“I am a witness to a massacre against humanity.”

This is the testimony of Bara’a, a survivor of an unspeakable massacre. She lost her husband, brother-in-law, and father-in-law in a brutal attack. Her words deserve to be heard. This is her story;

I am Bara’a, the wife of Bashr Abdul Latif Ali, and I am a witness to a massacre against humanity.

Yesterday, around 7 PM, a group of armed men knocked on the door of my father-in-law’s house.
They were part of the forces that entered Jableh to “cleanse” it from what they called the remnants of the regime.
My father-in-law opened the door and welcomed them, saying, “We are with you, and we want stability to return to Jableh.”

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They asked:
“What’s your name?”
“Abdul Latif Ali. This is my son Bashr, and this is Majd.”
“What do you do for work?”
“I’m a retired civilian employee. Bashr is a doctor, and Majd is a civilian employee.”
“Are you from Jableh?”
“Yes.”
“So, you’re Sunni?”
“No, we’re Alawite.”

One of the gunmen came up to me and said, “Give me your phone and your gold,” and he told my mother-in-law the same thing. We gave them our phones and told them we didn’t have any gold.

My daughter was in my arms, crying. One of the gunmen looked at her and said, “Don’t cry, uncle.” Then, they told my father-in-law and the men, “Come outside,” and told us women to stay inside.

My daughter clung to her father, crying, “Baba, don’t go.” The same gunman who spoke to her earlier reassured her, “Don’t cry, uncle. Your father will stay inside.” Then, they took Majd and my father-in-law outside, while Bashar went to the sink to wash his face.

The bastard who stole our phones came back in and asked, “Where’s the guy who was just here?” Then, he ordered, “Come out.”

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They took him outside and shot him in the chest, right at the doorstep.

I ran out and saw Majd had also been killed, his body lying at the outer gate.

I held Bashar’s hand as he groaned in pain. “Don’t close your eyes, my love,” | begged him. “I’m going to find a car to take you to the hospital. Just keep your eyes open.”

Then, the bastard who shot him came back and screamed at me, “Shut up and go inside before I make you next.”

He stormed into the house again. My daughter clung to me, pulling my hand and pleading,

“Mama, let’s go. I don’t want you to die like Baba.”

I picked her up and ran inside, then escaped through the back door to my home on the second floor. From there, I climbed to the rooftop, afraid he would come after me.

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Then, I heard his voice in the street, yelling at my mother-in-law, who had collapsed, wailing and screaming. He told her to shut up. She shouted back, “I won’t shut up, shoot me!” She wandered up and down the pavement, calling out, “They killed my sons! Majd! Bashr! Answer me!”

She didn’t even know they had also killed my father-in-law-until she tripped over his body on the sidewalk. He had been shot in the head.

They killed all three of them.

I hid in the kitchen storage room with my daughter all night, terrified they would come back. They kept returning to loot the homes of the people they had murdered.

My mother-in-law stayed in the street for three hours, crying and begging the neighbors to help bring the bodies inside, but no one dared open their windows.

Finally, our neighbor Ammar, after making sure the killers had left, came down and helped her drag the bodies inside.

My love, Bashr. Majd. My father-in-law, Abdul Latif. They became corpses.
Three innocent souls who never harmed anyone.
The whole world knows who killed them.
My heart is broken, but I won’t let your story die with you.
I will tell the world about you-how you lived and how you were murdered.