Thirteen years after his enforced disappearance, the family of Syrian lawyer and human rights defender Khalil Matouk has announced his death—bringing to a close a harrowing chapter of waiting, and enshrining the memory of a man who devoted his life to justice and human dignity.

Elegy is a cruel ritual. It reminds you that you are still alive while those you love are gone. It offers solace at a time when grief should be unrelenting. Elegy is sly—it helps you draw the curtain on a part of your past. Like a mourning ceremony, it is a practical confirmation that the story has ended, that the person who once walked among us, laughing and striving and growing angry, is no longer here. A door in your memory closes, just as the stone seals the tomb.

I do not like elegies—especially when the one mourned seems more alive than I am: more present, more upright, more radiant in laughter, more enduring in impact. How, then, does one mourn a man like Khalil Matouk, who spent his mornings in courtrooms and his afternoons in his modest office, receiving clients who—more often than not—had nothing to offer him but love and gratitude?

This is not an elegy. It is a renewal of a vow to a man who fought on our behalf, who spent the prime of his life defending us in the courts of a broken nation.

Khalil was not a politician. He did not seek to overthrow the regime or rewrite the constitution. He never bore arms, nor did he incite violence. He was a lawyer who defended prisoners of conscience, often covering their legal fees from his own pocket. He was no extremist, no radical—he was a quiet voice of justice, a refuge for those who had none.

He was widely respected across opposition circles, civil society, and international human rights organizations. He was a skilled mediator, a unifying presence among fractured groups. Though unaffiliated with any particular organization, he served as a bridge between them, ensuring they did not succumb to division or politicization.

Khalil hailed from a forgotten village straddling the Lebanese-Syrian border—half Muslim, half Christian; half in Lebanon, half in Syria. He was the thread that bound them all. He did not ask about sect or identity—only about humanity.

On the morning of October 2, 2012, Khalil left his home with his friend Mohammad Zaza. They were stopped at a checkpoint and taken to an undisclosed location. Despite repeated appeals, the authorities denied holding him—even as former detainees confirmed his presence in a General Intelligence prison in Damascus, despite his critical health condition.

Why was Khalil arrested? Because he exposed the regime’s hollow claims of protecting minorities and defending secularism against extremism. Khalil the Christian, Mazen Darwish the Alawite, Nada Rustum the Ismaili, Adnan Dibis the Druze—all stood as living proof that the regime was a sect unto itself, and that both its supporters and opponents came from every community.

Wherever Khalil went, he brought warmth and reassurance. His eyes carried a quiet, ironic smile, even when his lips did not. And when he sought something and could not attain it, he would simply say, “God will make it up.”

When he bought his leather jacket in 2009, he was overjoyed. He wore it in court, at home, in his office, in cafés. I hope he was wearing it when he was arrested—because the chill of prison cells is merciless, and the loneliness of jailers beyond description.

The killing of Khalil Matouk is a war crime—one more in a long chain of atrocities committed by a regime devoid of conscience or morality. A regime led by a man whose worth does not equal the clipping of Khalil’s fingernail: Bashar al-Assad.

Justice is both a right and a duty. A right owed to Khalil and the hundreds of thousands who perished under bombardment, torture, and siege. A duty borne by us—his friends, his admirers.

Any compromise on the principle of justice and accountability for the killers—any concession by any authority—would be tantamount to repeating the crime. There can be no forgiveness for Assad and his inner circle. Nor for the cheap regimes that stood beside him and helped murder Khalil.