🔖 Crime Documentation Card
- Documentation Code: SY-2025-0019
- Date of Crime: 7-9/3/2025
- Location: Jableh – Al-Assaliyah (Latakia)
- Number of Documented Martyrs: 7 (at least)
A horrific crime took place during a bloody raid carried out by armed groups on Friday, March 7. Three members of the Hammoud family were killed, in addition to an entire family from Harf al-Masaitira — including the father, mother, and two sons, one of whom was an engineer and the other a school teacher. The female survivors of the massacre recount details of the looting, field executions, sectarian insults, and threats of rape.
The following is the story as told by one of the massacre’s survivors.
The following is the story as told by one of the massacre’s survivors.
Martyr Ahmad Habib Ali, his wife and children, and the brothers Mohammad, Firas, and Walid Hammoud.
The three pure martyr brothers
Martyr Mohammad Hammoud
Martyr Firas Hammoud
Martyr Walid Hammoud
The martyrdom of an entire family (from Harf al-Msaytira):
Martyr father Ahmad Habib Ali (75 years old)
Martyr mother Kokab Abdul Latif Ali (64 years old)
Martyr engineer Qusoura Ahmad Ali (35 years old)
Martyr teacher Jaafar Ahmad Ali (31 years old)
Al-Assaliya - Jableh
Martyr Mohammad Hammoud
Martyr Firas Hammoud
Martyr Walid Hammoud
The martyrdom of an entire family (from Harf al-Msaytira):
Martyr father Ahmad Habib Ali (75 years old)
Martyr mother Kokab Abdul Latif Ali (64 years old)
Martyr engineer Qusoura Ahmad Ali (35 years old)
Martyr teacher Jaafar Ahmad Ali (31 years old)
Al-Assaliya - Jableh
Below is the story as told by one of the massacre survivors
We were living peacefully, we had nothing to do with politics or war
On Thursday at 4:00 PM, gunfire started from all directions
We all came down from the second floor and hid on the first floor
We didn’t sleep all night, the shooting didn’t stop, and snipers spread across the neighbors’ rooftops
There was a family—a man, his wife, and their two sons—who came to hide with us because the road was cut off
On Friday at 9:30 AM, a very loud explosion was heard
There was a gas station next to our house that exploded
Five minutes later, 40 armed men came, surrounded the house, pushed in the door, and stormed inside
They told us: “Don’t be afraid, we won’t harm you, we’re just staying here until the convoy arrives”
They went upstairs, broke the doors—they were like locusts
They packed everything edible from the fridges into bags and stole all the money and gold
After finishing the looting, they came down and sat with us, holding the money shamelessly, and they took our phones
They kept communicating with the convoy and we heard them say: “We received orders—kill the young Alawites before the old, they’re all filthy”
And so, by 5:00 PM the convoy arrived, they started shouting “Allahu Akbar” and acted like they were leaving
Five minutes later, another group arrived, shouting at us, took the car keys and drove the cars away
We went upstairs but barely reached the house when we heard them coming back
They started shooting, shouting, and cursing like we were criminals
The young men went downstairs—they sprayed them with bullets
The family hiding with us was also shot
The mother of the young men started screaming, then they put a knife to her neck and slaughtered her
My sister-in-law, the children, and I were locked in a room
Every now and then they’d come, yell at us, and say: “We won’t leave a single Alawite on the coast. Go pick up your corpses. You will become slaves.”
We went downstairs and saw Firas, Mohammad, Walid, the man, his wife, and their two sons lying on the ground soaked in blood
We stayed in the house until the next morning
They kept coming, threatening us, and saying: “These are your corpses, you filthy Alawites, you deserve worse than this”
We were all women and small children
They pointed their weapons at our heads a thousand times, with threats and insults
They wrecked our home, shot up the walls—they left nothing untouched by their evil
And it wasn’t foreigners who did this to us—they were from Idlib and Hama
They killed all the young men of the house, orphaned our children, displaced us from our homes, and stole everything
How can I explain to my 3-and-a-half-year-old daughter that her father is gone and won’t be coming back, when she was so attached to him?
And I had just given birth to my second daughter 15 days earlier
Mohammad never got to enjoy his daughter
We will not forget
We will not forgive
And the fire in our hearts won’t cool until we see them held accountable before our eyes
We were living peacefully, we had nothing to do with politics or war
On Thursday at 4:00 PM, gunfire started from all directions
We all came down from the second floor and hid on the first floor
We didn’t sleep all night, the shooting didn’t stop, and snipers spread across the neighbors’ rooftops
There was a family—a man, his wife, and their two sons—who came to hide with us because the road was cut off
On Friday at 9:30 AM, a very loud explosion was heard
There was a gas station next to our house that exploded
Five minutes later, 40 armed men came, surrounded the house, pushed in the door, and stormed inside
They told us: “Don’t be afraid, we won’t harm you, we’re just staying here until the convoy arrives”
They went upstairs, broke the doors—they were like locusts
They packed everything edible from the fridges into bags and stole all the money and gold
After finishing the looting, they came down and sat with us, holding the money shamelessly, and they took our phones
They kept communicating with the convoy and we heard them say: “We received orders—kill the young Alawites before the old, they’re all filthy”
And so, by 5:00 PM the convoy arrived, they started shouting “Allahu Akbar” and acted like they were leaving
Five minutes later, another group arrived, shouting at us, took the car keys and drove the cars away
We went upstairs but barely reached the house when we heard them coming back
They started shooting, shouting, and cursing like we were criminals
The young men went downstairs—they sprayed them with bullets
The family hiding with us was also shot
The mother of the young men started screaming, then they put a knife to her neck and slaughtered her
My sister-in-law, the children, and I were locked in a room
Every now and then they’d come, yell at us, and say: “We won’t leave a single Alawite on the coast. Go pick up your corpses. You will become slaves.”
We went downstairs and saw Firas, Mohammad, Walid, the man, his wife, and their two sons lying on the ground soaked in blood
We stayed in the house until the next morning
They kept coming, threatening us, and saying: “These are your corpses, you filthy Alawites, you deserve worse than this”
We were all women and small children
They pointed their weapons at our heads a thousand times, with threats and insults
They wrecked our home, shot up the walls—they left nothing untouched by their evil
And it wasn’t foreigners who did this to us—they were from Idlib and Hama
They killed all the young men of the house, orphaned our children, displaced us from our homes, and stole everything
How can I explain to my 3-and-a-half-year-old daughter that her father is gone and won’t be coming back, when she was so attached to him?
And I had just given birth to my second daughter 15 days earlier
Mohammad never got to enjoy his daughter
We will not forget
We will not forgive
And the fire in our hearts won’t cool until we see them held accountable before our eyes
Photos of the martyrs
