In a new NPR piece titled, "Meet the Syrians behind the music that inspired a revolution", authors Emily Feng and Jawad Rizkallah tackle the story of a soccer-star-turned-revolutionary singer, Abdel Basset al-Sarout, and Ayman al-Masri, the lesser-known lyricist. Set against the backdrop of Syria’s brutal civil war, the article dives into the journey of the two and how they became the voice of a fight brought to their doorstep.

Sarout’s face and voice, once banned under Bashar al-Assad’s regime, now fills Syria’s streets and radio airwaves following Assad’s sudden ouster in December 2024. Killed in 2019 at 27 while fighting Assad’s forces, Sarout never saw a free Syria.

While inspirational to a generation of young Syrians, Sarout’s legacy is not without its controversy. At a 2012 opposition rally, he chanted, “We are all Jihadists, Homs has made its decision, we will exterminate the Alawites, and the Shiites have to go,” reflecting a sectarian point of view that alarmed many. In 2014, he directed messages to ISIS and the Al-Nusra Front, al-Qaeda’s Syrian arm, urging them to unite to “fight Christians” and “empower Allah’s law on earth.” He declared, “They are Muslims just as we are… We’re not Christians nor Shiites to be afraid of suicide belts and car bombs,” and called for them to “take back the lands defiled by the regime.” These statements have complicated his image as a revolutionary hero, despite his inspiration to many during the Syrian civil war.

In the article, NPR traces his legacy to Homs, where they met Masri, 52, a former car parts seller who penned all 130 of Sarout’s songs, including the protest anthem “Janna, janna, janna” (“Heaven, heaven, heaven”). The two met in 2011 when Sarout, fleeing soldiers, stumbled into Masri’s home which acted as a safe haven during the uprising. Their partnership thrived despite Homs’ siege, with Masri delivering lyrics through sewage tunnels as war ravaged the city. While Masri remained a pacifist, Sarout took up arms, dying a martyr after losing most of his family.

Today, Masri walks through Homs’ ruins every day, clutching a notebook of their songs written together. With Assad gone, he’s also writing again, songs of hope and rebuilding he says, but Sarout’s absence affects him.