Lebanese War Echoes in Syrian Minds

Rukn ad-Deen district, Damascus

Ahmed takes immense pride in making his shop a sanctuary for his customers. He sweeps its floors with a frequency that is rare for others who pursue that trade. The salon (he likes to think of it as one) is neatly, if not meekly, decorated with small plastic cut-out crafts that seem to be the cornerstone of most interior decorations in Damascus.

An air conditioner installed in the top corner provides relief from the sapping heat outside. On the other corner, there is a small television set wired to an illegal satellite connection. TVs are not scarce in Damascus, nor are illegal satellite connections. My wife and I —being the newcomers that we are —unfortunately don't have either yet. My friendship with Ahmed sprang from my abuse of his hospitality during the last few big games of the soccer World Cup.

During my three previous visits — as a customer, not as a TV viewer — Ahmed and I, and sometimes his brother Hassan, would chat while the TV churned out noise from one of the many Arabic music or sports channels.

Since Israel has launched its attack against Lebanon, many of Ahmed's countless friends flip in through Ahmed's front door. They point at the TV, shake their heads, curse Israel, and applaud Hezbollah. They express anger, then sadness, some more anger. Others only express sadness.

After about 15 more seconds they nod their heads in frustration and helplessness. They mumble some more expressions. Some invoke God. Then they leave, often involuntarily banging the door.

The pictures that arrive via al-Jazeera, al-Arabiyah, or occasionally al-Manar are mighty and painfully devastating. Each day since then the images have only become bloodier, crueler, mightier and, for Ahmed, aggravatingly more spectacular and more awesome.

Ahmed, unlike his customers, is quiet. He seems to be much more melancholic about everything that is happening. He has seen all this before. More of his fellow Arabs and coreligionists are being bombed out of existence by another power, defiant in its own righteousness.

On that day, I made my way home up the mountain. On my way, as usual, I saw flaming shish tawooks, veiled women, tired milkmen, playful kids, lazy elders, busy blacksmiths, and wrestling kittens. But the events of the last few hours had potentially affected the lives of every person around me.

Syrians, and more specifically Damascenes, are usually politically quiet (because they have to be), but their own government's anti-Israeli stance allows them to vent their feelings on this issue with an encouraging sense of liberty.

As is the case with most Arab populations, Syrians are politically intelligent. Many of them know about Israel's and Hizbullah's long history of clashing, and almost all of them know about the Israeli brutality towards civilians in Palestine and South Lebanon.

Many are aware that Syria has been supporting Hizbullah, and this fact, coupled with the huge might that the Israeli army can call upon, could lead to an attack on their country. An attack that would cripple their basic necessary infrastructure and maim their sanitary, electricity, and water facilities, and take many human lives in the process. And most importantly, an attack that was very likely planned even before Israelis surprisingly found themselves trapped in a gush of Hizbullah guerrilla raids. Yet it has been extremely difficult to perceive any feelings of restlessness among locals here.

Today, when one walks down Al-Nasr street in the center of town or Al –Hamidiyah market, one feels that the mood is somber. There is a definite unnatural presence of television sets all continuously streaming pictures and analysis from one of the many news broadcasters. But one would never think that just 70 kilometers west of this city is another city whose infrastructure is being bombed to shreds; a homeland that is being forsaken by its own people because of real, maniacal fear; and a bloody, seemingly relentless ground battle involving one of the strongest military units in the world pitted against some of the most zealous military fighters around.

Even the huge influx of Lebanese civilians into Damascus, many of them forsaking everything material they once owned so that their life can be safeguarded, is greeted by the Damascenes with courage and sympathy, but not fear or unease.

Over 40 months ago, when I was in Baghdad, just days before the start of the third Gulf War and the subsequent bombing and occupation of Iraq, this same stubbornness and composure in the attitude of the people appeared to be there. Then an attack was inevitable.

Is it the faith and deep conviction that the Arab peoples have in their religion that produces this unnatural phenomenon? Perhaps. Or have the decades of internal suppression and humiliating Western domination numbed their psyches to any further impending devastation? Or both?

But perception of tension or not, over one thousand Lebanese human beings have been blown up over this last month. For Ahmed the barber and millions of Arabs around the world like him, the horror, might, and brutality of the Israeli offensive against a nation that was bravely building itself after over two decades of civil strife, brought to him live via the news broadcasters, is for him a nightmare of a people with no worth or validation. His people.

The contemptibly timid behavior of the world's powers over this very visible degradation only strengthens his anger, and perhaps, his suspicion that "the other" — and more specifically Israel and its Western allies — is evil, racist, and at times blatantly wicked.

For the younger generation of Arabs, this deep, silent anger no doubt inhabits their disposition as well. But the world they are growing up in is different. The vast amount of information they are exposed to in this globalized world shows them a lot that Ahmed did not see as a younger man. Through the Internet, satellite television, and other media, they see a world where human integrity, freedom, self validation, and all else can exist. Where they can express their culture, beliefs, and religion proudly and openly.

Just as they see their fellow people being degraded, they also see countless stories of the triumph of the human spirit. This psychological battle between these two different psyches, the psyche of anger and the psyche of the actualization of the human spirit, is what will define the people they become and the nations they are going to build.

Either outcome of the battle will not suit the dominant military, economic, and cultural external power in the region, if it does not cease playing Brutus.

 Ashfaaq Carim is a young South African journalist. He is based in Syria. The article first appeared on his blog.