When silence hurts-suffering in the shadows.

The torture in Saydnaya Prison is horrific; the torture of those suffering from severe COVID-19 vaccine injuries is no different. The effects on the person are the same.

I wrote this for Fiona.

The atrocities committed at Saydnaya Military Prison in Syria under the regime of Bashar al-Assad and the suffering endured by individuals severely affected by adverse reactions to COVID-19 vaccines appear, at first glance, to be vastly different in nature and context. One is an example of deliberate systemic oppression, while the other is the result of deliberate systemic neglect and widespread institutional failure. Yet, on closer inspection, both experiences reveal profound parallels in their infliction of physical and psychological torment, their dehumanising effects, and the ways in which those who suffer are abandoned by the systems meant to protect them. How do I know. I have spent time with these people and hear new stories of horror, daily.

In Saydnaya, prisoners were subjected to brutal physical torture, starvation, and psychological torment. Amnesty International documented chilling accounts of detainees being blindfolded, beaten for hours, and ultimately hanged in the dead of night, often alongside dozens of others. This systematic violence stripped prisoners of not only their freedom but also their humanity. Survivors described the conditions as designed to break the human spirit, leaving detainees frail, terrified, and hopeless.

For those suffering severe adverse reactions to COVID-19 vaccines, the torment is less overt but no less devastating. Individuals have reported relentless physical pain, debilitating neurological symptoms, and a profound loss of health and vitality. Many are housebound, malnourished, and without medical care. Adding to their suffering, they are frequently dismissed or gaslighted by healthcare providers, who often fail to recognise or acknowledge the seriousness of their conditions. This combination of chronic physical agony and psychological invalidation echoes the experience of torture in its ability to crush a person’s sense of hope, dignity and spirit.

Isolation is a key characteristic of both experiences. In Saydnaya, prisoners were confined to dark, cramped cells, cut off from the outside world, their cries for help ignored. Families of the disappeared were left searching desperately for their loved ones, often for years, with no information about their fates. The psychological toll of this isolation extended far beyond the prison walls, devastating entire communities.

Similarly, those suffering from severe vaccine injuries often find themselves isolated, not by bars and locks, but by their circumstances, even their families. Unable to work, participate in society, or even leave their homes, they live in a state of perpetual confinement. Many feel abandoned by the healthcare systems that should be helping them, and their suffering is compounded by the indifference—or outright hostility—of medical professionals, policymakers, and the public. Like the families of Saydnaya’s prisoners, vaccine-injured individuals and their loved ones if they are lucky enough to have them, frequently embark on a lonely, frustrating search for answers, support, and validation. Unable to help themselves, disorder and filth become the norm.

The atrocities of Saydnaya were facilitated by a regime that deliberately weaponised torture, dehumanisation, and neglect as tools of repression. The prison’s inhumane conditions and the systematic execution of detainees were not accidents but deliberate strategies to crush dissent and instil terror. Prisoners were treated not as human beings but as obstacles to be eliminated. Survivors and victims’ families have described the process as stripping individuals of their dignity and humanity.

For vaccine-injured individuals, the dehumanization is subtler but equally harmful. Their experiences are often dismissed as rare anomalies or dismissed altogether as psychosomatic issues. Instead of receiving compassion and care, they are frequently treated as nuisances or outliers that threaten the larger narrative of public health success. This denial of their suffering and refusal to address their needs effectively dehumanises them, leaving them feeling abandoned and invalidated by the very society that should be protecting them.

Despite these parallels, there are key differences between the two situations. The suffering inflicted at Saydnaya was deliberate, a calculated campaign of terror designed to maintain control and eliminate opposition. The suffering of vaccine-injured individuals, while profound, is the result of systemic failure and neglect. Intentional harm may not be the case but the longer the neglect occurs, that lack of care becomes deliberate. Health systems around the world have completely failed; the dead and suffering are testimony to this global disaster. Furthermore, the horrors of Saydnaya have drawn widespread international condemnation. Reports from survivors and human rights organisations have brought global attention to the atrocities, spurring calls for justice. In contrast, the plight of vaccine-injured individuals remains ignored and largely hidden. Their stories are overshadowed by the emphasis on the false claim of vaccination’s role in ending the pandemic, leaving their suffering unacknowledged and their voices unheard.

At their core, both experiences highlight the devastating consequences of systemic failure and the urgent need for justice and accountability. For the survivors of Saydnaya and the families of its victims, justice means holding perpetrators accountable and ensuring that such atrocities are never repeated. It also means addressing the broader structures of oppression that allowed these horrors to occur.

For vaccine-injured individuals, justice means recognition and acknowledgment of their suffering. It means creating systems of care and support that address their needs and ensuring that future public health campaigns prioritise not just the collective good but more importantly the well-being of every individual. Above all, it means treating them with the dignity and compassion they deserve.

The experiences of Saydnaya’s prisoners and vaccine-injured individuals reveal different manifestations of suffering—one rooted in deliberate oppression, the other in neglect. Yet both highlight the profound human cost of systems that fail to prioritise dignity, compassion, and care. Addressing these crises requires systemic change and a commitment to justice, whether that means holding perpetrators accountable for crimes against humanity or building healthcare systems that leave no one behind. Only then can the survivors of these experiences begin to heal and reclaim their sense of hope and humanity.

The Syrian government’s actions are rooted in overt authoritarianism and brutality, representing an extreme form of state violence and suppression. By contrast, the Australian government operates within a democratic framework, but its failings lie in institutional neglect, bureaucratic inertia, and an unwillingness to confront inconvenient truths about public health policies. Both systems, despite their differences, reveal a troubling inability—or unwillingness—to prioritise the dignity and well-being of the most vulnerable. The leadership of both countries remains highly problematical when people die as a consequence of wilful neglect or deliberate torture.

In Syria, the suffering is intentional, weaponised by a regime clinging to power. In Australia, the suffering is the byproduct of a public health strategy that wilfully failed to acknowledge the dangers of a commercially profitable experimental gene-based toxic ‘vaccine’ for a significant minority of individuals. Yet for those who suffer, the origin of the neglect matters little; the pain, isolation, and dehumanisation they experience are profoundly real.

For Syria, the path forward requires justice, accountability, and systemic reform to address the gross human rights abuses of the Assad regime. For Australia, it requires transparency, acknowledgment of vaccine injuries, and the creation of systems that ensure no individual is left behind in health efforts.

Both countries, Australia and Syria, in their respective contexts, must recognise that the measure of a government’s legitimacy lies in how it treats its most vulnerable citizens. In examining the leaders and their deputies in both Syria and Australia, one might argue that their actions—or inactions—place them at odds with the best interests of their nations, making them appear as anti-patriots or even enemies of the state. In Syria, Bashar al-Assad and his inner circle orchestrated a reign of terror, systematically brutalising their own people to maintain power, effectively dismantling the very fabric of their nation. This betrayal of trust, humanity, and the foundational principles of governance portrays them as traitors to their own people. In Australia, while far removed from the overt brutality of Syria, the leaders and their deputies may be regarded as anti-patriots for failing to address the plight of a significant minority of vaccine-injured citizens. By prioritising a narrative of public health success while ignoring or dismissing the suffering of a vulnerable minority, they undermine the social contract and erode trust in democratic institutions. Both regimes, though vastly different in nature, reveal a failure to embody the true spirit of patriotism: protecting and uplifting all citizens, especially the most vulnerable.

Ian Brighthope