“Dispatches by NOOR is a series of photoessays and interviews, dedicated to the community of storytellers within and around us.”
In an era of fleeting visuals, NOOR recognises the need for deep, lasting connections that produce narratives extending beyond instant gratification. With this in mind, we are excited to introduce DISPATCHES by NOOR, a new concept and the first of its kind, designed for learning, exchanging ideas, sparking discussions, and promoting educational solidarity in visual storytelling.
DISPATCHES aims to inspire like-minded creatives to learn from each other, fueling inclusive conversations on key contemporary issues, and amplifying each other's voices through the personal experiences of visual storytellers. We believe it is crucial to highlight not only the stories themselves but also what drives the narrators to focus on their projects, their personal journeys, creative processes, and outcomes.
Explore the world of today’s storytellers and uncover valuable insights and behind-the-scenes stories with NOOR.
In our first edition, we interviewed Syrian photojournalist Hasan Belal.
Witnessing Syria with Hasan Belal
Through his lens, Hasan Belal documents the everyday resilience and quiet strength of Syrians amidst the shadows of conflict. In this interview, he reflects on his journey into photojournalism, the stories that move him, and the power of bearing witness.
Photo by Hasan Belal, Daraa, Southern Syria, 16 December 2021: Rana and her family in front of their tent, living in difficult conditions during the winter. They were forced to flee after a bomb struck their house.
Thank you for being part of DISPATCHES by NOOR. We would like our community to get to know an aspiring young talent like you. To begin, can you please introduce yourself and tell us when you picked up the camera for the first time?
I am Hasan Belal, a freelance photojournalist and documentary photographer from Syria, originally from a coastal city called Tartous. I moved to Damascus in 2017 and graduated from the University of Economics.
I remember my first encounter with a camera — it was through my cousin's camera, which actually belonged to my mother. He owned a Nikon D2 and I was struck by how heavy it felt in my hands. I would wait for the weekend, when the family would gather, and Uncle Mustafa would hand me the camera so I could take pictures of everyone and capture those moments together. I felt an incredible sense of trust from them.
They treated the camera as a precious object that needed to be handled with great care, and it meant so much that they trusted a 15-year-old boy like me to document their memories. Those were the first moments I truly began to interact with the camera.
Over the years, my interest in photography grew, especially as I began to see the results of my images. Unfortunately, my family couldn't afford to buy me a camera, so I started asking my aunt — who lived in Venezuela and visited Syria every summer — to bring me one. I was fascinated by the Nikon D3100, and wrote her many notes asking for it, but to no avail.
I waited three years. Each summer, she brought me a different camera. They were all digital and not professional, but they allowed me to practice more and more, gradually building my skills with the semi-professional gear.
Photo by Hasan Belal, Aleppo, Syria, 31 January 2025: A boy cycling through the ruins in a destroyed neighbourhood.
Can you share with us your journey into photography and what inspired you to pursue photojournalism in Syria?
Personally, I'm a storyteller. I enjoy sharing stories when I am with friends, relatives, or even strangers. I started photography as a hobby. I remember bundling pencils together and taking macro photos with my digital camera. At the time, I felt like a world-class artist. I also took close-up shots of backgammon and dice.
Things changed in early 2012, after the war in Syria began. I started volunteering with a civil society organisation working in humanitarian aid and health promotion. My camera was always with me. After finishing my tasks in the field, I would take photos and write short notes about what I had captured. I also documented gatherings with friends and scenes of daily life on the street. I didn't know what I was doing, but I knew I loved it. I loved connecting with people, even strangers, through my camera.
My work with civil society and international organisations gave me access to places I couldn’t reach before. It allowed me to photograph and document important moments, like the displacement of families from Aleppo and Idlib to coastal cities in 2014 and how they rebuilt their lives within new communities.
Later, I moved to Damascus and began photographing new places and stories. Over time, I built a meaningful collection of images showing daily life in Syria between 2013 and 2018. I applied for training with Thomson Reuters and Dar Al Musawar in Beirut. After that training, I realised what I was doing had a name: photojournalism, and that in the future I would be a photojournalist, not a humanitarian activist.
Photo by Hasan Belal, Eastern Ghouta, Rural Damascus, 14 December 2021: A group of students in class at a school severely damaged during the Syrian war. The school has been bombed multiple times; as seen in the photo, there are no windows or proper insulation to protect from the cold. Photo taken for Caritas Switzerland.
I began practicing the profession in a simple way and gained experience by following YouTube tutorials and asking specialists and photographers I admired, — especially street photographers in Egypt, whose style had a strong influence on me. I was also inspired by war photographers like the Lebanese Patrick Baz, among others.
Then, I started to introduce what is known as visual anthropology into my work, after a workshop I attended in Egypt.
“Photography became, for me, not only a way to document certain events or tell particular stories, but also a way of life, a means of communication through which I could understand and analyse the places I lived in. I began to understand the nature of the people by living with them and interacting with them before taking pictures.”
Photo by Hasan Belal, Jableh, Syria, 7 February 2023: Russian rescue team helping the Syrian government in transferring rubble and recovering bodies following the earthquake.
Your work has captured profound moments amidst the Syrian conflict. Could you describe some of the challenges you faced while documenting life during the war?
Working as a photographer in Syria, especially under Bashar al-Assad's rule, is a real risk, particularly if you're an independent photographer like me. Journalism in Syria is controlled by only five news agencies, and the regime requires them to share all the material they want to cover. If the Ministry of Information agrees, they can film, which stifles photographers and journalists. Any photographer outside these agencies is subject to accountability and arrest.
Every time I took to the streets with my camera, sweat dripping down my skin, my body trembled with the realisation that I was being watched. State Security not only monitored journalists but also encouraged the community to do the same. I learned to adapt, sometimes feigning naive tourist status, and other times ignoring interrogation. I took pictures in secret, capturing glimpses of daily life that seemed both ordinary and challenging. This situation regarding street photography never changed in Syria.
It wasn’t until I was arrested in 2024 that things took a turn. I was detained in the infamous Palestine Branch (the intelligence military branch) for covering the funerals of Iranian leaders killed in the ongoing Israeli bombardment of Damascus. I spent eight days on the third floor underground, and that's when I learned what freedom meant. What it feels like to be arrested in Syria and have everything taken away from you in an instant. I don't want to go into detail about those days, but I vividly remember the terror I experienced when I was released from prison, and the depth of sadness at the thought of having to leave my profession and pursue another just because I wanted to live in peace.
Photo by Hasan Belal, Damascus, Syria, 21 December 2024: Former soldiers of the Assad regime wait to resolve their status under the new government.
With the recent changes in Syria, including the fall of the Assad regime, how has the environment for photojournalists evolved? Are there new opportunities or challenges that have emerged?
In the first weeks after the fall, I could finally say I was a photojournalist working for the Turkish Anadolu Agency, an agency where you could have been killed in prison. It was truly a wonderful feeling, holding my camera and pointing it at civilians and soldiers. Everyone wanted to take pictures, and everyone was happy. This was something we were not used to in Syria, especially when dealing with security. I remember rushing into the streets during the early moments of the fall and beginning to photograph the convoys of HTS (Hay'at Tahrir al-Sham) celebrating in the streets of Damascus.
However, after a month, the challenges and difficulties began to resurface. The Ministry of Information and its officials, including journalists from the north (Idlib and Aleppo), considered all photographers and journalists in Damascus to be loyal to the Assad regime, myself included. This greatly upset me, as I had already suffered so much before the fall. I had been optimistic that all that fear and harassment would end, but unfortunately, the same issues returned.
Note: Idlib is a Syrian province to which many Syrians have migrated since 2018. It has since become a small state led by Abu Muhammad al-Julani where all those opposed to the regime gathered until liberation arrived.
Photo by Hasan Belal, Damascus, Syria, 31 December 2024: People in Damascus celebrating the first New Year without Bashar al-Assad.
How do you feel about the current situation in the country? Can you tell us a bit of what is going on from within the borders?
On the national level, no one denies the joy felt by Syrians during the initial period, but Syria is a collapsed country. We still lack the fundamental components of a state. We do not have an army, heavy equipment, or any military presence to rely on in the face of foreign intervention, which is extremely dangerous. The economy is collapsing, and poverty and crime have increased, although they are still at acceptable levels. However, most Syrians depend on the state for their salaries, and now Syria has no money. Therefore, many employees have not received their salaries for four months, which is highly concerning.
Regarding civil peace, minorities are now at greater risk than during Bashar al-Assad's time. More than 1,800 innocent Alawite people were killed on the coast by undisciplined armed factions affiliated with the new Ministry of Defense. This represents a major threat to civil peace, though efforts are being made to restore stability, with both the government and the people working hard towards this.
Socially, new waves of emigration have begun, primarily among minorities, who are preparing to leave, notably after the recent events on the Syrian coast.
Photo by Hasan Belal, Rural Aleppo, Syria, 2 February 2025: People gather for Iftar during Ramadan among the ruins of destroyed buildings.
What is the current state of visual education for photographers in Syria? Are there institutions or programmes supporting emerging photographers?
Unfortunately, there are no such programmes or institutions in Syria at the moment. In the past, a few private universities offered photography as a secondary subject within the architecture and arts curriculum, but there are no dedicated institutes or training workshops for photography.
Photo by Hasan Belal, Aleppo, Syria, 6 January 2025: Habou Zakour (62), a resident known as the "yellow man" because he wears yellow in all aspects of life—at work, at home, and even during breaks. In this photo, Abo Zakour pauses for a photo in front of the Citadel of Aleppo.
Looking ahead, what projects or themes do you hope to explore in your photography? How do you envision your role in shaping the narrative of Syria's future through your lens?
Right now, all I'm striving for is work and finding a suitable job opportunity, given the risk I face, especially the lack of stability. As for projects, I'm working on a long-term one called "Open the Drawer." You can follow my work on Instagram account and through my website.
“As NOOR, we know the responsibility and importance of documenting the stories of communities in conflict zones. Visual storytellers like you play a vital role in bearing witness to these often harsh, yet essential realities.
We hope your journey will inspire others to reflect, engage, and continue documenting the stories that matter. Thank you so much for sharing your story with the NOOR community.”
Photo by Hasan Belal, Eastern Ghouta, Syria, 8 January 2025: After six years of displacement, residents celebrate their return home following the fall of the regime. In 2018, the Syrian government forcibly displaced people from Eastern Ghouta to Idlib. Photo taken for Anadolu Agency.
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Photo by Hasan Belal, Duma, Rural Damascus, 10 May 2018: A wide view of the main street in Duma, showcasing the area during a critical moment of the Syrian conflict.
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