04-01-2013, 01:37 AM
There is way too much testosterone around....
Because the FSA are not supported by the people of Allepo I am also remeinded of the Brecht quote:
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SEBASTIANO TOMADA / SIPA USAFree Syrian Army fighter Mohammad Jaffar patrols a street in Bustan Al Basha, one of Aleppo's most volatile front lines, Oct. 22, 2012.
The neighborhood is called Bustan al-Basha and used to be the place a lot of Aleppo's citizens would bring their cars for repair. It was a mixed Christian-Sunni working class district, bordering the Kurdish district of Sheikh Maksoud. That is in e the past tense because, of the thousands of residents who once lived here, only three remain. The trio live on Rawand Street, which is in rebel hands. The street behind them belongs to the regime. Marie, a Christian Armenian, is retired kindergarten teacher; gray-haired Abdel-Latif is a retired civil servant; and cherubic young Abdel-Maten is a baker who hasn't been to his workplace for months even though it is less than two kilometers away because it is in Midan, a neighborhood under regime control. "I've been living here for 20 years," says Marie as she peeks out from her balcony, wiping her soapy hands on a dishcloth. "I'm still here because where am I going to go? This is my home. We are counting on God and staying, but you know, honestly, it's like I went to bed one night and the next morning everyone was gone. When and how they left, I don't know. It happened very suddenly."Only stray cats have the courage to roam the streets of this part of Syria's largest city. As felines freely pick their way through rubble and garbage, human beings dart from corner to corner, anxious bands of rebel fighters dashing between the bullets of regime snipers.
(MORE: Syria's Body County: Meet the Exile Tracking the Death Toll)
Syria's grinding civil war swept into its largest city in late July. A proud and ancient cosmopolis, Aleppo is home to more than two million of Syria's 23 million people but it has now been been crudely carved into pro- and anti-regime pockets, the edges of which occasionally change hands. It is the deadliest sort of stalemate, with international diplomacy struggling to find a solution as the government of President Bashar Assad pursues a course of survival-via-atrocity; and the Syrian opposition in exile once again changes leadership in another attempt to weave its disparate ideological and military strands together. The grinding war of attrition has turned parts of Aleppo like Bustan al-Basha into wastelands.
The street warfare isn't winning the rebels any more friends. The urbane Aleppans have never really warmed to the opposition fighers, most of whom come from religiously conservative Sunni Muslim small-townsand there is growing concern that the rebels are turning more sectarian. The rebels know they're not really welcome. "The Aleppans here, all of them, are loyal to the criminal Bashar, they inform on us, they tell the regime where we are, where we go, what we do, even now," says Abu Sadek, a defector from Assad's military now with Liwa Suqooral-Sha'ba, one of the three rebel units in Bustan al-Basha. "If God wasn't with us, we would have been wiped out a long time ago."
Assad's assault has certainly been ferocious. Many of Bustan al-Basha's four- and five-storey residential buildings have been partially sliced open, their concrete floors pancaked atop each other, their contentsdining tables, children's toys, washing machinesspewed into dusty mounds onto the streets below. Apart from the gentle sound of water gushing from burst pipes, there's a heavy silence here, punctured by sporadic sniper fire, the occasional roar of a warplane overhead unleashing its payload in another part of Aleppo, or the more frequent hair-raising whistle of an incoming mortar. Shorn power lines dangle over the streams of water cascading through the streets that have flooded many basements. The danger of electrocution would be high if the neighborhood had power, but it hasn't had that since armed rebels rumbled in from Aleppo's countryside this summer, intent on swiftly wresting Aleppo from the regime's firm grip.
That of course has not happened. Instead, the rebels have set up camp in abandoned apartments, stealing electricity from a spot about a kilometer away, and sharing it with the neighborhood's three remaining residents. Former residents who return briefly to check on their properties are not always treated as warmly. They are asked for ID and paperwork to prove that they lived in thearea. Some rebels say it's to guard against looting. Others have different concerns. "Some of these people toss electronic taggers at our bases that notify warplanes of our location," says one young rebel, explaining why the rebels distrust returning residents. He hadn't seen the devices, or had any proof, but was certain it was true.
(MORE: Syria Opposition Wins Western Backing)
On a recent morning, a young man in a thick gray sweater and tight shiny gray dress pants knocked on an apartment that is now the headquarters of Liwa Suqoor al-Sha'ba. He was accompanied by several armed rebels from the Grandsons of Hamza Brigade in the Karam al-Jabal neighborhood of Aleppo, who said they could vouch that he lived in this home and that the furniture washis. The young man showed an ID and other paperwork to back his claim. "I just came to get a few things," he said.
"You're welcome," one of the rebels said. "Take what you want, we will help you."
The young man, who told TIME his name was Abu Ghaybar (a Kurdish name) but later told the rebels it was Abu Mohammad, was from Afrin, a Kurdish town north of Aleppo city, although he didn't share that information with the rebels in his home. He and his family had moved into an unfurnished apartment in Haydariye, a safer neighborhood in Aleppo. "I am now less than zero. I don't even have a pillow to offer a guest," he said. "We are sleeping on bare tiles."
Quickly and methodically, Abu Ghaybar moved through his four-room home, shoving clothesinto black plastic rubbish bags provided by the rebels, and stacking white goods at the door. He unplugged the hot plate in the kitchen as several rebels emptied the fridge of eggs, yoghurt, grapes, jam and a bowl of cooked rice. The rebels weren't happy to be doing so, rolling their eyes as they completed their task, but they said nothing to Abu Ghaybar.
"Do you mind if I take this blanket?," Abu Ghaybar told a portly rebel known as the teacher' because he taught primary school before he picked up a gun a few months ago.
"Leave that for us please," the teacher said. It was.
(PHOTOS: Syria's Year of Chaos and Photos of a Slow-Motion War)
"My son slept here," Abu Ghaybar said, standing in his only child's room. He spotted a blue tricycle atop a small four-door pine dresser. "My son keeps saying baba, are the free army playing with my toys?" (The rebels had their own toys in the room, including a BKC machine gun in one corner.)
Abu Ghaybar moved into the living room, unplugging the TV and removing a few colored pencils from a drawer in the TV cabinet. He gathered up family photos, including a baby picture of his now five-year-old son. He pointed to a bare wall with two nails protruding from it. "My family portraits were here, where are they?" he asked.
"We burnt them," said one of the dozen or so rebels in the room. "You know, if we come into a house and there are pictures of uncovered women we burn them."
Abu Ghaybar didn't respond. He just stood there for a moment. He moved into the corridor, but his mood had clearly changed. "You could drink (alcohol) here, there were prostitutes, everything," he whispered to me. With tears welling in his eyes, he turned to the teacher: "Do you think I am happy living in somebody else's home?" he said. The teacher responded, "We have families, we have honor, we understand. My family had to flee too."
Some 35 minutes after he had entered his home, Abu Ghaybar was on his way out, having loaded up all that he could carry into a small white Suzuki pick-up truck. "Well, it looks like we need a new place now," one of the rebels said. "We don't have a TV any more, what are we going to do for entertainment?"
The others laughed but the fact is, in Bustan al-Basha, as in many other frontline neighborhoods in Aleppo, the deep stalemate led many of the rebels to say they are bored. The fight in these areas has morphed into a war of the snipers, with fewer opportunities to engage the enemy.
(MORE: How the Saudis and Qataris are arming Syria's rebellion)
But that doesn't mean the danger isn't there. Crossing the length of Rawand Street involves running a gauntlet of sniper fire. Blue-and-white canvas curtains have been strung up at several intersections along the street, while bullet-riddled school buses have been dragged across other junctions in a bid to block theview of the regime's sharpshooters. Rebel snipers are always on the lookout for new positions to establish.
They have punched holes through thick apartment walls, creating maze-like safe passages they traverse in the dark. They shout "Allah Akbar" as they approach the holes, lest one of their comrades mistake them for the enemy and open fire. The two sides are so close to each other that it's a possibility.
Some rebels are clearly growing impatient, itching to move to other more active fronts in other areas. Others reflect on why their push has stalled. "It wasn't the time to enter Aleppo, honestly," says Abu Sadek. "I'm not saying this with regret, it was a battle that had to happen, Jihad for the sake of God, but the lack of coordination between thebrigades hurt us. we weren't ready for it." Liwa Suqoor al-Sha'ba says it's planning a major push in the next week or so to try and break the stalemate.
The group is an Islamist brigade under the loose umbrella of the Free Syrian Army. The other two rebel units in the neighborhood are Liwa al-Fateh, which part of the FSA but is not as religiously conservative; and Ahrar al-Sham, a nationwide mini-army of adherents of the conservative Salafi interpretation of Sunni Islam. Ahrar al-Sham is not part of the FSA.
Ahrar al-Sham and Liwa Suqoor al-Sha'ba partly blame Liwa al-Fateh for the rebels' misfortune. They look derisively at the group, not because of its weak Islamist credentials, but because it has allegedly been looting homes and harassing citizens. It mans a checkpoint that stops cars coming from the adjacent Sheikh Maksoud neighborhood. "Look at those shabiha," says a member of Suqoor al-Sha'ba, using the term for the marauding paramilitary gangs of thugs associated with the regime. Abu Tayeb, a member of Liwa al-Fateh at the checkpoint concedes without prompting that "our reputation isn't good." Still, he says, "this is war, and things happen in war. I'm still proud to be a part of this group.
(MORE: The Anti-Assad Offensive: Can the West Oust Syria's Strongman?)
Other rebels say it's that kind of attitude that has stalled their push into the city, just as much as the lack of heavy weapons and regular resupply of ammunition. Any insurgency needs the support of the local population, and looting homes andharassing citizens obviously doesn't help. "The problem is how can you hold a man with a gun accountable?" says Khaled, a second-year history student at Aleppo university who now totes a Kalashnikov. "You must raise your gun against him. It isn't the time for this now, we don't want to open another front among ourselves. We can't afford to do this now."
The way forward, according to the two Islamist groups, is to become more religious,more like the extremist Jabhat al-Nusra units that operate in other parts of Aleppo and across Syria. "You have seen the destruction to homes, and the looting that is happening. How are we supposed to win this fight when some people are stealing, how will we win if the boots we are wearing are stolen?" says Abu Sadek. "How will God make us victorious? He won't. We don't have the power of weapons, so we must return to God to win this fight."
These rebels speak admirably of Jabhat al-Nusra, of their fearlessness on the battlefield which they say stems from their strong faith. Many say they aspire to either join them, or become more like them. Toward that end, a significant number of Suqoor al-Sha'ba fighters in Aleppo have taken to wearing black shalwar kameezes and black headdresses. "Yes, this is Pakistani but they are strong mujahedin (holy warriors)," Ammar, a young fighter says, referring to his dress. "We are an Islamic brigade, we take inspiration from them," he adds, "besides, it's really comfortable, it's good for fighting in." Others say they have discarded their mismatched military uniforms in favor of the Islamic dress because they believe it is similar to that worn by the Sahaba (companions of the Prophet Muhammad), not because it is from the Subcontinent.
"Faith," says one of the rebels "Faith will make us victorious, not weapons or ammunition or large numbers of people." The problem is, in cosmopolitan Aleppoand Syria at largea religious solution may be part of the problem. On a recent night in one unit's headquarters here, fighters pealed with laughter when they recalled an encounter between a member of Jabhat al-Nusra operating in Aleppo and a secular FSA commander. The pair were in a meeting when a mortar landed nearby. The FSA commander jumped up to leave, according to several men who were present in the meeting. The Jabhat fighter grabbed his companion's knee, saying excitedly. "Heaven awaits." "Go by yourself," came the reply.
Read more: http://world.time.com/2012/11/14/aleppos-deadly-stalemate-a-visit-to-syrias-divided-metropolis/#ixzz2Gxgen69o
Because the FSA are not supported by the people of Allepo I am also remeinded of the Brecht quote:
Quote:Some party hack decreed that the people
had lost the government's confidence
and could only regain it with redoubled effort.
If that is the case, would it not be be simpler,
If the government simply dissolved the people
And elected another?
Quote:'The people of Aleppo needed someone to drag them into the revolution'
Abu Ali Sulaibi was one of the first people to take up arms in Aleppo. Now he controls two shattered blocks on the frontline where he lives with his wife, four children and Squirrel the cat
The once upper-class Saif al-Dawla Boulevard in Aleppo, Syria. Photograph: Ghaith Abdul-Ahad for the Guardian
- Ghaith Abdul-Ahad in Aleppo
- guardian.co.uk, Friday 28 December 2012 14.20 GMT
The man stands among the blackened, shell-shattered buildings, and reaches up to encompass them in a broad sweep of his wiry arms. "This," he proclaims, "is the state of Abu Ali Sulaibi."
The ruined corner of downtown Aleppo does not, of course, constitute a state and nor does it belong to the man claiming it in his name. But as the Syrian civil war has stagnated and Aleppo has fractured into "liberated" neighbourhoods run by different militias, Abu Ali and commanders like him have become the rulers of a series of mini-fiefdoms. These two blocks of the rebel frontline in Saif al-Dawla are his.
Walking through the once prosperous streets, Abu Ali recalls the life he lived here, pointing out the places where he played as a child, went to school and fell in love. He now lives in a small apartment in the heart of the zone with his wife, Um Ali, three daughters, a son, and a cat named Sanjoob, or Squirrel.
Fifty metres from Abu Ali's sector, across the Saif al-Dawla Boulevard, a similar array of shattered buildings is occupied by government troops. They are close enough that during lulls in the shooting they can continue the conflict by shouting abuse.
Half of the building where his parents used to live has been sheared off by a rocket attack, spilling furniture and a chandelier into the street. The remaining structure serves as Abu Ali's command centre, where some of his fighters sleep. He stands in the middle of a small living room surrounded by fighters resting under thick blankets on the floor.
"I can't believe that this is my mother's living room," he says. Then, to the men: "Wake up, you beasts!"
As no one stirs, he pulls a pistol from his belt and fires into the ceiling, bringing down a chunk of plaster. The men jump from their mats, grabbing their guns. "That was Abu Ali's wake-up call," he says.
Outside, Abu Ali sits on a broken plastic chair set amid the rubble. His fighters, bleary-eyed, sit around him, making Turkish coffee and smoking. There is no food. The men live on one meal a day and many have not eaten since lunch the day before.
A trickle of civilians who braved the sniper fire to reach Abu Ali's headquarters now come forward, as they do each morning, to ask favours of the chief. Some are trying to salvage their food or furniture, others come to ask permission to scavenge or squat in the empty apartments.
On this morning, six civilians stand sheepishly in front of him: a man in his 50s and his teenage son; a lanky man in a coat that is too big for him; a young engineer in rimless glasses and a bald man with his sister, who wears a black hijab. The civilians stay at a distance out of respect or fearing his unchecked anger.
"What do you want?"
"We want to collect some of our stuff, Abu Ali," the older man says.
"Not today. Come back on Saturday."
"But you told us to come on Wednesday."
"I changed my mind. You should know that this is the state of Abu Ali Sulaibi." He roars out his catchphrase as much for the benefit of his men as the civilians.
"You are all informers," he tells the scared civilians. "I know you cross back to government side and report on us."
"We are not," says the bald man. "Our hearts are with you."
"When you say that, I know you are an informer." Turning to one of his men he says, half-joking: "Wasn't he the one who was chasing us when we were out demonstrating?" The bald man's face turns pale.
Abu Ali keeps the civilians waiting for two hours. Then, like a true autocrat, he quickly changes his mind and summons two of his men to take them where they want to go.
Tough neighbourhood
Abu Ali's neighbourhood is a nest of snipers, and to reach the frontline you must run across streets that are covered only by curtains to hide from the gunmen's view. Elsewhere fighters have punched holes through deserted apartments to make protected routes to the front.
The returning civilians register that their homes have become sniper positions, and that everything of value has been stripped.
One man stops in his children's bedroom. It is a mess, the window blown in and toys scattered on the beds. He starts sifting through papers in drawers and rearranging the books on shelves.
The walls are blackened, and broken pipes have flooded the floors. Gripped by a strange fervour, the man and his teenage son start to pack everything they can find into plastic bags and suitcases. Their faces are lit by slits of light that filters through the bullet holes in the blinds.
"Get some sweaters for your brother," the father says.
"Is there any money left?" asks the son.
"No, everything has been stolen."
The two fighters wait in the staircase watching the street and urging the people to move quickly. "I know they hate us," one says. "They blame us for the destruction. Maybe they are right, but had the people of Aleppo supported the revolution from the beginning this wouldn't have happened."
The wind blows hard, and shards of glass from the broken windows cascade on to the street below, sending up a faint jingling sound.
In the kitchen, the son finds a half-empty bag of lentils, a bag of rice and some stock cubes. He picks up a jar, opens it, sniffs and places it back on the shelf, making a disgusted face.
At the sound of heavy machine-gun fire, the civilians hurry out into the stairwell, each carrying bundles of plastic bags. The father is carrying more bags than the others and a flat-screen TV. As they rush back from the frontline, he becomes dizzy and leans against a wall for support, sweating heavily. The group pauses.
"This is all my life," he says to the fighters. "I worked for 30 years to buy an apartment. Will I be around for another 30 years to buy another one?"
When they get back to the command centre, Abu Ali is still in a foul mood. "You were going to kill my men for this?" he says, gesturing at their bags. "All of you, get out of my area. I have a war to run."
"We just wanted to check if anything was looted," the engineer says quietly.
"Every single house has been looted," shouts Abu Ali. "And the [government] army has never been to this area. It is us who looted them!"
Chez Abu Ali
Later, we walk to Abu Ali's house behind the frontline. He stops at the bottom of a flight of stairs and stands for a while in the cold next to a huge pile of rubbish, watching the distant bombs flashing over the dark city. Then he climbs up to his apartment. "Girls!" he shouts. "Girls!"
The shrieks and screams of children carry out of the apartment. They come running to meet him, and he lifts the smallest on to his shoulder while another clings to his legs and the elder pulls him into their bedroom.
"Father, we made a house for Squirrel," they shout excitedly. Squirrel the cat is shivering and scared, either from the continuous sounds of gunfire or from the bath the girls subject him to daily.
Abu Ali sits on the floor, the three girls hanging from his neck like three little limpets. Um Ali arrives with a tray of food. Her kind, round face is wrapped in a pink scarf. Apart from the sound of shooting from down the street, it could be a typical Syrian family scene, with Abu Ali playing the harassed dad to a tee. The adult conversation is interrupted constantly by requests from the girls. The boy watches TV silently.
"The kids live in the most dangerous area, but I feel safe. She makes me feel safe," he says, indicating his wife.
"Daddy, make me a sandwich," says one of the girls.
"Can't you get it yourself? I'm trying to talk to your mother."
"Baba, can I talk into your radio?"
Abu Ali's brothers had actively opposed the rule of Bashar al-Assad's father, Hafez, joining the Muslim Brotherhood in the 80s. In their fight against the state, one of the brothers was killed and another spent 15 years in jail.
Abu Ali chose a different path, training to be an assistant engineer. He got a job with the government. Life was good. "I had a good income, my own car and my own house," he says. "My kids used to go to the best schools and we had a perfect family life.
"When Bashar [al-Assad] came to power I disagreed with my father and brother. I said he would be good, that things would change."
But little did change, and when the revolution came in 2011, Abu Ali was one of the first people to take up arms in Aleppo. With a group of friends he formed a small armed unit to target security forces.
"See this pistol," he says, pulling the weapon from his belt and placing it on the floor. "The first bullet in Aleppo was fired from this pistol."
The small girl grabs at the shiny gun but he snatches it away. "I knew there wouldn't be a revolution without violence, and the people of Aleppo needed someone to drag them into the revolution."
"He was the first who carried weapons and I encouraged him," says Um Ali, who trained as a mechanical engineer. "His parents and family blamed me and still blame me. He was hesitant in the beginning because he had three children, but I encouraged him.
"He used to go out without telling me where, but I knew it was to do with the revolution. I used to pray for him and felt ashamed in front of God because I was praying only for him."
He has been hit several times in the fighting: he shows two shrapnel wounds on his head and pulls up his T-shirt to reveal a depression under his right shoulder blade where a machine gun bullet struck him. He is often referred to as the "majnoon" the madman for his reckless bravery.
"Revolution, ah, what do you know of the revolution?" he asks her. "I said from the start that it wouldn't finish until the whole country was turned into ruins."
He stirs his tea with the sugar spoon, and she admonishes him. "Sorry, sorry, I forget that here I am not the military commander any more."
"This is what I know of the revolution," says Um Ali in her quiet, deep voice. "You run from shop to shop looking for things. But the pharmacies are empty. The grocery stores are empty. We toured half of Aleppo to try to find a bucket of yoghurt. This is revolution.
"You don't have to work for the regime to be a shabiha," she says, referring to the hated pro-government militias. "The grocer who raises the price of the vegetables is a shabiha.
"The fighting is there," she nods her head towards the window, "but how do you feed your kids and give them a normal life in the middle of this? We used to know how our days started and ended. Now I can't afford to think ahead. We just want to end the day alive."
Her voice is calm but her hands tremble as she fetches another cigarette. The children are now mesmerised by the TV.
"War is a moment of life frozen. Our lives have stopped. They haven't been to school, but life is moving on for them. Even before the fighting started I used to go to sleep waiting for the security forces to come and arrest him. I gave the kids cough medicine to sleep so they wouldn't wake up when they stormed into the house."
Sarah, the little daughter, is asleep in her mother's lap, wrapped in a brown shawl. Abu Ali lifts her and carries her to bed. "I deserve a rest," says Um Ali. "I am too tired."
Abu Ali goes to the small kitchen and squats before a small stove, boiling another pot of thick Turkish coffee. "Now I will sit with her," he says. "We will lie on the mattress, turn off the light and talk about what happened today. This my favourite moment of the day."
He goes back to the room carrying the pot. Um Ali is staring at the floor, her cigarette burning slowly between her fingers. Outside, the pop-pop sound of gunfire has ceased.
"I am scared of the silence," she says. "I feel something bad will happen. When they are shooting, I know we are safe."
Two enemies
Abu Ali decides to attack the government forces, not only to give the impression they are strong and not lacking ammunition, but also to show the other battalions he is still active. "I tell you I face two enemies now the battalions and the government."
He stands with five of his gunmen behind a wall. He is carrying a heavy machine gun, its bandolier of bullets wrapped around his chest. The plan is simple and bold: attack the government forces face to face. They will not be expecting that, he says. "All our fighting had been with snipers for the past two weeks."
As the battle rages and the volume of gunfire rises to deafening levels, Abu Ali stands in the middle of a window, exposed to the army, and fires his machine gun. His men are hiding behind walls trying to support him. Bullets fly all around him.
Afterwards, back in his parent's half-ruined house, the men's morale is sky-high. In his adrenaline rush Abu Ali jokes and laughs with them. He sits on the floor listening to old Syrian musicians singing love songs, and the men talk about the battle.
"I still can't believe that this was my mother's room, and now look at all of the men sitting there," Abu Ali says.
"Ah, how I jumped when a bit of exploded bullet hit my ass," he laughs. "I swear we killed at least four."
The Taliban and al-Qaida should employ him, he jokes, because of his experience. "Mullah Omar and [Ayman al-] Zawahiri should buy me for all the battles I have been through, just like Barcelona bought Messi."
He continues in a serious tone: "For a week I told them not to shoot, but to preserve their ammunition. Now when they see we have burned 500 bullets in half an hour, they will think we have new supplies. It's a game of poker."
By the time he reaches home, Abu Ali's elation has left him. He sits with one leg on the ground, the other resting on the sofa, lost in thought. Sarah comes up to him and he pushes her away.
"We had a fight today," he tells his wife, like someone reporting the day's work.
"I know, my love. I know the sound of your bullets."
After dinner he becomes reflective: "I mix everything. Filth with honesty. Street language with religion. I have mixed all the revolutions in me. I am the Bolshevik revolution, the French revolution. I am the modern Guevara.
"Do you know, I am so special. My wife hates it when I say this, but I have had angels fight with me. Many times. In battle, I can feel myself flying," he says. "Flying above the ground."
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Quote:
Aleppo's Deadly Stalemate: A Visit to Syria's Divided Metropolis
By [url=http://world.time.com/author/raniaabouzeid/]Rania Abouzeid / AleppoNov. 14, 20122 CommentsSEBASTIANO TOMADA / SIPA USAFree Syrian Army fighter Mohammad Jaffar patrols a street in Bustan Al Basha, one of Aleppo's most volatile front lines, Oct. 22, 2012.
The neighborhood is called Bustan al-Basha and used to be the place a lot of Aleppo's citizens would bring their cars for repair. It was a mixed Christian-Sunni working class district, bordering the Kurdish district of Sheikh Maksoud. That is in e the past tense because, of the thousands of residents who once lived here, only three remain. The trio live on Rawand Street, which is in rebel hands. The street behind them belongs to the regime. Marie, a Christian Armenian, is retired kindergarten teacher; gray-haired Abdel-Latif is a retired civil servant; and cherubic young Abdel-Maten is a baker who hasn't been to his workplace for months even though it is less than two kilometers away because it is in Midan, a neighborhood under regime control. "I've been living here for 20 years," says Marie as she peeks out from her balcony, wiping her soapy hands on a dishcloth. "I'm still here because where am I going to go? This is my home. We are counting on God and staying, but you know, honestly, it's like I went to bed one night and the next morning everyone was gone. When and how they left, I don't know. It happened very suddenly."Only stray cats have the courage to roam the streets of this part of Syria's largest city. As felines freely pick their way through rubble and garbage, human beings dart from corner to corner, anxious bands of rebel fighters dashing between the bullets of regime snipers.
(MORE: Syria's Body County: Meet the Exile Tracking the Death Toll)
Syria's grinding civil war swept into its largest city in late July. A proud and ancient cosmopolis, Aleppo is home to more than two million of Syria's 23 million people but it has now been been crudely carved into pro- and anti-regime pockets, the edges of which occasionally change hands. It is the deadliest sort of stalemate, with international diplomacy struggling to find a solution as the government of President Bashar Assad pursues a course of survival-via-atrocity; and the Syrian opposition in exile once again changes leadership in another attempt to weave its disparate ideological and military strands together. The grinding war of attrition has turned parts of Aleppo like Bustan al-Basha into wastelands.
The street warfare isn't winning the rebels any more friends. The urbane Aleppans have never really warmed to the opposition fighers, most of whom come from religiously conservative Sunni Muslim small-townsand there is growing concern that the rebels are turning more sectarian. The rebels know they're not really welcome. "The Aleppans here, all of them, are loyal to the criminal Bashar, they inform on us, they tell the regime where we are, where we go, what we do, even now," says Abu Sadek, a defector from Assad's military now with Liwa Suqooral-Sha'ba, one of the three rebel units in Bustan al-Basha. "If God wasn't with us, we would have been wiped out a long time ago."
Assad's assault has certainly been ferocious. Many of Bustan al-Basha's four- and five-storey residential buildings have been partially sliced open, their concrete floors pancaked atop each other, their contentsdining tables, children's toys, washing machinesspewed into dusty mounds onto the streets below. Apart from the gentle sound of water gushing from burst pipes, there's a heavy silence here, punctured by sporadic sniper fire, the occasional roar of a warplane overhead unleashing its payload in another part of Aleppo, or the more frequent hair-raising whistle of an incoming mortar. Shorn power lines dangle over the streams of water cascading through the streets that have flooded many basements. The danger of electrocution would be high if the neighborhood had power, but it hasn't had that since armed rebels rumbled in from Aleppo's countryside this summer, intent on swiftly wresting Aleppo from the regime's firm grip.
That of course has not happened. Instead, the rebels have set up camp in abandoned apartments, stealing electricity from a spot about a kilometer away, and sharing it with the neighborhood's three remaining residents. Former residents who return briefly to check on their properties are not always treated as warmly. They are asked for ID and paperwork to prove that they lived in thearea. Some rebels say it's to guard against looting. Others have different concerns. "Some of these people toss electronic taggers at our bases that notify warplanes of our location," says one young rebel, explaining why the rebels distrust returning residents. He hadn't seen the devices, or had any proof, but was certain it was true.
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On a recent morning, a young man in a thick gray sweater and tight shiny gray dress pants knocked on an apartment that is now the headquarters of Liwa Suqoor al-Sha'ba. He was accompanied by several armed rebels from the Grandsons of Hamza Brigade in the Karam al-Jabal neighborhood of Aleppo, who said they could vouch that he lived in this home and that the furniture washis. The young man showed an ID and other paperwork to back his claim. "I just came to get a few things," he said.
"You're welcome," one of the rebels said. "Take what you want, we will help you."
The young man, who told TIME his name was Abu Ghaybar (a Kurdish name) but later told the rebels it was Abu Mohammad, was from Afrin, a Kurdish town north of Aleppo city, although he didn't share that information with the rebels in his home. He and his family had moved into an unfurnished apartment in Haydariye, a safer neighborhood in Aleppo. "I am now less than zero. I don't even have a pillow to offer a guest," he said. "We are sleeping on bare tiles."
Quickly and methodically, Abu Ghaybar moved through his four-room home, shoving clothesinto black plastic rubbish bags provided by the rebels, and stacking white goods at the door. He unplugged the hot plate in the kitchen as several rebels emptied the fridge of eggs, yoghurt, grapes, jam and a bowl of cooked rice. The rebels weren't happy to be doing so, rolling their eyes as they completed their task, but they said nothing to Abu Ghaybar.
"Do you mind if I take this blanket?," Abu Ghaybar told a portly rebel known as the teacher' because he taught primary school before he picked up a gun a few months ago.
"Leave that for us please," the teacher said. It was.
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"My son slept here," Abu Ghaybar said, standing in his only child's room. He spotted a blue tricycle atop a small four-door pine dresser. "My son keeps saying baba, are the free army playing with my toys?" (The rebels had their own toys in the room, including a BKC machine gun in one corner.)
Abu Ghaybar moved into the living room, unplugging the TV and removing a few colored pencils from a drawer in the TV cabinet. He gathered up family photos, including a baby picture of his now five-year-old son. He pointed to a bare wall with two nails protruding from it. "My family portraits were here, where are they?" he asked.
"We burnt them," said one of the dozen or so rebels in the room. "You know, if we come into a house and there are pictures of uncovered women we burn them."
Abu Ghaybar didn't respond. He just stood there for a moment. He moved into the corridor, but his mood had clearly changed. "You could drink (alcohol) here, there were prostitutes, everything," he whispered to me. With tears welling in his eyes, he turned to the teacher: "Do you think I am happy living in somebody else's home?" he said. The teacher responded, "We have families, we have honor, we understand. My family had to flee too."
Some 35 minutes after he had entered his home, Abu Ghaybar was on his way out, having loaded up all that he could carry into a small white Suzuki pick-up truck. "Well, it looks like we need a new place now," one of the rebels said. "We don't have a TV any more, what are we going to do for entertainment?"
The others laughed but the fact is, in Bustan al-Basha, as in many other frontline neighborhoods in Aleppo, the deep stalemate led many of the rebels to say they are bored. The fight in these areas has morphed into a war of the snipers, with fewer opportunities to engage the enemy.
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But that doesn't mean the danger isn't there. Crossing the length of Rawand Street involves running a gauntlet of sniper fire. Blue-and-white canvas curtains have been strung up at several intersections along the street, while bullet-riddled school buses have been dragged across other junctions in a bid to block theview of the regime's sharpshooters. Rebel snipers are always on the lookout for new positions to establish.
They have punched holes through thick apartment walls, creating maze-like safe passages they traverse in the dark. They shout "Allah Akbar" as they approach the holes, lest one of their comrades mistake them for the enemy and open fire. The two sides are so close to each other that it's a possibility.
Some rebels are clearly growing impatient, itching to move to other more active fronts in other areas. Others reflect on why their push has stalled. "It wasn't the time to enter Aleppo, honestly," says Abu Sadek. "I'm not saying this with regret, it was a battle that had to happen, Jihad for the sake of God, but the lack of coordination between thebrigades hurt us. we weren't ready for it." Liwa Suqoor al-Sha'ba says it's planning a major push in the next week or so to try and break the stalemate.
The group is an Islamist brigade under the loose umbrella of the Free Syrian Army. The other two rebel units in the neighborhood are Liwa al-Fateh, which part of the FSA but is not as religiously conservative; and Ahrar al-Sham, a nationwide mini-army of adherents of the conservative Salafi interpretation of Sunni Islam. Ahrar al-Sham is not part of the FSA.
Ahrar al-Sham and Liwa Suqoor al-Sha'ba partly blame Liwa al-Fateh for the rebels' misfortune. They look derisively at the group, not because of its weak Islamist credentials, but because it has allegedly been looting homes and harassing citizens. It mans a checkpoint that stops cars coming from the adjacent Sheikh Maksoud neighborhood. "Look at those shabiha," says a member of Suqoor al-Sha'ba, using the term for the marauding paramilitary gangs of thugs associated with the regime. Abu Tayeb, a member of Liwa al-Fateh at the checkpoint concedes without prompting that "our reputation isn't good." Still, he says, "this is war, and things happen in war. I'm still proud to be a part of this group.
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Other rebels say it's that kind of attitude that has stalled their push into the city, just as much as the lack of heavy weapons and regular resupply of ammunition. Any insurgency needs the support of the local population, and looting homes andharassing citizens obviously doesn't help. "The problem is how can you hold a man with a gun accountable?" says Khaled, a second-year history student at Aleppo university who now totes a Kalashnikov. "You must raise your gun against him. It isn't the time for this now, we don't want to open another front among ourselves. We can't afford to do this now."
The way forward, according to the two Islamist groups, is to become more religious,more like the extremist Jabhat al-Nusra units that operate in other parts of Aleppo and across Syria. "You have seen the destruction to homes, and the looting that is happening. How are we supposed to win this fight when some people are stealing, how will we win if the boots we are wearing are stolen?" says Abu Sadek. "How will God make us victorious? He won't. We don't have the power of weapons, so we must return to God to win this fight."
These rebels speak admirably of Jabhat al-Nusra, of their fearlessness on the battlefield which they say stems from their strong faith. Many say they aspire to either join them, or become more like them. Toward that end, a significant number of Suqoor al-Sha'ba fighters in Aleppo have taken to wearing black shalwar kameezes and black headdresses. "Yes, this is Pakistani but they are strong mujahedin (holy warriors)," Ammar, a young fighter says, referring to his dress. "We are an Islamic brigade, we take inspiration from them," he adds, "besides, it's really comfortable, it's good for fighting in." Others say they have discarded their mismatched military uniforms in favor of the Islamic dress because they believe it is similar to that worn by the Sahaba (companions of the Prophet Muhammad), not because it is from the Subcontinent.
"Faith," says one of the rebels "Faith will make us victorious, not weapons or ammunition or large numbers of people." The problem is, in cosmopolitan Aleppoand Syria at largea religious solution may be part of the problem. On a recent night in one unit's headquarters here, fighters pealed with laughter when they recalled an encounter between a member of Jabhat al-Nusra operating in Aleppo and a secular FSA commander. The pair were in a meeting when a mortar landed nearby. The FSA commander jumped up to leave, according to several men who were present in the meeting. The Jabhat fighter grabbed his companion's knee, saying excitedly. "Heaven awaits." "Go by yourself," came the reply.
Read more: http://world.time.com/2012/11/14/aleppos-deadly-stalemate-a-visit-to-syrias-divided-metropolis/#ixzz2Gxgen69o
"The philosophers have only interpreted the world, in various ways. The point, however, is to change it." Karl Marx
"He would, wouldn't he?" Mandy Rice-Davies. When asked in court whether she knew that Lord Astor had denied having sex with her.
“I think it would be a good idea” Ghandi, when asked about Western Civilisation.
"He would, wouldn't he?" Mandy Rice-Davies. When asked in court whether she knew that Lord Astor had denied having sex with her.
“I think it would be a good idea” Ghandi, when asked about Western Civilisation.