In the southern countryside of Aleppo: image via Hozaifa Dahmaan @hozaifadahmaan, 2 February 2018
The power of the internet has invaded every war now and it’s not just Jabbour whose death shocks each family. Soldiers of the Syrian government receive more public notice than the civilians of either side – the casualty figures for the Syrian war, anywhere from 240,000 to 450,000 dead, have now reached fantastically unreliable proportions. For all we know, they may even be closer to half a million, although that is unlikely.
But every Syrian knows – and has watched over and over again – the appalling, moving images of the death of 19-year-old Fadi Zidan, a cadet in the “National Defence” militia. He had joined up in 2015 and just four days later was seized by Isis fighters in Palmyra. And there his terrible fate was recorded forever – largely unseen in the West, of course, but regarded inside Syria with all the reverence (or hatred, depending on your point of view) humans bestow upon a religious painting.
What is the real cost of this war in the ranks of Bashar al-Assad’s army? I think it passed 70,000 dead some months ago. Eighty thousand, perhaps. What rewards do their families expect from such a sacrifice? There will be debts to be paid.
As my recent trip to Syria proved, wars can be at their most dangerous when they're coming to an end: Debts will have to be paid for the casualties of this war, and some soldiers are becoming rather too over-confident: Robert Fisk for The Independent from Hama, Syria, 1 February 2018
It’s easy to think the war is over. Until mortars
from Ghouta swish over Damascus and explode in the old Christian area of
Bab el-Touma with its grocery shops and restaurants. Six dead. Or when
an army officer comes and says quite casually to you: “Remember Captain
Walid? He was martyred four days ago.” I’ve always felt uneasy about the
word “martyred” – about any soldier, or civilian, anywhere.
But that’s the way the man referred to Captain Walid Jabbour
Khalil. He was a combat correspondent with the Syrian army. He carried a
notebook, not a rifle, and he had a dangerous job.
I knew him, though not well. Last year, he was covering the
war on the mountains of Qalamun high above Lebanon, a short, cheerful,
moustachioed man who, I thought, was happier as an official military
reporter than an infantryman. He had been recording how the bodies of
Jabhat al-Nusra fighters lay on the edge of an escarpment just captured
by the army and its Hezbollah allies.
Russian and German official combat reporters and
photographers had a short life expectancy in the Second World War –
their Allied opposite numbers somewhat longer – and they took their
chances in battles, cruel and fair, on the side of the aggressors or the
liberators. Walid Jabbour, like his colleagues, was making a record of
the Syrian army’s war, as ruthless a struggle as any in the recent
history of the Middle East. He was shot dead by a sniper – probably a
Jabhat al-Nusra man – in the battle of Harasta in eastern Damascus. He
was wearing a flak jacket. The bullet, very carefully aimed according to
his colleagues, hit him just beneath the lower left side of the
protective armour.
By one of those awful ironies that war regularly throws up,
Jabbour and his fellow cameramen were two weeks ago making a documentary
about their own work. So his death, as he scrambled through a doorway,
was recorded by one of his own photographer friends. He was a Christian –
how we need to note these small matters now, in a war that has
plastered coloured sectarian stickers over the landscape of every Syrian
map. He was 38 and married, with a young son. His commanding officer, a
Damascus general, attended the funeral – he is a Muslim and it was the
first Christian church service he had ever attended. He gave a speech by
the coffin, he said, amazed by the music and the extraordinary
vestments of the priests.
The power of the internet has invaded every war now and it’s not just Jabbour whose death shocks each family. Soldiers of the Syrian government receive more public notice than the civilians of either side – the casualty figures for the Syrian war, anywhere from 240,000 to 450,000 dead, have now reached fantastically unreliable proportions. For all we know, they may even be closer to half a million, although that is unlikely.
But every Syrian knows – and has watched over and over again – the appalling, moving images of the death of 19-year-old Fadi Zidan, a cadet in the “National Defence” militia. He had joined up in 2015 and just four days later was seized by Isis fighters in Palmyra. And there his terrible fate was recorded forever – largely unseen in the West, of course, but regarded inside Syria with all the reverence (or hatred, depending on your point of view) humans bestow upon a religious painting.
Because
he was an Alawite – or a “Nusairi”, as he is called by his persecutors
in the film – Isis decided that he was a heretic as well as a tank
driver (impossible, since he was only four days in uniform) and a
chilling, white-shrouded figure standing behind the young man sentences
him to be killed “as you do to our people”. Zidan appears dressed in the
orange jumpsuit of Guantanamo and Isis infamy, his feet shackled in
chains, the man in white announcing that he will be driven over by a
captured Syrian tank.
The next images show Zidan standing perhaps 20 yards in
front of a roaring tank which charges forward on full throttle. He turns
desperately away to the right, and half-jumps in his chains to avoid
his death but the left-hand side tank track catches up with him. Syrians
have seen the unedited footage. Readers should be spared. All that is
left in the last frames of the film is a crushed, orange-coloured mass
of rags on the road behind the tank, a group of Isis members screaming
“Allahu Akbar!” The Serbs did the same to the Muslims of the Drina
Valley. Thus, too, did Uzbek General Dostum punish his enemies in
northern Afghanistan.
But how should one contemplate such barbarity? And go on
accepting, in the kind of nonchalant, easy way we do in the West, as
Syrian civilians are blown apart and gassed and starved? I was in a
black-stone village north west of Hama last week – destroyed, of course –
when a Syrian army major casually said, “My cousin was martyred here
three years ago”.
Slowly, more figures emerge. In the tiny village of Arabiyah
in the same countryside, around 350 of its menfolk had died in uniform –
either of the Syrian army or the “National Defence” groups. The
enormity of the figure is only obvious when you realise that the entire
village population of men, women and children is scarcely 8,000.
What is the real cost of this war in the ranks of Bashar al-Assad’s army? I think it passed 70,000 dead some months ago. Eighty thousand, perhaps. What rewards do their families expect from such a sacrifice? There will be debts to be paid.
I have to say, however, that after a 2,000-mile tour over
much of Syria, I have – for the first time in recent months – seen
neither a single Hezbollah member or Iranian revolutionary guard. And
since Western leaders believe Syria is swamped with Iranians, this is
interesting.
I travel where I wish – apart, of course, from the small
areas still held by Isis – and I’m quick to spot a Hezbollah fighter
(usually because they come from Lebanon, where I live, and I know some
of them). But there are plenty of Russians patrolling the desert
highways, even running convoys up the main supply route from Homs to
Aleppo.
Yet I cannot forget the flurry of mortars that crashed into
Bab Touma a few days ago. And, after passing through literally more than
100 military checkpoints, I find Syrian soldiers a bit too
over-confident right now, too ready to believe it’s almost come to an
end. Wars can be most dangerous when they are close to the end.
Syrian children play with cardboard guns in the town of Harasta, in the
Eastern Ghouta region on the outskirts of Damascus on January 25, 2018
Photo by ABDULMONAM EASSA Via @AFPphoto #guns #cardboard #child #syrian #play #war: image via Abdulmonam Eassa @abdfree2, 25 January 2018
Syrian children play with cardboard guns in the town of Harasta, in the
Eastern Ghouta region on the outskirts of Damascus on January 25, 2018
Photo by ABDULMONAM EASSA Via @AFPphoto #guns #cardboard #child #syrian #play #war: image via Abdulmonam Eassa @abdfree2, 25 January 2018
Syrian children play with cardboard guns in the town of Harasta, in the
Eastern Ghouta region on the outskirts of Damascus on January 25, 2018
Photo by ABDULMONAM EASSA Via @AFPphoto #guns #cardboard #child #syrian #play #war: image via Abdulmonam Eassa @abdfree2, 25 January 2018
Playing war with cardboard guns in the rebel-held town of Harasta on the
outskirts of Damascus. Photo@abdbfree2: image via AFP Photo @AFPphoto,
26 January 2018
Syrian children play with cardboard guns in the town of Harasta, in the
Eastern Ghouta region on the outskirts of Damascus on January 25, 2018
Photo by ABDULMONAM EASSA Via @AFPphoto #guns #cardboard #child #syrian #play #war: image via Abdulmonam Eassa @abdfree2, 25 January 2018
The
Assad regime is using chlorine gas against civilians in eastern
Damascus. Today the city of Douma was hit by three rockets filled with
chlorine gas. Please take a selfie covering your mouth, stand in
solidarity with the victims of this attack.Use the hashtag #Doumasuffocating: image via Hozaifa Dahmaan @hozaifadahmaan, 2 February 2018
Four hours after the 5:30 #ChemicalWeapons attack on #Douma, #Assad's artillery attacked residential areas, killing 2 children and wounding more civilians. Another child died from malnutrition last night. NO WORD by the "international community". #AssadGenocide #Syria: image via Julian Röpcke @Julian Roepcke, 1 February 2018
Four hours after the 5:30 #ChemicalWeapons attack on #Douma, #Assad's artillery attacked residential areas, killing 2 children and wounding more civilians. Another child died from malnutrition last night. NO WORD by the "international community". #AssadGenocide #Syria: image via Julian Röpcke @Julian Roepcke, 1 February 2018
2 civilians were killed until this moment after heavy bombing by cluster bombs and artillery shells on #Douma city in #EasternGhouta: image via White Helmets Rif Dimashq @SCDrifdimashq, 2 February 2018
If
you do not know why now you get a battle against the Kurdish parties in
the north of Syria, ask these Syrians in the picture. Ask why these
crowds are here. Regards, Daesh. #PYD: image via Milad Al Shehabi @miladsyrian, 21 January 2018
SYRIA - Following air strikes by regime forces on Arbin near Damascus. Photo @amer_almohibany #AFP: image via Frédérique Geffard @fgeffardAFP, 1 February 2018
SYRIA - Following air strikes by regime forces on Arbin near Damascus. Photo @amer_almohibany #AFP: image via Frédérique Geffard @fgeffardAFP, 1 February 2018
SYRIA - Following air strikes by regime forces on Arbin near Damascus. Photo @amer_almohibany #AFP: image via Frédérique Geffard @fgeffardAFP, 1 February 2018
SYRIA - Following air strikes by regime forces on Arbin near Damascus. Photo @amer_almohibany #AFP: image via Frédérique Geffard @fgeffardAFP, 1 February 2018
SYRIA - Following air strikes by regime forces on Arbin near Damascus. Photo @amer_almohibany #AFP: image via Frédérique Geffard @fgeffardAFP, 1 February 2018
SYRIA - Following air strikes by regime forces on Arbin near Damascus. Photo @amer_almohibany #AFP: image via Frédérique Geffard @fgeffardAFP, 1 February 2018
SYRIA - Following air strikes by regime forces on Arbin near Damascus. Photo @amer_almohibany #AFP: image via Frédérique Geffard @fgeffardAFP, 1 February 2018
SYRIA - Following air strikes by regime forces on Arbin near Damascus. Photo @amer_almohibany #AFP: image via Frédérique Geffard @fgeffardAFP, 1 February 2018
Syrian rebels in Saraqeb, in #Aleppo province @AFPphoto #Syria #motorcycle: image via Jean-Marc Mojon, 1 February 2018
SYRIA - A Syrian man and a woman drive a motorbike through a checkpoint in Azaz on a road leading to Afrin. Photo @ozannkosee #AFP #OliveBranch #azaz @Afrin #AfrinOperasyhonu #ZeytinDaliHarekati: image via Frédérique Geffard @fgeffardAFP, 2 February 2018
SYRIA - A man smokes a cigarette next to a Turkish-backed Syrian rebel fighter patrolling in Suran. Photo @ozannkosee #AFP #OliveBranch #OliveBranchOperation #azaz: image via Frédérique Geffard @fgeffardAFP, 2 February 2018
SYRIA
- Syrian Kurds mourn in Afrin during the funeral of fighters from the
People's Protection Units (YPG) militia and the Women's Protection Units
(YPJ). Photo @Delilsouleman. #AFP #OliveBranchOperation: image via Frédérique Geffard @fgeffardAFP, 2 February 2018
This is how #NATO member #Turkey secures its borders.: image via Rojava Defense Units | YPG @DefenseUnits, 1 February 2018
SYRIA - A Turkish-backed Syrian rebel fighter inspecting a tunnel discovered in Qastal Jundu, north of Azaz. Photo @NazeerAlk #AFP #OliveBranch #Afrin #AfrinOperasyhonu #ZeytinDaliHarekati: image via Frédérique Geffard @fgeffardAFP, 2 February 2018
SYRIA - A Turkish-backed Syrian rebel fighter inspecting a tunnel discovered in Qastal Jundu, north of Azaz. Photo @NazeerAlk #AFP #OliveBranch #Afrin #AfrinOperasyhonu #ZeytinDaliHarekati: image via Frédérique Geffard @fgeffardAFP, 2 February 2018
SYRIA
- A Turkish-backed Syrian rebel fighter stands guard on a roof
decorated with posters picturing Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan
during a demonstration in support to Turkish army's #OliveBranchOperation in Suran Photo @ozannkosee #AFP : image via Frédérique Geffard @fgeffardAFP, 2 February 2018
SYRIA - A Syrian child killed in shelling by regime forces on the rebel-held town of Douma near Damascus.
Photo Hamza Al-Ajweh #AFP: image via Frédérique Geffard @fgeffardAFP, 1 February 2018
Having fought Isis, the YPG are now caught between Turkey and the Syrian government: photo by AFP/Getty Images, 3 February 2018
“Ask me anything about Afrin – ask me anything political,” he said.
It was an odd meeting. Dr Heddo – trained as a doctor at the Aleppo medical school, he confided – wouldn’t exactly confirm he was an official of the YPG, the local Kurdish “protection units”, although he certainly sounded like it. He insisted we were in a medical facility. It had marble floors. It was spotless. It was guarded by two armed men. But it seemed to have no patients. It certainly had no ambulances or worried families at the door or busy nurses.
Like the Kurdish Afrin enclave itself, it was neither one thing nor the other, a bit like a scene from Patrick McGoohan’s The Prisoner. Dr Heddo himself, with a mischievous smile and remarkably good English (when he chose to use it), might have emerged from a Joseph Conrad novel, an ex-policeman, perhaps, with an interest in human folly.
“If the Kurds have to fight alone for Afrin, you will see me on the steps of this building with a Kurdish flag. If the Syrian army comes to help us, I will be on the steps with a Kurdish and a Syrian flag. If the Turks come, I shall be dead.”
Well, maybe. But Dr Heddo has already agreed that the Turkish army will probably not enter Afrin and I don’t think the Syrian army will come – not now – and I suspect that the whole Turkish enterprise in the Syrian Kurdish province is more theatre than invasion (except for the 60 or so civilians and fighters to have died to date). Far away, over the hills to the north, you can hear the very faint rumble of gunfire, the wallpaper sound to every war movie. But is all this an act?
Dr Heddo admits that his brother Rezan, whom we have met earlier while touring a Kurdish military cemetery, is an “official” who “talks to the Russians and Iranians”. The good doctor’s mind currently revolves around the Turkish troops and their allied Syrian militias who are around 14 miles away from us. “The Syrian army must deploy on the Afrin border with Turkey to defend the Ifrin people,” he says. “I would be very happy if I saw the Syrian army fighting the Turkish army. As the YPD, we can fight the Turks alone, but it may take a time and we hope the Syrian army will defend us.”
And then comes the cruncher. “But if we win on our own, this land will be for us alone and nobody will have the right to enter it. Yes, we are seeking a federal state, along with the other states of the region, Syria, Iran, Iraq and other countries, except Turkey.” And a real Kurdish state? “This is a dream,” announces Dr Heddo. Truly, here is a man who dreamt he dwelt in marble halls. There’s no doubt about the marble. But the dream is surely impossible.
Razan Heddo, younger by two years, spectacles perched on his nose, balding, professorial and with a slightly cynical sense of humour, emphasises the Kurds’ good relations with Russia, although he seems to be talking about an earlier generation of Russians living under a different leadership to the present uniquely Putin-led empire. “The Soviet Union received lots of Kurdish students to study in their universities [in Russia] because of the good relations between the Soviet Union and Syria. We have been seeking a good role from Russia towards the Kurdish state. We thought that Russia would help us in this war but it didn’t.”
That may be a little harsh. Moscow has never given promises to the Kurds – it’s the Americans who were arming them before the assault on Raqqa – and the Russian military still move on the roads of Afrin province during the hours of daylight, keeping an eye on the Turkish army. As for Abdullah Ocalan, the PKK leader imprisoned in Turkey – or “terrorist leader”, as the Turks would have it – “Ocalan’s ideology is the source of our ideology: he believes that the national state is a failed state. The Kurds don’t want a Kurdish country in the north of Syria. They just want their rights in establishing their own local administration. We live now in a democracy and have a good life with all the sects of Syria. Afrin received thousands of refugees [fleeing Isis] from all over Syria.”
The latter is evidently true. Sunnis and Christians and Alawites – the religion of the Syrian President – have all sought shelter here. Indeed, an Alawite family was among the first to suffer in the Turkish assault on Afrin last month.
But Karaman Heddo has a more political brief and its bedrock lies almost two decades ago in Syrian history. “Dr Hafez Assad’s [secular Baathist] ideology still exists in our minds. We belong to his ideology. He preserved the Syrian cause and its rights. [Assad’s son] Bashar hurt Kurdish interests when he made good relations with Turkey and introduced the Five Seas Project.” This grandiose plan – vanity project or real political vision, according to your point of view – foresaw Syria at the centre of the Middle East, both geographically and economically, linking up pipelines and communications between the Black and Red Seas, the Caspian, the Mediterranean and the Gulf.
There are those who still suspect that this ambitious plan prompted some of Syria’s neighbours to plot against it. Isn’t Saudi Arabia supposed to be the centre of Islam? Isn’t Turkey meant to be the rejuvenation of the old Ottoman spirit under Erdogan? But it’s clear that the Heddo brothers were most angered by the close pre-war relations which existed between Bashar’s Syria and Erdogan’s Turkey, albeit now long poisoned by war.
It’s also true that, just after Turkey’s assault on Syrian Afrin, two senior Syrian officers referred in front of me to the Turkish army as “the enemy”. Now that might have brought a smile to the marble halls.
A Syrian soldier flashes a ‘V for Victory’ sign from his tank: photo by AFP, 1 February 2018
B007375-R1-08-26: photo by Jim Muntisov, 30 November 2017
Untitled [Samila Beach, Songkhla, Hat Yai, Thailand]: photo by Sakulchai Sikitikul, 28 January 2018
Untitled [Samila Beach, Songkhla, Hat Yai, Thailand]: photo by Sakulchai Sikitikul, 28 January 2018
Untitled [Samila Beach, Songkhla, Hat Yai, Thailand]: photo by Sakulchai Sikitikul, 28 January 2018
The waning moon rises beyond the Alpensia Ski Jumping Center at the 2018 Winter Olympics in Pyeongchang, South Korea, Friday, Feb. 2, 2018.: photo by Charlie Riedel/AP, 2 February 2018
The waning moon rises beyond the Alpensia Ski Jumping Center at the 2018 Winter Olympics in Pyeongchang, South Korea, Friday, Feb. 2, 2018.: photo by Charlie Riedel/AP, 2 February 2018
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