Showing posts with label Syria. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Syria. Show all posts

Saturday, April 14, 2018

"Beautiful Syria": Thoughts and Prayers

I'm so angry with the lies, with the confusion and deceit that surrounds everything about Syria. People who have no business talking about it, about my home city, Damascus, about the country of my parents and grandparents, Syria, pontificating and deciding that they know best. I'm tired of other Syrians, too, the ones who sit back and suddenly pray to Allah to "protect Syria", but only when it seems like the American bombs will come. Nobody I know of in Damascus cared one iota when the Ghouta gas attacks happened, nobody sent pictures on their Whatsapp, and their Viber, and their Tango, or talked about the dead children lying in the arms of their dead parents. They just sent each other smug texts saying that "it's over" in Douma. Like someone had just taken a can of Piff-Paff and killed a roach infestation. But now, suddenly, we're expected to "Pray for Damascus"

There's someone I know, or maybe that I thought I knew. She's never posted a thing about Syria in years. At least nothing that I can recall. But yesterday, of all days, she decided that beautiful Damascus was on her mind. I'm shocked and angry, but I've learned over the last seven years not to get into discussions about Syria because there is no point in trying to change the mind of someone who is pathologically incapable of moral outrage unless it's in acceptable, clearly delimited channels. Palestine. Iraq. These are nice and easy causes for the children of the old Arab bourgeoisie. A polite clap and salute for the athlete that refuses to wrestle an Israeli athlete, a quick boycott of Marks & Spencer or Wonderwoman, a status change on their Facebook for Land Day, and maybe the odd picture of Jerusalem are enough to fulfill the quota of daring political activism for these bright-eyed scions of the great Arab families abroad. Mention Iraq and a well-rehearsed litany of the many crimes of Bush and Blair can be reeled off, an honourable mention of Abu Ghreib, and of course the rise of ISIS. All of these tragedies that have befallen the Arab world, we are assured knowingly, can be traced back to shadowy basements in government buildings in Tel Aviv and Washington. And I don't doubt that some are. Yet mention the names of Saddam Hussein or Assad and you hear crickets and a polite silence.

When it comes to talking about Syria, people like me are told we are "too emotional", that we're not seeing some kind of big picture. Of course Assad is bad, they'd argue, but apparently, it would be far worse if he was removed. So the discussion moves comfortably back to how terrible the Americans are, how awful their invasion of Iraq is, and how morally outrageous the occupation of Palestine is. Gotta remember to buy that Palestinian olive oil. Very important. Never mind about nerve agents and barrel bombs, about Russian jets and Iranian martyr squads, about Shiite militias recruited from as far afield as Afghanistan and dragged all the way to Syria to fight and die for some guy they don't even know. Seven years. Seven years and not a peep out of these people. Well, that's not entirely true. Back when ISIS was the only thing being mentioned in the news there were prayers for Syria then, and tears for the old dead cities in the desert and the empty temples that ISIS decided to tear down. There were tears for civilization, for coexistence, but today there's no mention of coexistence. There's no mention of the green buses that are taking entire Syrian families and dumping them up north in Idlib, in a place they probably had never been to in their entire lives, uprooting them from the land that had nurtured them, from the places where their ancestors are buried, to live as strangers and refugees in somewhere that might as well be another planet for them.

Good luck getting a visa or finding a job or renting a decent place for you and your family to live. Good luck. Get on that green bus, and leave your home under the watchful gaze of a scruffy looking grunt in a uniform who flicks you the bird as you're bused away from your entire life because you happened to live in an area that the Syrian government decided was enemy territory. Good luck and fuck you very much. You're not the kind of Syrian that elicits sympathy from these Arab patriots, sitting smugly in their living rooms praying for Syria. No prayers and tears for you. Unless you get killed by an American bomb accidentally. Then we'd get the sighs, and these condescending patriots would lament the state of the Arab world, and the unjustness of American tyranny and they'd say their prayers for "beautiful Syria" and remember the lovely summer holidays they spent there once.

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Saturday, April 08, 2017

My Thoughts on the US Airstrike against Assad

There is something that is happening right now, something that most people aren't talking about, either because they haven't noticed it yet or, like the Syrian regime, they are ignoring and at the same time trying to kill it. Emerging from the cinders of a country, Syrians are developing a common sense of identity and a new way of looking at the world. They are, in effect, becoming a new country. Whether it is a new Syria is a different question. The old country, with its corrupt Baathist-socialist legacy and the politicisation of all aspects of life and the corresponding ideological baggage, is now giving way to a country where being an exile underpins your sense of national identity, and necessitates pragmatism.

These Syrians don't need expensive post-grad diplomas and degrees in journalism and international relations to understand that the US strike was in their interest, even if the motives behind it were not. These are the same Syrians who celebrated the election victories of the AKP and President Erdogan in Turkey, and who breathed a collective sigh of relief when the coup attempt against President Erdogan failed, or who cheer on when the Israeli Airforce attacks the Assad regime and its Hezbullah allies.

When Syrians take these positions, they are not interested in domestic Turkish or American entanglements and they are not interested in tying the Syrian revolution with the Palestinian struggle against Israeli occupation. They are interested solely in dealing with the dictator whose family has had its boot on their necks for the past forty years. They are, in effect, expressing as Syrians a nascent national interest, their national interest. We should probably listen to what these people have to say, instead of ignoring them or trying to change their point of view.

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Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Enjoy the Show

There's something voyeuristic about the way people are talking about Aleppo. All of a sudden the city has become a hot topic, and people want to hear about the suffering and anguish that "normal" people are going through. They want every sigh, and every tear, to be recorded and shared, and reshared, and retweeted. They want the sad emoticons on Facebook to pile up. They want real emotion, real drama. In short, they want to be entertained and the people of Aleppo are stars in their own terrifying movie.

Nobody cared for Aleppo for three years. Nobody was interested in something so depressing and horrid, but all of a sudden it's hot news. All of a sudden the news people want to interview the victims, and want to hear the explosions and gunfire. Now, after three years, they want moving images and pictures of the same ruins that were there last year, and the year before that. It's the same place, and the same people, but overnight, now that we know that this tragedy could be ending soon, we realise just how much we're going to miss it.

The point about Aleppo seems not to be that there are real people suffering at the hands of a dictatorship that is backed by one of the most deadly airforces in the world. It's not that we care about genuine reform in Syria, or about the children of Aleppo. It's that people will miss the show. Aleppo is a long running drama series that is now coming to a close. You might not have watched all the episodes, but you kept tabs on what was happening and could safely drop in and out of the story whenever it was convenient for you. Now that the network is about to axe the show, and the finale is finally upon us, everybody is pulling up their chairs, heating up the popcorn and watching the drama unfold live. So, World, get your popcorn ready, take your phone off the hook, and enjoy the show.

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Monday, October 17, 2016

One Day In Damascus Airport

I remember arriving with my mother and brothers at Damascus airport sometime in the early nineties. It was a horribly depressing place. My mother was dealing with some paper work so I sat on our luggage, staring at people as they went by. There was a boy who spoke English with an American accent. I think his parents were dealing with paperwork too. We love paperwork in Syria. Without it, things would simply work, and that wouldn't do. No, paperwork kept the illusion of order, and discipline.


The boy was running around behind the columns playing some sort of game. Then he turned and yelled to his parents. They looked back to see what the matter was, and he was pointing at the floor and laughing. "There's kaka. There's kaka on the floor" he said. "Well leave it alone and come here" they replied.

He was right. Earlier, I'd noticed as we passed that there was a piece of shit behind one of the pillars. I suppose it's something strange when I think about it today, but that's one of the things you got used to seeing in Syria back then. 

There was also an Indian woman with her two children who was trying to find her way through the bureaucracy. She asked a porter for directions but he continually ignored her and walked on. "Excuse me," she insisted, "Hello? Could you tell me..." 

"Sorry!" he finally bellowed at her in his Syrian accented English. People turned to look for a fraction of a second and then everybody went about their business. The woman stood there with a stunned look on her face. He said it like it was the only word he knew, and it probably was. I couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor woman, for how embarrassed, shocked, and sad she must have felt to be yelled at like that in front of her two children. This was supposed to be an international airport. I was half tempted to get up and apologise to her, but when you're a kid you just stare dumbly at things that are happening because you're not sure about what you've just seen. 

We got the paperwork sorted and left, and that was our first day in Syria for the summer holidays. There was "kaka" behind a pillar and a poor Indian woman being yelled at by a porter who couldn't speak English. 
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Tuesday, May 05, 2015

"What is Happiness?" An Essay by a Syrian Girl called Sana

Last week I had the privilege to serve Syrian children in Reyhanli with the Karam Foundation's "Zeitouna Program". This is my third time volunteering with this remarkable program, and in each time, my workshops have been focused on trying to draw out the individual in each child, to try and encourage them to create their own space through writing and in doing so, perhaps ease a bit of the pressure that they must be feeling. For all the difficulties I encountered in getting there, be it the hell of flying Turkish Airways and dealing with their infernal customer service, to worrying about, and actually being, questioned at the airport upon my return by the British police (who were very polite and professional on both occasions), I feel the effort was worth it.

After four years of war and exile, I think the hardest thing many Syrian children are suffering from, apart from loss and physical hardship, is the struggle to be recognised as an individual and to remain one. The aid agencies come and go, and many of them look upon Syrian children as objects to be photographed or pitied. For their parents, stressed as they might be, they might be seen as a burden or a nuisance, while for the many militias within the country, both regime and anti-regime, they are seen as ideological vessels to be indoctrinated and trained for war, a corruption of everything that is pure and good about childhood.

During my week in Reyhanli, I wanted to gain the attention of the children by running a writing competition for the most beautifully written essay. The topic was disarmingly simple, and yet very complicated, "What is Happiness?" and the answers that I got were remarkable. I spent the whole of last Wednesday night, after a day of workshops with the children, marking papers, and the more I read, the more I caught glimmers of complex, intelligent and warm human beings who had a fountain of emotion and love to share with the world. A lot of the students wrote what they thought I wanted to read, but some, a rare few, broke out of the mould and the writing they gave me was beautiful and startlingly original. The one essay that took my breath away was written by an eighth grade Syrian girl called Sana, and she was one of the recipients of the beautiful journals and Parker fountain pens that were the prize of each of the four winners. All I want to do is share her essay here for posterity, so that the world knows what a Syrian child, caught up in events that are so much bigger than her, thinks and feels. I'll leave the conclusions to you, the reader. Here is my translation of Sana's essay:

What is Happiness? 

Happiness takes on a different meaning for each individual in society. My happiness is to live on Mars alone, away from all creatures both rational and non-rational...

For example, I would like to lie down on the dusty red earth of that planet and imagine that I am travelling into space. I am pulled towards a mixture of bright lights at a great speed until they envelope me completely. I find myself in a different world entirely, and the planets here are different from those in our solar system. One planet looks like a large plate of candy and another looks like a mobile phone, but I am especially drawn by the beauty of a planet in the shape of a drawing feather. I go there, and when I land on its surface I see tall people who look like us, but they have no mouths or noses, or even ears. They only have eyes and their society draws. Some draw on walls, others on paper, and everybody draws in the streets.

Now I get up and go to a place that is hidden from the sun and write a brief summary of what I've imagined on a piece of paper - just some thoughts. I then write these thoughts as a story on another piece of paper, and when I finish writing my hand aches and my head hurts from thinking about how to structure the story and what its style should be like, as well as from getting new ideas and removing silly ones...I lie down once more and in a few minutes I am seeing strange dreams. For example, I dream that I have woken up from sleep and found myself in a place that has no colour apart from white. I am frightened by this place, and take a step back, only to find that the place I trod on has sprouted grass. Gradually, all the white space transforms into a forest from where I placed my foot. 

This is a fantasy forest that has no harmful creatures or plants, like the Venus fly trap or any other poisonous plants. It is a forest filled with flowers and green grass and trees that have strange, delicious fruit that is round in shape and woodpeckers flying in the sky or perched on the branches. I remain asleep until the next day and nobody disturbs me.

This life is happiness in itself for me...It might be a dream that I will always dream or a dream that I can one day accomplish, and I don't know if I will be able to reach it or if I will fail. I'll settle for the fact that it's just a dream, but I know that I will try to reach for it.

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Tuesday, September 23, 2014

US Strikes In Syria

Since 2011 Assad has progressively escalated his war against the Syrian people. His regime set the daily killing quotas, they escalated from small arms fire to tanks, cannon, rockets and airplanes. As the days turned into weeks and the months turned into years we were subjected to the same diatribe demanding that innocent unarmed people die for the principles of those watching them from a thousand miles away. Anybody who thought otherwise was dismissed as a warmonger. The chemical attacks came, and still the world did nothing. Then ISIS emerged, it almost overran the north of Syria before the Free Syrian Army along with Jabhat al Nusra pushed it out, and it went on to overrun most of Iraq. Then the world took notice but that was only because ISIS were about to commit the mother of all massacres against the Azidis of Iraq. Nobody complained about the airstrikes against ISIS in Iraq. Today those airstrikes began in Syria, and like earthworms after the rain the people who were silent before have now appeared and are able to speak.

Now they wring their hands in anguish. They pray for Syria. They wish there was another way. They worry about the innocents whose lives would be lost if the US led strikes against Syria materialised. Maybe to them a death by a US made bomb is a far worse fate than being killed by a Russian made one. So they shake their heads, "No, this won't do at all. It is one thing to watch a country bleed white over the course of three years, but to have the United States cauterise the cancer that is ISIS immediately, well that's just outrageous".

There's only one reason why the United States is bombing ISIS in northern Syria, and that's because the Assad regime gunned down innocent protesters in 2011. In his first speech after the protests in Deraa, and when his regime could no longer pretend like nothing was happening, he ranted and raved about a terrorism that didn't exist in Syria yet. He warned, no he threatened, that Syria will turn into another Afghanistan. He abandoned the north east of Syria, he struck oil deals with ISIS, he deliberately avoided bombing their headquarters whilst raining his wrath on the parts of Syria in control by the Free Syrian Army. His army obliterated parts of Homs, and eviscerated Aleppo, in a scorched earth policy that his soldiers spray-paint christened as "Assad or this country burns". If there is anybody who holds the moral blame for all that has befallen Syrians since then, it is this bankrupt regime and its Russian and Iranian backers.

Syrians have had three years of this murder. Three years of his apologists using smoke and mirrors and every trick in the book to paralyse the international community and prevent it from doing anything about the barrel bombs and the chlorine bombs dropping on the heads of civilians. Again and again the spectre of Iraq is raised, not so that anybody can learn anything, but to frighten anyone from action, however much needed, to help Syrians. The anti-imperialist camp must, at any cost, oppose intervention in Syria and they are pathologically incapable of comprehending its necessity. Others will get on to the moral high horse and say that strikes on Syria will lead to innocent lives being lost. Of course, they don't seem to mind much that the very next day those lives could be lost either by an overzealous ISIS fanatic enforcing his apocalyptic vision of a utopian society, or that death could come by Assad's barrel bombs or rocket attacks or air strikes. No, for that they can only offer the potential victims a lot of moral anguish, hand wringing and anxiety as they are crushed between Assad and ISIS. Heaven forbid that anybody interfere, that anybody try to do something.

Last year many of those same people cheered with joy that strikes against the Assad regime were averted after he used chemical weapons against the Syrian people. Since then the death toll in Syria has risen to over 200,000. But they have nothing to say about that. They've been too busy spending the last year basking in the warm glow of their own self righteousness. Since then Assad and his Shiite allies have managed to push back the Free Syrian Army (without ever challenging ISIS seriously) and ISIS has emerged from a fringe lunatic group to a lunatic messianic state controlling an area larger than the size of England. The non-interventionists are responsible for this turn of events, and they are responsible for the rise of ISIS. They offered no solutions, only obstacles. They don't have a position you can criticise. They just insist that nobody have a position either, that Syrians die for the principles of somebody else; somebody who can rubber-stamp the revolution and say, "Yes, you're a bonafide revolution and we approve of you", and say to them, "We will sing your praises in post-graduate Middle East courses across the Western world for all time, and write books about your sacrifices". 

The fact is non-interventionists have no right to talk about who may or may not get hurt in Syria, to pretend to be concerned for the innocent, and they have no right to hold the moral high ground after the debacle we've seen in Syria for the last twelve months. This is a disaster, step aside and let someone do something about it.  

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Thursday, July 24, 2014

"Give us back our dead"

I watched the return of the coffins to the Netherlands closely. There was a solemn procession of cars, flags at half mast, crowds of people giving their respect, piles of flowers along the route. The newspaper headlines screamed at Putin, "Give us back our dead". World governments united in their condemnation and made it clear in no uncertain terms that the tyrant of Moscow had gone too far. After the indignity and outrage suffered by the victims of flight MH17 the almost flawless processions organised by the Dutch were the least anybody could do for them. It's about respect and love for the dead. They might not care, but for the families it must have meant a lot. I know if I was mourning somebody the idea that the whole world is mourning with me, caring for my loss, would be some comfort however little. Now we wait while DNA analysis takes place to painstakingly identify the passengers of that ill-fated flight. That's what countries with self-respect and dignity do for their dead. Especially when they die in such a horrible way.

But for Syrians there is none of that. Syria is a country with no self-respect and no dignity. There was no unanimous decision to refrain from showing our dead on the news, naked for the world to see. Nobody dipped their flag half mast in the capitals of the world, there is no painstaking DNA analysis to identify our dead, to give them respect, wash their bodies, and pray over them. We will have no time to mourn, no time to remember. There will be no coroners report to establish how each of us died. No next of kin will be notified with a letter. No flags will be at half-mast. We are the cursed, the unwanted.

A distant relative of mine died under torture a year ago - or was it two? - and his family have not been given his body back. They will never get his body back. He was murdered by his own government, tortured to death, denounced by his own flesh and blood. The young man had flown down from America to see his family, he was arrested, I don't know how. Nobody ever saw him again. His father is a wreck, his mother screamed at the man responsible for daring to come to the boy's wake. How did he die? What happened to him? Nobody would tell them. Then the world saw the "industrial scale" murder factories that Assad is running. They saw the warehouses with emaciated naked bodies piled together neatly, catalogued and photographed. My relative's parents must have seen them as well. They must have thought, somewhere in that assembly line of death is our son. But his country doesn't care about him, and so the world doesn't care about him. We have a jackal for a president who laughs at them and at the families of his victims every day on the television and there isn't a god-damn thing anybody can or will do about it.

Even in death the world is divided between the "haves and have-nots". The haves are treated with dignity and respect when they die, the have-nots are wrapped in a sheet of plastic - if they are lucky - and dumped into a hastily dug hole. We want to mourn our dead, we deserve to wash their bodies, to sprinkle rosewater on them, to wrap them in the white burial shroud, to pray for them. All those mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, brothers, and sisters deserve this after all the horrors they've seen. Give us back our dead and leave us in our grief.

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Sunday, June 22, 2014

A Split Second

The courtyard is chaotic because the children are on their break. I am sitting on the floor leaning against the wall. The bell rings and they are all climbing up the steps in front of me to get to their classroom. Amidst the chaos just one girl stands out for a split second. She has the most wonderful smile I have ever seen in my life. I didn't have my phone out to take a picture. It was as if for a split second there was light only on this one little girl and her pigtails. She's a little older than a toddler. Then she vanished back in the crowd. I closed my eyes to rest them for a few seconds before going to the next of my workshops.

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"This won't take a minute"

They asked me if I have a moment and I said yes. I walked with the dentists to one of the classes and the kids were sitting "jalseh si7iyeh" - a healthy stance - behind their desks. I was asked to put on a fresh pair of rubber gloves for each child and then to apply fluoride coating to their teeth after the dentist had examined them. I remember that their teeth were so small.

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Moments

I have a mental image of a pretty girl with light brown hair wearing a white and blue dress. She's skipping with her friend and her ponytail bounces up and down with each step. She was in my journal writing class and I hope that some of the exercises I gave her might have sparked an interest in writing.

Later we are on the bus driving back to the hotel. I'm tired and thirsty, I forgot to take a bottle of water from the caretakers fridge before we leave. It's hot and dusty. I look out of the window, ignoring the chatter of my colleagues and looking forward to dipping into the cool pool in our mediocre hotel. I see the girl walking past the local Turkish graveyard on her way home. The blue and white of her dress stand out vividly from the dusty drab streets and the hard faces of other pedestrians. She is making her way daintily down from the high pavement and is looking to cross the street. I sit up in my seat and peer out of the window, I tap my hands on it but we've already moved on. We drive away and she is still looking to cross the road. A delicate flower in the middle of a drab dusty town in the middle of nowhere.

The next day I see her in the school courtyard. She smiles and recognises me. I say to her that I saw her going home the other day and she nods her head. I ask her name. She says it is Walaa. I think to myself what a coincidence it is that her name is the same as that other girl I met in Atmeh camp last December. They are almost the same age. They are both wonderful, both full of life. I've left them there. One is somewhere in a refugee camp in Syria, the other is somewhere in a border town in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of a region that is going nowhere, in a maelstrom. They are lost in a sea of desperate humanity.

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Obama the Fantasist

President Obama said it is a fantasy to have believed that the Syrian rebels could ever have hoped to defeat Assad's army. He's right. There's never been a revolution in history that started with a hope in hell of succeeding. Not one. Have a look in the history books. They all started from an impulse of utter desperation and misery. Revolutions erupt because of a failure in government. When businesses fail they go bankrupt, but when governments fail they are either replaced democratically or, as in the case of despotisms, removed by force. People don't go out and willingly face the weapons of a deranged army because they feel like it. They do it because they are desperate and have nothing left to lose. And when members of the army start to defect and fight against their former commanders and governments, you know that you have the nucleus of a serious rebellion.

Nobody asked for America's permission before they started the protests against Assad. They went out on the streets because it was the right thing to do, and because they rightfully expected that you cannot run a modern country with an educated population like a medieval fiefdom anymore. The only person who didn't realise that is Assad. He thinks he's clever because he's held on to power this long whilst reducing the country to a cinder, he's not. And neither is Obama when he says something as ridiculous as that the Free Syrian rebels never had a chance of succeeding. The real miracle is that they have survived so long in spite of everybody in the world hoping they would just curl up and die quietly. To think the Syrian people are going to do that is the real fantasy.

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Saturday, June 21, 2014

The Reyhanli Diaries

You spend a week with displaced Syrian children and it gives you an insight into the Syrian crisis that is a million times better than anything Assad's enthusiasts in the West can come up with. Child after child says the same thing, airplanes bombing their villages. Mothers, fathers, uncles and cousins killed by Assad's snipers. Hunger, cold, fatigue. Fear and uncertainty as they cross fields and mountains to get to the relative safety of Turkey, and then a quick dash past the Turkish gendarmes and their patrol cars as they crawl down and then up the three metre ditches that have been dug along the border to prevent diesel smuggling from Syria, where it's cheaper.

This was the second time I had been invited by the Zeitouna program for displaced Syrian refugee kids to run my workshop. Unlike last December, the children in this camp were mostly special cases and they were doing an intensive summer school program. A lot of these children hadn't been in a proper school for over a year. I noticed that a higher number of the school children didn't want me to read their diary entries than in December. When they did the stories were heart-wrenching. Their memories were about death, destruction and loss. They were nothing you'd want a ten year old boy or girl to ever have to know. But that is the reality that they and millions of other Syrians have had to face. Beneath the smiling cheerful facade and the noise of the playground everybody in the Salam school carries a terrible burden. That includes the teachers, who have the double burden of trying to help the children live a normal life whilst also carrying their own problems. One teacher told me of how he was held by the security services for over a month with regular beatings and interrogation. He had to hang from the ceiling by his wrists, with his toes barely touching the floor. He was kept like this for three days with no food or water or toilet breaks, and he was beaten by a thick cable. When he'd faint they would chuck a bucket of water on him and he would lick his lips to try and quench his thirst. When they took him down he couldn't feel his hands for hours and thought he had lost their use forever.

After that they made him hold his hands out so that they can hit him with the cables. He was told he would be hit forty times, and that each time he flinched and tried to pull his arms back they would add another five. The final count was ninety and his hands were hit so hard that his finger nails came off. When they finally released him he had lost forty kilograms out of ninety. The judge he was presented to ordered him to tell people that he had been on vacation all this time. He escaped to Turkey as soon as he had the chance.

There is something perverse in hearing about the obscene celebrations in Assad's areas that have been going non-stop since his sham elections, and the suffering these children told me about. I ask the girls in one class to write about the happiest day in their lives, and most of them don't want to do that. They want to write about the saddest day in their lives. At first I'm adamant that they not do that, but then I give in. I tell them they can write about the saddest day in their lives if that's what they want. They say they do. Then they volunteer to read to the class. They were so hungry to tell somebody - anybody - about what happened to them, and the realisation dawned on me that this was how they wanted to unburden themselves of this big weight on their chests. Far from bringing up painful memories, I felt as if we were giving each other the chance to release pent up hurt and anguish. One of the girls started reading her journal entry, and she started talking about how her cousin was killed fighting for the Free Syrian Army, and then how, a few days later, her uncle was also shot by a sniper. I was looking at the other students in the room and was also tired so I then stared out of the window. Then I realised she had stopped talking. I looked at her and she was quietly sobbing. The other students looked down, nobody said a word. Then one girl said, "May he rest in peace", and I repeated that too. She sobbed, and then carried on reading, sharing her heartache with us in the room. It was a moment of commiseration for us all where we acknowledged our common humanity. We were grieving together. And when I think about it now maybe that is what the girls of that 12th grade really needed, somebody to grieve with and listen to how much they had been hurt.

I asked another girl in the 9th grade to write about her last day in Syria and what she saw. She didn't talk about planes bombing them, or about losing loved ones. She was a bubbly cheerful girl with a pink hejab and I liked her. She was one of my favourite students in the class. Then she started reading to us how she and her family were crossing cornfields and ditches to get to the safety of Turkey. I thought she was fine and she was smiling. Halfway through she started to sob and I choked up. She would give that beautiful smile and then start sobbing in between, as if the memory of her displacement was too much to bear and she was doing everything possible to keep up the facade of a happy girl in her early teens. I almost cried in front of everybody but I kept a straight face. My eyes burned.

The stories came non-stop and it's only now, a few days after I have come back, that I can write a little about this past week. It was beautiful, human and warm to be with the children and the teachers, and we all said tearful goodbyes on the final day. One boy came back to hug me three times, and I could feel his chest heave as he cried. I patted him on the back and whispered to him to stay strong and be patient. Inside I was dying. Last week, just briefly, we all shared something wonderful. Maybe in times of war that can make all the difference.

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Thursday, June 05, 2014

88.7%

I do wonder what it would have been like today in Assad's house. Was he waiting anxiously by his phone with Asma holding his hand and the children being told to keep quiet by their nanny? Did his personal aide walk in with a letter on a gold tray to inform his "Excellency" that he has won the election? Did his opponents in the race call to congratulate him, as gentlemen?


What did Assad do when he heard? Did he pump his fists into the air in triumph? Maybe he was happy to be over and done with all that campaigning and being on the road to win the Syrian people's vote? Maybe he sat back in his chair, closed his eyes and smiled. Maybe he thanked his wife, his staff and everybody else who made this dream a reality then told everybody to get to work like a Syrian version of the West Wing. Or then again, maybe not. In fact, he doesn't give a damn.
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Sunday, June 01, 2014

Six Lessons We Can Learn From Assad

It's alright to learn, even from your enemies. After three years of struggle Assad continues to cling to power and has proved the most tenacious of the old Arab breed of dictators. He has burned the country to a cinder, run its economy to the ground, and forced half the population to flee, but he is still the rooster of his pile of garbage. Surprisingly, he has survived not by being a political genius but by adhering to some very simple principles that have held true. These could be put down into roughly six key principles and Syrians everywhere would do well to take note of these. So, starting from the sixth and working our way to number one, the things we can learn from the Assad regime are as follows:

6. Live in the Land

You can't occupy a country without going to live there. That's one of the rules that Machiavelli highlighted in the Prince. Assad may or may not have read it. He certainly applies some of the principles in there, albeit badly. But in this one he and his father cannot be faulted. From the tiny village of Qirdaha, Assad's followers have reached the pinnacles of power in Damascus and held on tightly. In their view they conquered Syria and the Syrian people are their subjects. He bought his Alawite supporters to live inside Damascus in suburbs like Mazzeh 86. He who controls Damascus controls Syria. And men who know their families are behind them when they go to war fight harder and with more loyalty.

5. Consistent Narrative

In Assad's case this means lying through your teeth in the face of all sanity, evidence and reason. He lied in 2011, 2012, 2013 and 2014. He's lying at the UN Security Council, and the media. He lied his way through Geneva 1 and Geneva 2. To get that message across he has utilised an already pre-existing network of propaganda channels, news pundits and journalists. He offers them the carrot of exclusive access and inside scoops so that they can start making a name for themselves. Most importantly, he formats and presents his narrative into regularly updated packages that are then trickled down his network of misinformation from conventional news and media outlets all the way to the average Twitter and Facebook user who wouldn't know how to justify Assad's brutality otherwise.

4. Choose your friends wisely

Assad's father was an Alawite in a predominantly Sunni country, in a predominantly Sunni region. He was surrounded by enemies within and without. Yet in spite of that, he spun a web of connections both nationally and internationally that have sheltered him from various storms. His alliance with Iran and Hezbullah, his cultivation of the anti-Saddam Maliki, his strong ties with the Soviet Union and countries such as North Korea, have all helped him get the kind of diplomatic and military cover that is now protecting his son. Furthermore, he cultivated ties with the Sunni economic and political class that was wise enough to acquiesce to him or be obliterated. These are all pillars that his regime now rests on, and that have helped him whether the storms.

3. Choose a winning team

Assad might be the central coordinator of his regime, but he and his father took great care to always make sure they had the right person in the right place. Seale's book on Assad mentioned how Hafez was always up till late at night going through personal files on different candidates and individuals. It was always a constant job to find, cultivated and recruit the best people for each role. Once that was done, he would allow each of them to feed at the corruption trough according to their rank and stature. This way they relied on him for their livelihoods but were also indebted to him. Anybody who got delusions of grandeur was quickly cut to size by the same corruption they were enticed with - recall Khaddam, Zoubi and countless other regime apparatchiks. The lesson here, know your people - choose a winning team.

2. Nobody is Irreplaceable

Apart from Assad himself and his immediate family, nobody is irreplaceable in the regime. Assad has lost his brother in law, possibly his brother, and countless generals, ministers, officers and intelligence big-shots, but almost on the same day that the opposition declare a major member of his regime eliminated, another is appointed to replace him. Assad knows who he has on his cards and what they are capable of. If somebody isn't doing a good job, he quickly replaces them and gets somebody who will.

1. Dig In

This is probably the most important rule. He never concedes, never gives up, never tires, never stops. He will let you hit him and wait until you tire. He will dig in and wait for the shelling to stop. He will wait until his international opponents are voted out of office; until public opinion tires and looks elsewhere. He will wait until the refugees starve and freeze to death, until his domestic opponents batter themselves out and die of old age and anguish. If he negotiates, it is not to surrender, but to give himself time. He will never give up.

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Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Tell me More. Please...

Please, tell me more about your "Resistance" project, and how you are fighting the good fight against imperialism and occupation and cultural hegemony. About how you think the necktie is a remnant of the uniform worn by the old Knights Templar (it's not but I like to see you keep bringing that up). Tell me more about how the freedom of the individual, this so-called negative and positive freedom you keep liking to invoke, is so, so, very important to the historic struggles of the brown man as he shakes off the yoke of his oppressor. Tell me about your amazing plan to liberate Jerusalem, for the dignity of all Palestinians, Arabs, and Muslims (no dignity to any of them until then, of course). Tell me about your glorious leaders and martyrs, about "keeping your word" with a brutal dictator who has butchered the Syrian people just so that he can be a president like his Daddy.

You'll only be happy to, I am sure. But right now there is something you're not telling me. Right now the so-called "Zionist Enemy" has, through their courts and laws, imprisoned a former president on charges of rape, and that there is a former prime minister who will now serve six years in prison on charges of bribery. Maybe they're not as good at picking their leaders as you are. And you definitely don't want to tell me about how your torture chambers make anything the villainous "Empire" can think of, including Guantanamo and Abu Ghraib - yes, especially them - look like Disney land in comparison. You don't want to tell me that your pet dictator and the militias you send to support him have killed more Syrians than everybody killed by US drone strikes since 2001. That they have displaced in three years more Syrians than the "Zionist enemy" ever did when it took part of Palestine in 1948, and then the rest of it in 1967. I guess these are things you don't want to tell me about...


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Wednesday, April 16, 2014

On the Myth that is "Assad is here to stay"

Jim Muir recently wrote that "Bashar al Assad and his leadership are there to stay" and explained why. Hassan Nasrallah also declared triumphantly that the danger facing Assad's regime in Syria has now passed, and Assad himself said that the war has reached a "turning point". What most people forget as they get carried away by headlines like this is that the number of "turning points" we have had since the start of the revolution leave us all exactly where we started.

A little bit of perspective would not go amiss here. What kind of turning point is it for Assad when he had said exactly the same thing as he "toured" the Baba Amr district in Homs two years ago. That was supposed to be a big deal. And remember that three months into the conflict the popular regime slogan was "it's over" and yet here we are three years later. The world lampooned President Bush for his "Mission Accomplished" slogan on an aircraft carrier and yet they still take Bashar al Assad seriously. With hindsight we know now that the Syrian revolution was always going to be a near impossible task. It should not have succeeded, and by all rights Assad's fearsome intelligence services and the cast-iron support of his international allies should have stamped out the Syrian people from the very first days of protest. And they tried, very hard.

The fact is, and I agree with Muir on this, the war of attrition is the only reality we have in Syria. But we shouldn't confuse the ebbs and flows of the war with turning points, the reality is far more fluid, and it shows us that the water has been creeping closer and closer to Assad's power base with each successive new tide. He pushes back constantly, and sometimes he pushes back harder when an influx of arms and troops from his allies helps him, but where his soldiers patrol during the day, the rebels come back at night. The old adage, "the situation is critical but not serious" sums up everything about the "Assad is here to stay" mantra.

The Syria rebels continue to consolidate their positions in the north of the country, his stronghold in Western Aleppo came under serious attack only recently, and in spite of their war against the Assad regime the Syrian rebels have also managed to push back the much hated extremist group "The Islamic State of Iraq and Syria" ISIS. They spent the first months of the year fighting ISIS, then a few weeks ago they took over Kassab and the last stretch of Syrian territory under Assad's control that borders with Turkey. They are constantly assassinating and killing his commanders. A few days ago they assassinated Major General Salim al Sheikh, and earlier they had killed yet another of his cousins, Hilal al Assad, as they pushed closer into his hinterland.

Assad's posturing and the buttressing of his image abroad as "here to stay" is really all a matter of timing. As is the case with his Iranian tutors, Assad pays very close attention to the political calendar. Whether it was his forces shelling Hama on the eve of Ramadan in 2011 or today as he "campaigns" in Damascus by visiting Syrians displaced because of the fighting, what Assad is doing is trying to shape perceptions. He wants the world to believe he is there to stay. But if that were true he wouldn't have to do that. He would simply just crush his opponents and take a walk down the streets of his capital, something that he cannot do. After all the strongest kid on the block does not need to keep telling people what he is. He simply does what he needs to do.

Then there is the matter of the help he's been getting. It's true that he has maintained his grip mainly with Hezbullah and Iran's aid, but to say he is here to stay misses a crucial fact. He is there only as long as there are Iranian and Hezbullah fighters propping him up. When they leave, he leaves. Machiavelli once said that only an invader who has come to live in a country can ever maintain his grip on it. I don't see the families of Shiite fighters from Hezbullah, Iraq or Iran bringing their families to live in Syria any time soon. In fact recent tensions over coverage by the Hezbullah propaganda channel (Al Manar) and the pro-Assad channel al Mayadeen have highlighted what could be cracks in the alliance with Assad. He is still under immense pressure, domestically and abroad, and he is haemorrhaging soldiers and equipment while his economy is losing billions of dollars a year. He also has to pay at some point for all the support that Iran and Russia are giving him. There comes a time when the tab gets too big for you to get another drink and you must pay the bartender.

What is really holding back real change in Syria hasn't been Assad's tenacity or the resolve of his allies, but the weakness and division in the opposition against him. This too has changed in leaps and bounds. People noticed the professionalism of the Syrian National Coalition in Geneva 2 in contrast to the demagoguery and hysteria of the Syrian regime's entourage. The current head of the coalition, Mr Ahmad al Jarba, has been constantly engaged in quiet diplomacy since then and the Syrian opposition today is certainly not the same confused, disjointed opposition that blinked its eyes into the light three years ago. It is a completely different beast and it has formed, stormed and normed itself into something that is proving far more agile at playing the diplomatic game whilst also strengthening connections with units on the ground. Only recently Jarba toured the front in Lattakia - always a big publicity boost for the Syrian revolution and a matter of hysterics for regime apparatchiks. This is because such visits by heads of the opposition inside Syria, and in areas that Assad only recently controlled, are direct snubs to his power and authority and the Stalin-esque nature of his regime is pathologically incapable of accepting such new realities. So really the slogan "Assad is here to stay" should be read "Assad is here for now" and he's only keeping the seat warm in Damascus.

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Sunday, January 19, 2014

Jihad Makdissi talks Elephants and Umbrellas

Why is Jihad Makdissi being interviewed about Geneva 2? And why now? And why at all? These are all very important questions that need to be asked, and they need an answer. I don't agree with people who say that Jihad Makdissi represents the kind of people we want in Geneva 2, not because I have anything personal against him, but because he and the current he represents are irrelevant. There are two parties that need to be in Geneva 2, the regime and the Syrian opposition - the real Syrian opposition, however clumsy and divided it is.

It is important for us to clarify what we mean by the Syrian opposition, especially with regards to Geneva. People who refer to the Syrian revolution as a "crisis" are using a codeword that is acceptable to the regime and therefore makes them immune to its wrath. When they use the word "crisis" they tread a thin line, and acknowledge a very real problem that Assad is facing, but avoid using a term that de-legitimizes his rule. Mr Makdissi uses the word crisis. And as far as I know the man has never used the word revolution to describe what is happening in Syria, even before it became armed.

Then there is his constant deflection of the debate away from Assad. Mr Makdissi's interview might tick all the boxes for people who don't understand the doublespeak of the Syrian regime, but his choice of words brings up interesting observations. He criticizes the opposition for being fixated on the "president" (a curious term to still be using for a mass murderer) and yet his entire interview is couched in language that builds up the regime's image as a side, at the very least, that can be relied upon.

Of course as I brought up earlier, he doesn't refer to it as a revolution once. He doesn't talk about the torture, the killing, the shooting of unarmed protesters. He doesn't speak about the corruption of the Makhlouf family, the brutality and utter dominance of the Assad family over every decision made in the Syrian security apparatus - but he believes he has spotted the elephant in the room that everybody else is ignoring. Well done, sir!

In short it is as if he wishes to skirt around every reason why there was a revolution in Syria in the first case. In Jihad Makdissi's universe, the Syrian "crisis" as he calls it, seems to have sprung up overnight between two sides and came about for reasons that nobody can fathom, and that for some reason both sides have great animosity towards each other. Complicated scenarios, complicated solutions and complicated thinking. He wants a ceasefire, he talks about negotiations, but saturated in his interview is a blinkered view of what has been happening in the country for the past three years. I found it particularly amusing, and completely arbitrary, the way he dropped in some classic Arab Baath nationalism "lite" to deflect any insinuation that he was situating himself as a reassurance for Syrian Christians:

But I think our Arab umbrella should be maintained because relation with God shouldn’t be the essential factor.
I think there is a good reason why he pushed aside such notions and I will clarify why later in this piece. But more interestingly nobody has taken note of Mr Makdissi's "Arab umbrella". This umbrella was never opened when Assad started shelling Homs and Hama in 2011, the latter on the eve of the first day of Ramadan. He certainly didn't bring up his Arab umbrella when protesters were being shot at in the streets of Deraa in 2011.

In fact, he appears to be extremely selective about when he deploys this kind of speaking. A review of Mr Makdissi's Twitter feed around the 21st of August 2013 seems to show that he politely ignored the regime's chemical weapon attack in the suburbs of Damascus, but then showed a remarkable interest in the looming strikes against the Assad regime. Is it possible that his Arab umbrella only opens up against Western bombs? I don't know and the only person who can answer this question is Mr Makdissi.

Then there are his other curious statements in the interview:
I really hope to go back today. I don’t have any legal issues, because after I left they accepted my official resignation, but today who cares about law when there is no order? Frankly I would have never left Damascus if I knew that my resignation would trigger no reaction. At the end of the day I have two kids and a family, and there was no room for taking any chance.
What does he mean by not leaving if he knew there would be no reaction? And what on earth is he talking about when he brings up "legal issues"? The Syrian government is dropping barrel bombs on Syrian villages, but Mr Makdissi believes he has no "legal issues". I don't know whether to laugh or cry when reading such statements. But even though his motives are unclear, there is still a lot we can glean from this interview.

It gives us an insight into how the skeleton of Syria's government accommodates the Assad regime. It is almost as if blinkered bureaucrats like Mr Makdissi have perfected a method of walking on egg shells around the unfathomable core of Assad's security kingdom but are still unable to predict how it will react to the slightest deviation from acceptable discourse. That same discourse is one that he and others in Syria's paper opposition adhere to dogmatically. The regime gives no clue as to how it reaches its decisions, so government officials simply quake in fear and hope their over the top posturing and platitudes earn them favour from on high.

The real Syrian opposition talks about Assad and uses his name openly and clearly. It refers to concrete instances of abuses by the Syrian regime, it screamed to the high heavens when he lobbed chemical missiles into civilian areas, and it openly acknowledged and condemned human rights violations by rebel groups. The real Syrian opposition, the one that was dragged kicking and screaming to Geneva 2 (for its own good) and has grudgingly given some fighters more human rights training in the past 36 months than Assad did to his entire security services in over forty years, is the one that needs to be in Geneva. Syrians do not need Mr Makdissi and the people who talk and think like him to be attending the conference. If there is an elephant in the room, it is the one stopping Mr Makdissi from seeing what the Syrian regime has been doing to his country.
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Monday, January 13, 2014

Dying for the "Big Picture"


Take a good long look at this man photographed by the Watan Syria team as they distributed blankets to internally displaced people in Deir al Zor, Syria. This is what a broken man looks like. He has nothing except the time left before he dies. It doesn't matter what his name is, or what his story is. He's a man who was born in the wrong part of the world and with the wrong type of passport. Because that's how it is. People like him are not allowed to change their own condition, to ask for freedom or dignity. They have to crouch down beneath military boots and the "big picture", or freeze and starve to death quietly in bare hovels.
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Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Answering Karl reMarks: The Case Against Anti-Interventionism



Karl reMarks has written an essay describing the Arab uprising as a missed opportunity for self determination. I agree with him that there is a serious lack of historical context and political understanding when it comes to analysing and understanding the Arab spring, but I think his conclusions are, on the one hand, premature when it comes to judging some aspects of this spring a failure, and on the other, inaccurate when we come to the question of interventionism and the role played by outside countries in these national struggles. It is premature to say that any of these struggles has "failed" any more than it would be to proclaim that one has succeeded. After all, what does a "successful" revolution look like? 

This is not a trivial question, but a very serious one. There is today a constant barrage of academics and journalists who talk about revolutions as if they were some kind of a project to be completed with tangible milestones and clear targets. And yet, if we look at the history of revolutions, we find them to be just as messy and chaotic as what we are seeing in the Arab world. Not only that, but almost all of these revolutions unleashed consequences and actors that none could have foreseen before they commenced. Karl argues that the Arab revolutions represented a real opportunity for change, albeit one that has now been missed. He pins this failure on a twin dynamic: The failure of the domestic political opposition to seize this opportunity; and the intervention of outside powers. And yet we are reading his words only three years after the first protests began in Tunisia. If a commentator were to have written similar arguments three years after the Russian, French, or even English, revolutions would that not also have been considered equally premature?

None of these revolutions could have been considered a "success" three years after their eruption, nor were they free of outside intervention. Even during the American revolution, the Founding Fathers did not think it beneath their principles to accept assistance from France in their struggle against King George III. And none of these revolutions lacked failed political leaderships and lost opportunities. So why are we constantly expecting so much from the Arab revolutions? And why is the concept of national sovereignty only invoked when a foreign country is about to intervene but not when it comes to tyrants usurping the state and subverting the laws of the land. Is the Assad regime's bastardization of Syrian law and his emasculation of Parliament no less an infringement on Syrian national sovereignty? And is that not worthy of the outrage of foreign and domestic commentators alike? 

Furthermore, and to use the "language of humanitarianism" as Karl described it, is it not just as legitimate to draw parallels between Hitler's hijacking of Germany in the thirties and the Assad regime's hollowing out of the Syrian state today? And can we not see in the regime's systematic brutalization of Syria's Sunni hinterland the same sectarian ferocity of a Milosevic? I disagree strongly with Karl in that the Holocaust and Bosnia are not tired cliches that have been misused but important lessons from the past that tell us what happens when "The State" goes insane. It is only when we move beyond this triviality that we can see national sovereignty for what it is, a privilege and not a right, and it is based upon these valuable lessons that doctrines such as the Responsibility to Protect have arisen. 

Should we dismiss this doctrine simply because it has been cynically used by some countries for their own interests? Certainly not. The fact that the intervention in Libya or in Sudan was triggered by Western interests and not a genuine humanitarian concern should not detract from the very real crisis faced by the Libyans and Sudanese, and continues to be faced by Syrians today. Karl refers to the Western intervention as somehow denying a national Libyan expression from coming into its own as it fought Gaddafi's brigades, but it is difficult to see how anything could have grown under the withering brutality of that tyrant. In the early days of the Libyan revolution, as would be echoed in the Syrian town of Deraa, the regime used anti-aircraft guns to fire rounds the size of Coca-Cola bottles at unarmed protesters. That a national opposition with principles that Karl can approve of could emerge under such difficult conditions is extremely doubtful. The sad fact is that the modern means at the disposal of "states" makes it all but impossible for the kind of national resistance movement we saw in Algeria and it would be simply impossible for such movements to ever come into existence through their own efforts. If such an endeavor was ever attempted seriously today the consequences on the civilian population would be far greater than what we are seeing in Syria or what we ever saw in Libya.

Viewed in this light, the "competition to gain victim status" as Karl so derisively puts it, is nothing more than the sheer desperation of people who are looking directly into the abyss. In such a situation who could be blamed for wanting any other country to come and assist, and at any cost? And who are we to insist that they die for the principles of self determination? I refer here to the example of a Syrian woman reported to have crossed the borders into the occupied Golan Heights to give birth in an Israeli hospital. Was she in contravention to the principles of self determination that would make a revolution legitimate and successful? Are we to tell her that it would be far better to risk her and her child's life by giving birth in a ditch somewhere whilst under shelling? Have we become so crass? I should hope not, and I will not be the one to rebuke her brave decision or even question her judgment. 

To choose inaction against regimes that fire rounds the size of Coca Cola bottles at unarmed protesters and drop barrel bombs on their own citizens is to turn a blind eye to it under the pretext of respecting a non-existent national sovereignty. The reality that has never changed is that we do live in a world where states meddle in the affairs of other countries, and where non-state actors will constantly try to subvert law and exist in conditions of lawlessness. Karl's description of al Qaeda as the Syrian opposition's scapegoat for its own failures is at best disingenuous. We should not dismiss the "vacuum theory" of extremist groups in Syria lightly, in the same way that we cannot blame the existence of al Qaeda in Iraq on the American invasion in 2003, regardless of its legality. Can we really claim that it was only Western intervention which turned Iraq into a "disaster" ignore over thirty years of Saddam's rule that scourged an entire generation of Iraqis and Iranians in a needless ten year war? That states cynically play games with each other is not news, nor is it only something that Western governments do. In Vietnam, Chinese support was essential to the North Vietnamese. The "catastrophic" intervention in Afghanistan, as Karl puts it, was nowhere near as controversial in the wake of the World Trade Centre attacks in 2001 as people might think today. And missing in this revisionist narrative is that the collapse of Afghanistan as a state was directly precipitated by a Soviet invasion. Furthermore, the rise of the Taleban after the Soviet withdrawal came about precisely because Western assistance was pulled back as a result of that withdrawal. So it is puzzling why people insist on portraying only half of the story when it comes to Afghanistan, ironic in that Russia today is playing a similar role in Syria.

The world has moved on from the days of the United Fruit Company and Guatemala, and believe it or not it has also moved on from the Iraq invasion of 2003. There have been numerous foreign interventions in many countries that have been illegal, catastrophic and immoral, but there have also been interventions such as in Kosovo and Bosnia where many people are alive today as a result. And, to be fair, let us not forget the invasion of Cambodia that put an end to the butchery of the Khmer Rouge, a butchery that had no end in sight were it not for outside intervention, even if it was by Viet Nam. It has not been Western foreign meddling which has escalated the war in Syria, but the Assad regime and its allies. Answering unarmed protesters with live ammunition and tanks in the streets represents a pretty significant escalation, in my opinion. And when we consider the paucity of Western aid to the rebels, especially in the early days when one could still speak of a nascent Free Syrian Army espousing a moderately secular vision of Syria, the idea that Western "meddling" has somehow provoked Iran and Hezbullah to escalate their support for the regime, as if such allies needed this pretext, detracts from the very real advances made by the Syrian rebel groups in the early days, advances that came about mostly because of their own ingenuity in stealing, bartering and buying the weapons that they needed to advance and hold ground. In effect it was the kind of self determination that Karl laments today and which was in fact crushed by the one-sided foreign assistance given to Assad. The only foolish meddling the West can be accused of has been in its amateurish diplomacy with Russia and Iran, rather than any kind of material support for the Syrian people.

**Correction: The original post had incorrectly stated that China had invaded Cambodia and toppled the Khmer Rouge. In fact it was Viet Nam that invaded and dislodged the Khmer Rouge, and China invaded Viet Nam in retaliation. Apologies**
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Tuesday, December 17, 2013

A Story Just for Me

On Sunday I sat down in Hatay airport feeling tired. The weather conditions were abysmal and I wasn't looking forward to the next forty eight hours of travel before I got home. Then I rummaged through my satchel and found a folded piece of paper. A little girl called Rime had given it to me two days earlier, and I had put it in my pocket without reading it. I figured I had the time now, so I took it out and unfolded it carefully. As I read her neat handwriting, with hearts and little flowers drawn around it, I felt myself choking up and my face lit with a bright smile. It was a story about a bee and a sheep and a turtle and how they all decide to go together for a picnic and play beneath a tree in a magical castle and when they were all done they got back home and went to sleep.

This last week I was volunteering with the Karam Foundation to help cheer up Syrian children at the Salam school in Reyhanli. I was running a journal writing workshop and also helping out with a storytelling workshop, and one of the things that I was constantly telling the children was that stories needed a "secret" password before being told, otherwise they wouldn't be nice, like tea that had gone cold. The children would remind me when I pretended to forget, and they would chant out the words "Kan ya Ma Kan Fi Qadeem al Zaman" - "It was or it was not, in a time long ago" before each recital. At the end of every story we would end with the cutesy "Hilweh wala fat fouteh?" (Is it nice or is it not?) phrase. I must have told a thousand stories before the week was through, and the children were mesmerized by each one. It was as if something magical happened when a story was being told, and we were all engaged in something old and familiar. I told stories of a magical giant who helped a little girl find her way back home, of a hunter who rescued a boy lost in the woods, and of how the boy helped his father reclaim his land from a thief. There were stories of turtles travelling to the pyramids and of a little beetle that helped people to finally drink from a magical fountain of happiness that was protected by a mean caretaker.

In the diary writing workshops I asked the children to write twenty lines about the worst day in their lives, and another twenty about the best day. Anybody who reached twenty lines for the best day of their lives got to pick a special sticker to keep in their notebooks. It was just a sticker, but when they were finally given the opportunity to pick one their eyes would light up in glee and they wouldn't know which one to pick. They would take what seemed like ages to choose which one they wanted. I don't know how it happened, or when exactly, but I fell in love with each of those children and was able to tell their personalities apart even in the short time we had available. One seven year old girl drew me a pretty picture with patterns and a large heart. Written in the heart were the words, "Baba". The cynic in me would have smirked, but after reading what some of these children had written about their lives, or what they had told me over the past days, I almost cried. How could I possibly be a Baba figure to anybody? But for those short days I was. I remember one boy who looked just like a writer, whatever that may look like. I saw him pick up his pen and stare at the page as I asked him to write about the worst day of his life. He paused as if to think about it, sighed as if he had pulled it up from deep within himself, and then began writing. He then wrote on and on and on. He also wrote over thirty lines for the happiest day of his life, and so did many other boys and girls. They all whistled when they heard me ask for a mammoth twenty lines, but when they started, many of them went far beyond that. In fact I had trouble stopping them writing. Some of them even let me read the entries, on condition that I don't read it aloud to the other children. It was a privilege for me to have looked into their memories. They were all good kids, beautiful kids.

One girl who wore a red scarf and matching woolly cap was a know it all and quickly became my very own teacher's pet. She fussed and tsk'ed when she saw me write the date on the board. She said "Sir, I can tell you don't know Arabic. That's not the way we write the date on the board". Then she got up and wrote it on the whiteboard in her very best handwriting. I asked her what her name was and she told me. I told her that that was the name of somebody very dear to me, to which she straightened up in her seat and replied almost instantly with an answer that was the very best that Syrian polite society had to offer. It was all I could do not to burst out in laughter in front of the class. The next day I saw her running around madly with paint on her cheeks and fingers as she helped the artists in our groups paint the new mural on the school wall, full of life and mischief.

There were countless children throughout the week. There was the young boy Hassan who wanted me to play with his new ball in the playground on our last day, there was young Aisha who let me sit next to her in a class whilst one of my colleagues taught them about photography. She told me all about her family and of how her father was a vet and of how she loves all kinds of animals except cats. She told me she wasn't afraid when the volunteer dentists pulled out one of her teeth and that she had been brave, and I believe her. In spite of everything they had been through, these children had found a way to remain cheery, alive and curious about life. I do love them all dearly. But there were also moments of sadness. Like when I met an eleven year old boy who didn't know how to read. I have never met someone who can't read, and I stood there stunned for a moment as my mind raced through ways that I could help him in the one hour I was spending in his class. There were none, so I asked him to draw the best and worst days of his life. He drew pictures of the planes that Assad had sent to bomb his village. One boy told me how he had locked himself in his room for three days when his cousin was killed as he fought for the Free Syrian Army - I asked him to write about that. Another boy told me his father had been killed, and that that day was the saddest day in his life - he went on to write about that too. One girl spoke of how her brother had been captured by the regime, and of what they had done to him. Everybody had a story to tell me. And in spite of that they all retained the greatest of warmth and hospitality. They constantly offered me sweets and biscuits after our classes. For one boy, the best day in his life was when his friends came to visit him on the Eid and his mother had cooked his favourite dishes. They had then had tea and he was given 100 liras to go and buy chocolates and biscuits from his uncle's corner shop. I told him to write that down too and he got one of the stickers for his efforts.

So much more was seen and done in this week, of which I will be writing, but as I sat there in that busy airport with the world walking by, I thought of a pretty little girl with a pink woolly cap who had gone home after my storytelling workshop to write me a story in her best handwriting albeit with spelling and grammar mistakes. She even remembered the magic words and when I reached the end of the story she asked me "Hilwe wala fatfouteh?". I paused for a moment and mouthed my reply back to her silently.
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