A House in Damascus - Before the Fall

by Brian Stoddart

  At first I passed up the cab on offer, then thought better of it, luckily. It was battered, but driven by the man who had picked me up a couple of days earlier. I had now been here long enough to know people.

  "Jamarik?" he asked.

  How wonderful, he knows my destination without asking. I love this place.

  "You go everyday there from here?"

  Yes, but today is my last day, unfortunately

  We took the through-Marjeh Square route, along by the flyover and past the early stalls, under the flyover where the Bedu men sold vegetables having slept there over night, back along then through Marjeh and out onto Shukri Al Quatli, past the "nice old man" traffic cop pointed out to me by an earlier taxi driver.

  "You will return to Damascus?"

  Oh yes.

  We navigated Muwahiyeen Square that was not yet busy, but still involved dodging a truck and a couple of buses intent on their own journeys.

  He was puffy faced, slightly balding, warmly and respectably dressed.

  "You leave tomorrow?"

  We continued up the hill past the Opera House, then right along to the office.

  Yes, sadly.

  We pulled up, and I reached for the SYP 100, as I had done for him earlier.

  "No, my friend, not today. You are welcome in Syria."

  And he would take no money, even though his livelihood depended on it. Making a guest in Syria welcome was a priority, even though he would probably never see me again.

  Later that day I left the house finally, circulating the Old City for the final time, farewelling old/new friends at the antique shop, the bakery and the Brokar. The Christmas trees and lights abounded in unlikely places, under a distinctly Arabian sky. It occurred to me that I knew the place both better and less than I imagined. Damascus had become familiar, but still offered much that was unknown and awaited further discovery.

  When I left the keys with him, the agent told me the ban on foreigners purchasing property was now lifted, and I should act quickly.

  There is a problem now, however: when is it likely that I might get to return?

  Lacuna

  ~

  One report had some of the earliest signs of Damascene discontent emerging in Hariqa, where I walked through every day on my way to and from work. Some police were said to have confronted and insulted a local man whose colleagues and neighbours resisted, and a struggle broke out. The stories then had small fires being lit on local roofs to see who else would light up in shared frustration. Several smoke clouds appeared. The struggle was on.

  The fieldwork that informed these essays was barely complete when Syria engaged the so-called "Arab Awakening" of early 2011 that began in Tunisia then flowed into Egypt, Yemen and Libya before arriving in Deraa on Syria's southern border with Jordan, Lattakia on the Mediterranean coast, Homs in the centre, Hama slightly more north, other small country centres like Idlib, and Damascus' outer suburbs like Douma. The expression "cannot be independently verified" prefaced most news reports, as Syria blocked access to foreign journalists who necessarily reported from Beirut, Occupied Jerusalem and elsewhere, eliding Syrian events into those seen first-hand in Libya, particularly. Specialists pointed out that Syria was not Libya, localised conditions and people being quite different, but Syria was predominantly portrayed as another Egypt or Libya, the "push for democracy" an inexorable force among a people held down by allegedly the most repressive regional if not global dictator.

  Initially, those non-contexted reports seemed just another example of journalistic license exercised to fill pressing deadlines. There was little or no real understanding conveyed of how Syria got to be as it was, how its system worked (or did not work), the real nature of the contemporary body politic, its complex sociocultural and economic makeup, its linked geographical challenges, or its role in the modern Arab world. In particular, the popular press seemed to have no idea that major world powers did not really want Syrian regime change, unlike their clear ambitions in Iraq, Libya and Egypt. Whatever their public position on and comments about President Bashar al-Assad and his military-backed Baath Party, in private Tel Aviv and Washington and the rest preferred him and the known over change and the unknown, one unspoken fear being that Muslim Brotherhood leadership or old guard Baathist rule might be even worse. A Bashar exit might even further empower Hezbollah and Hamas, turn Iran even more "rogue", embolden the Saudis, and perhaps destabilise Jordan as well as further threaten Israel.

  Given that analysis from specialist sources, it seemed at first that the new "Syrian revolt", mirroring the mid-1920s one against French colonial power imposed in the post-World War I carve-up, would pass quickly because no-one really wanted it to continue—not major and regional powers, not the regime itself, and certainly not many of the people encountered over the preceding months. It seemed the regime would not have to become heavy-handed. Yes, there were recent concessions, such as the lifting of subsidy levels on essential elements like cooking oil because people reported times were tough. Friends and acquaintances said life was getting harder because costs were going up for food, energy and other staples. Some linked this to Bashar's attempts to move more towards a more market-oriented economy, itself an attempt to reconnect with the West following the isolation that dated from the millennium's turn and George Bush's placing Syria within the "Axis of Evil." Bashar had succeeded recently in getting France back on side. The project on which I worked was funded by the European Union, which was becoming prominent in Syrian aid and development initiatives. Perhaps oddly, then, it seemed no-one would want prolonged instability and unrest in Syria while some progress was being made.

  It was true, however, that around the world human rights bodies and, more significantly, expatriate Syrian organisations pointed consistently to the autocratic nature of rule in the country. A "State of Emergency" had prevailed since 1963 following the turmoil that attended Syria's independence in 1946, the fleeting democratic period, the following rise of the military, the political union then dissolution with Egypt, the rise of the Baath Party then, in 1970, the strong-armed accession of Hafez al-Assad who ruled until 2000 when succeeded by second son Bashar, born two years after the State of Emergency was first initiated. Bashar and his generation knew nothing other than Hafez and the military powers. International watchers and expatriates had long complained about the large numbers of people "disappeared" into jails or worse, the severe restrictions placed upon the populace, and the lack of interaction with the rest of the world by a country and people long part of international trade and travel. Writers like Rafik Schami, especially in his sprawling novel The Dark Side of Love, depicted a vibrant yet repressed population that deserved better.

  As the West's both imagined and real fear of "terrorism" arose, led by the American neocons, Syria's image darkened even further. The Axis of Evil tag placed it firmly in the "fundamentalist" or "Islamist" sphere, and for the USA that reputation escalated during the Iraq war when Syria certainly supported the insurgency cause, both directly and indirectly. In film and television, Syria was frequently the location of choice for "bad guys" and, so, the target of Special Forces activity. Syria's consequential rapprochement with Iran and the Shia further alienated the West, as did affiliated liaisons with Hassan Nasrallah and Hezbollah, along with Hamas and the rest of the "hardline" brigade arrayed against Israel.

  When Bashar acceded to power following his father's 2000 death there was hope in the West, especially amongst liberals inside and outside the United States disturbed by the too-easy labels given Syria by Bush and his colleagues. Liberals, like me, wanted to see Syria as wronged and misunderstood, just another victim of crass American foreign policy of the kind that led to debacles in Vietnam, Grenada, Cuba and other places. That was especially so in the Middle East, where Palestine and its supporters were usually seen by liberals as being on the wrong side of the ledger from Israel and its principal supporter, the USA.

  Now Syria might be able to show something different. Bashar was a W
estern-trained ophthalmologist married into a prominent expatriate family. He was not of the military line, even though he underwent training after his brother's 1994 death, in order to satisfy military bosses about his credentials. Initially, that promise seemed fulfilled as he initiated what became known as the "Damascus Spring," when political debate was encouraged, the press opened up, and more diverse political expression tolerated. That was short lived, the prevailing analysis being that Bashar was dragged back into line by the still-dominant hardliners from his father's generation. For the next few years he became a paradoxical figure for the West—someone who should be liberal, but headed a far from liberal regime, at least in the Western sense. Many observers thought he might not survive politically because he was not tough enough, but by the end of 2010 he appeared to be in control and indeed, reopening ties with the West.

  Just a few short months later, however, by April 2011, he was widely portrayed around the world as the dictator of Damascus, the destroyer of democracy, the Syrian slaughterman spearheading an Alawite-led and minority groups'-supported regime that had the army fire on its countrymen, put snipers into buildings to shoot people coming from prayers, made no distinction between men, women and children as victims, and stubbornly ignored what the rest of the world thought was obvious: that Syrians wanted change.83

  The initial rumblings in Deraa and Lattakia, then Baniyas and Homs led me to think that there were local origins and meanings for the disturbances, rather than a straightforward pro-democracy impetus of the kind seen elsewhere. Deraa had not been notably oppositionist (some said it had done well from the regime), so local issues must be at play, it seemed. Lattakia was as much connected to the Mediterranean as Syria, and had that particular population profile with its strong Alawite presence. Baniyas was the home of a former Vice-President defected to Europe. Homs was long the home to Syrian equivalents of Irish jokes. There were social traits as well: Deraa was a strong tribal centre, Lattakia that mix of Alawites, Sunni and Christians, for example. My interpretation was that this was as much opportunism as ideology, local grievance rather than national movement the driver. The early reports of violence and death were regrettable, but subject both to doubt and the benefit of doubt. There were no direct reports available by which to be guided, so perhaps the regime really was under pressure from the dark forces it mentioned regularly: criminal gangs, outside agencies and all the rest. Even the International Crisis Group and the excellent Peter Harling allowed that. Most informed international observers seemed to hold similar reservations, while the press projected boldly in other directions.

  For those reasons I happily sent friends and relatives off to Damascus and Syria, telling them it was very safe, that the people were all friendly, that reports about the regime were drawn too starkly, that they would love it. They all went, and came back, and they did love it, though my sister-in-law and her husband reported things seemed quietly tense around the souk the Friday they left. There quickly appeared video footage of a noisy demonstration between pro- and anti-regime crowds in the tight confines of the Hamidiyeh, just along from the majestic Umayyad Mosque, and about two hundred metres from my house. My in-laws had left for home that very day.

  My doubts, regrets and misgivings increased from that point. The reports might not have been "independently verified" but the plethora of mobile phone footage, blog listings, Facebook, Twitter and You Tube postings all combined to indicate that something bigger was happening. It could not all be fudged, faked, or falsified. That sense heightened as reports of deaths mounted into the hundreds, then into the thousands. There was still doubt about the validity of footage of tanks rolling into town, the apparent shootings, massive troop movements on the roads from Damascus to Homs, Lattakia and Aleppo, but the more of it appeared the more the doubts about that validity evaporated. There was a repressive movement going on, and I had local friends in the middle of it to further heighten my anxiety about what was happening.

  The central problem for me lay in trying to understand why it was happening, because it made little if any sense. Bashar had lifted the State of Emergency, later than he might have done but it was at least lifted. That was a key demand from the West, and from those opposing the regime. (The latter would also point out that while the State of Emergency was lifted, strong state of emergency powers were simultaneously given to the Ministry of the Interior).Yet that was followed by more troop incursions, a very tough line in Deraa, shootings across the country and a consequent outburst of demonstrations in more towns, villages and cities countrywide. Lifting the emergency after forty eight years but increasing the repression seemed illogical.

  So, too, did the constant effort to block journalistic reporting while the range of unofficial "new technology" and social media versions mushroomed. I was getting minute-by-minute Twitter reports from the scene, yet the regime seemed to think that barring journalists would be productive. Regime spokespersons were unable to provide coherent and/or believable accounts of what was occurring. The Prime Minister and his government were replaced but that seemed scarcely to affect developments, and reports of violence continued to emanate from the country. Some reports had the Iranians aiding and abetting the regime in trying to quell the uprising and that, of course, signalled to the West just how "fundamentalist" this was—Iran was the current bogeyman, any crony guilty by association.

  By now the inescapable conclusion was that thousands of people across Syria were willing to assemble on Fridays for prayers, then go out on an anti-regime demonstration knowing they stood a very good chance of being arrested without trial, or even shot. For a very long time, Syrians had known the reputation of the jails, especially those run by the security services, for being brutal and unforgiving. The fears may have eased in recent years but they still lurked, and when the regime now went into full repressive mode, few had any illusions about what might await inside those jail gates. Yet people were still risking their lives. That had to mean something, so maybe this was a powerful grass roots movement from a population that now desired what it saw around the world. I had, after all, met people who, after prolonged introductions and discussion, had quietly suggested that "a little bit more democracy" would be a good thing in Syria. They were not totally cut off from the world, and could see other examples of how a people and a country might live.

  By necessity and in its essentials, this was the message being brought by those journalists perched on the borders and trying to peer in: "While the situation in Syria tonight remains unclear, it is certain that pro-democracy forces are defying the repressive regime that is retaliating with brutal force to maintain the control it has held for almost fifty years". Social scientists are trained to repel that sort of blanket assumption and declaration, at least until the mass of evidence has been assembled, analysed and ordered into a coherent story that balances all points of view. If journalists run the risk of generalisation in order to produce a story and a headline, social scientists run another one—they generally grow fond of the places in which they spend time, and of the people with whom they share that time. My central problem here was having to balance the heart and the head. A younger Australian academic specialist on the region told me that he had a "very soft spot" for Syria, and I knew immediately what he meant. For a very, very long time visitors to Syria have fallen in love with the place, and I was just among the latest. In part it is the landscape, but mostly it is the people, and the warmth with which they welcome visitors. That was my experience a few short months, even weeks earlier, now many of those people were on the streets risking their lives and being shot at by fellow countrymen. That made no sense.

  Then came the shelling of Homs and the subsequent siege of Bab Amr that saw BBC correspondent Marie Colvin lose her life. Bab Amr lies in the quadrant of the city containing Al Baath University where I spent considerable time working with several senior academics and officials, helping lay out a plan for the institution's future growth. It is a large university with over eighty thousand students
and occupies a huge area crammed with modern buildings and equipment. Its leaders were determined to make progress through planning and program reform, and the committee members charged with delivering it were professional, friendly, well informed, and funny. They were a delightful group with which to work. It was a modern campus, as were others in Syria. There were hijabs in evidence but outnumbered by designer jeans, and that went for staff as well as students. One committee member had a particularly fine line in self-deprecation, describing on one occasion what she considered to be the mismatch between her jeans and her hip size. That was one of those moments when the blanket assessments of and assumptions about "Islam" were well and truly tested.

  Now, though, these fine people were in a city under fire. So were their near neighbours a few kilometres away in Hama. The town of the water wheels will be forever infamous as the site for the single greatest act of repression carried out by Hafez al-Assad, Bashar's father. Up to 20,000 were thought to have perished in 1982 when Hafez sent in the army to crush the Muslim Brotherhood. Yet here it was happening again. These two actions in Bab Amr and Hama were the turning point, and the scenes of later mass deaths in nearby towns like Houla and Tramseh that matched those in Deraa and elsewhere, simply added to the point.

  It was from about then, for example, that balanced websites like Syria Comment began to see the end of the Assad regime. SC is run by a leading American scholar of Syria, Joshua Landis, and, in general, up until Bab Amr, had maintained a critical and balanced view rather than being a bland relayer of the standard Western position. Some polarised critics thought the balance was actually an apologia for Bashar and the regime that emanated from Landis' marriage to an Alawite. In reality, Joshua Landis was driven by scholarly detachment and excellent information, and the frankness of his views saw the previously open door to the Syrian embassy in Washington D.C. closed to him. From there on in, he began foreseeing the end of the regime.