Syria Still Burns
In the summer of 2016, I studied abroad in Qatar, taking an Arabic class with a group of expatriate professionals. Our teacher was named Ustaaz Muhammad, who had fled Syria and the war with his wife, being on the wrong side of the Assad regime. He was a patient and thoughtful teacher, and in our private conversations he would tell me about Damascus, the capital city, where he had lived his whole life, teaching Arabic in universities and institutes in the city. Damascus was the best place in the world to learn Arabic, he would say, telling me about the Western students who would flock there to learn Arabic organically, living in a vibrant, diverse city surrounded by culture and opportunity. He told me that he intended to go back and teach once more and that I must come and learn with him there.
I almost wouldn’t blame you if you had turned the page just by looking at this title; if the word “Syria” has become so burdensome in your political consciousness that the very thought of reading another article makes you turn away. I could understand. But seven years have passed since that spring when a few Syrians gathered in the streets to announce their protests to the world. They were joined by a few more and a few more until, in a country where freedom of political speech had been banished for decades, there suddenly arrived a genuine ray of hope. Since then, there have been seven years of war. Seven years of citizens forced to leave their home of generations for foreign shores and given the label “refugee,” leaving them an unwanted burden on the world. It is worth reminding ourselves what has happened in these seven years. What would we tell those hopeful voices that sang in the streets about what became of their revolution?
[pullquote]I almost wouldn’t blame you if you had turned the page just by looking at this title; if the word “Syria” has become so burdensome in your political consciousness that the very thought of reading another article on the subject makes you turn away, I could understand.[/pullquote]
Yassin Al Haj-Saleh, a Syrian writer and revolutionary leader, splits the conflict into three distinct parts. He termed what began in 2011 and ended in 2013 as the true Syrian Civil War, Syrian fighting Syrian to secure freedom and change against an oppressive regime. What followed was the sad decline into a Sunni-Shi’a struggle, wherein ISIS used the chaos to plant their flag of Sunni extremism, finally drawing
the attention of the larger world. In 2014, the war began its current reality of an imperialist struggle that has devolved into a power grab between world superpowers led by Russia and the US.
The looming figure above all of this is Bashar al-Assad, the Syrian president who has used chemical weapons, violence, and terror on his people, reducing countless Syrian cities to rubble and killing thousands. The death toll now exceeds 500,000. Yet, the fight for freedom was so much bigger than this one man. Syrians have lived under the oppression of the regime for two generations, beginning with the suffocating rule of Assad’s father. What the Syrian people called for nearly a decade ago was much more than the removal of Assad, but a demand for change, for new life and hope that the country has desperately needed for half a century. In response to these demands, Assad has shown an unimaginable capacity for violence and suppression in order to retain control and, without further intervention, currently stands of the brink of being handed back the reigns with the help of Russia and Iran. As an international community, are we willing to leave Syria in the hands of this man after all he has done?
[pullquote]On the last day of the summer, Ustaaz Muhammad shook my hand and said, al mara al qadima, fil Damashq: next time, in Damascus.[/pullquote]
Syria was not a country devoid of problems before 2011; centuries of state-enforced division had segregated citizens between religious minorities and races. The opposition to the regime was far from perfect or organized. And the reasons for Western action and inaction during the war were not one-sided—they were complex, borne out of constant weighing of costs and benefits and changing political landscapes. There was never an easy answer to the Syrian question, neither for those who were in it nor for those who looked on from the safety of a violence-free world. But we have a duty to remember, as we watch the war blaze on to what may be its tragic end, what became of that ray of hope that shone so brightly seven years ago.
[pullquote]But we have a duty to remember, as we watch the war blaze on to what may be its tragic end, what became of that ray of hope that shone so brightly seven years ago.[/pullquote]
On the last day of my summer in Qatar, my teacher, Ustaaz Muhammad, shook my hand and said, al mara al qadima, fil Damashq: next time, in Damascus. At that point in the war, Damascus and Syria had already faced what seemed to be irreversible destruction, but I only had to look in his eyes to know that my teacher truly believed this: that we would meet again in his native country, in the beautiful city that he so loved. And, for one brief moment, I believed it too.
Divya Walia ‘18 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. She can be reached at dwalia@wustl.edu.