to move. Her mouth was dry, her chest was tight, and her arms shook as her grip on the loudspeaker and the tabla weakened. If they fell to the ground, she would surely be caught. Doaa began to pray under her breath for strength.
After agonizing minutes, she heard the sounds of the police making their way out of the building, back out to what was left of the demonstration. Breathing a sigh of relief, she set the drum and the loudspeaker down to give her aching arms a rest. From inside the building she watched as the police searched nearby shops and restaurants for people to arrest. Finally, when she couldn’t see any more officers outside, Doaa picked up the drum and the loudspeaker and sprinted out onto the street to make her way home. The moment her feet hit the pavement, she realized she’d made a mistake. One of the security men had not left the area and was standing just outside the building, only a hundred meters from where she had been hiding. He immediately spotted her dashing from the building.
“Get her!” he shouted, pointing at Doaa. “She’s one of the protesters!”