Why must it be so?

She was conceived centuries ago, practically at the dawn of history. Poets, prophets, and troubadours alike knew of her and wrote for her. She captivated the mind of civilization since its dawn, nourished it and cradled it.

Before being born in the age of nationalism, she endured many turbulent periods. Yet when her long dormancy in the womb neared its ending, she unfortunately came under the accidental care of a team of hack midwives, who grotesquely disfigured her in utero. Thus, she greeted the world a piece at a time, and each of these arbitrary segments was given a different name unrelated to the others.

The largest of these aborted fragments, however, was nonetheless given the name reserved for the whole: “Syria”. Why? Should it not have been called something else, perhaps related to some geographical sub-feature, as Lebanon, Jordan, and Palestine were?

As it happened, history was betrayed. Thus, the rest of the world hears the word “Syria” and thinks of some illegitimate retro-fitted Republic rump-state that looks perfectly respectable in a Rand McNally World Atlas, but spits in the face of a geographical and cultural concept that possesses one of the richest histories on Earth.

What today we call Syria (the Syrian Republic, and later, the Syrian Arab Republic) is not Syria. Sorry! But this is a historical fact.

Let’s be clear: if Arab nationalists and champions of the Arab resistance refer to Israel as al-kiyan al-sahiouni (الكيان الصهيوني – the Zionist Entity), then these same people should refer to what the world at large calls Syria in the modern sense al-kiyan al-souri (الكيان السوري- the Syrian Entity).

Some citizens of the Syrian Arab Republic will take offense to the comparison, and consider it disrespectful to the martyrs of the colonial period, as well as those who fought in the wars of 1948, 1967, and 1973. Regardless of history, they will say, we believe in our Syrian nation. This perspective is perfectly justified, except that the nation to which they pledge allegiance should have been called otherwise so as not to distort its own history as its cartography was grossly distorted.

Others will happily accept a disparagement of the modern nation-state called Syria, because they too view Syria in its historical context, commonly called “Greater Syria” or “Bilad al-Sham”. Yet their perspective often manifests itself in an ugly fashion, particularly as it concerns the kiyan al-libnani (the Lebanese Entity). Because they correctly surmise that Lebanon is only a mountain range within Syria, they therefore see no problem with a decades-long, unnecessary military occupation of one faux-state by the other, which in its latter days consisted of about 15,000 personnel whose job description could best be described as “uniformed extortionist”. But they are wrong: one lie swallowing another does not create a truth.

(Though, I must note that these misguided citizens of the Syrian nation-state could hardly be blamed for desiring continued domination over their Lebanese counterparts upon seeing approximately 10,452 obnoxious ingrates waving signs saying “ موووووو” as a parting gesture.)

Furthermore, he who waxes poetic about Lebanon as a mere region of Syria from one side of his mouth – while proclaiming “the Palestinian cause” from the other – is a hypocrite. Is the bitterness toward Israeli occupation so intense that it clouds the fact that Palestine, too, belongs to the historical Syria? Not to mention, the “kingdom” (what a laugh!) on the East Bank. And don’t forget the Alexandretta province, which resembles on the map of Turkey a…never mind, this is a polite website.

Sadly, the Syrian people, from Gaza to Qamishli and everywhere in between, are too wrapped in their post-colonials identities – now going on 3 generations – to spend much time trying to comprehend the historical truth. Yes, I admit, I have the luxury as someone whose family has been in the United States for nearly a century, of lecturing the people who actually inhabit Syria (the whole thing) on the mindset of their ancestors that they abandoned – the mindset that was passed down to me from late Ottoman times. I recognize that I did not suffer through wars and displacements for the sake of what I have the nerve to call “aborted pieces”.

But of course I have no choice but to accept that the map of the region that currently exists will continue to exist. For history’s sake, we can dream of a “Greater Syrian Union” or a “United States of Syria” or some other fantasy in which all the various components join together and all the inhabitants put aside their petty jealousies and rivalries.

But that’s a long shot. In the meantime, Syria – for lack of a better word – will remain a cartographic abortion.

George Ajjan is an American political analyst of Aleppine origin.

All the above are just words, true, but merely words, dreams and illusions of our nostalgia to our beautiful ‘Syria’ that is imprinted deep in our minds. Syria that we dream of, Syria that we desire, however, is in reality is quite different. Syria today is no the beautiful static image we want or dream of. Syria, now is just another country with boarders, laws, parliament, president and a sizable population. In reality Syria lack the ‘energy’ necessary to move. Not oil, wind or solar energy, … the energy I am referring to emenates from the Syrian people’s ideas, efforts and their honest drive to do better, to do more and improve from the inside out. Sadly we all are not energizing our Syria. We the Syrian expats are the worst of them all, we keep adding colours to our painting called Syria without even looking of what we are drawing.

Syria as a country is a patchwork of improvised politics, experimental economics, traditions from thousands of years, and infexible religions. When all these ingredient combine without a clear direction and a full tank of fuel, we can not move anywhere. Instead we spin like whirling dervishes wasting the energy we have on drawing those beautiful circles that make us drunk, dizzy and high with our love of our imaginary Syria. In our whirling we became numb, we are damaging everything around us without even noticing our faults.

A wakeup call is needed, our politics are not improving, our intellectuals are still behind bars for no reason, our factories are not efficient, our workers need an urgent professional upgrade, our economy is not in its best form, our religions are backwards and running fast the opposite direction and our poor Syrian “Abou Ahmad” is begging, his sons are killing in the name of religion, in the name of honour, in the name of revenge, because they don’t know any better. They need to be fed, to be educated and treated as respectable human beings before they appreciate that knowledge is a treasure, honour is hard work, tolerance is God’s religion and diversity is our Syrian strength. Meanwhile rich Abou Ahamd is not paying his taxes, he is using his money to go out of Syria and get another nationality because he could.
This is not the Syria we want or dream of. This is not what we are praying for and this is not happening in our names either.

I love my Syria as much as anyone of you loves Syria, I love its history, I love Bosra’s black stones, I love Palmyra and Zenobia pride, I love Ananias church, Ommayad mosque and Damascus synagogue, I love Yousef Alazme’s sacrifice and Sultan Pasha Alatrash’s revolution, I love Aleppo’s citadel, I love Lattakia’s seagull and Tartous’ blue Mediterranean water, I love Hama’s waterwheels noises and Homs’ Deek Aljin, I love the Syrian Cotton and wheat, I love our traditions, our family values I love the honest average Syrian, however, it’s enough whirling in circles, it’s time to stop, straighten up our thoughts and move forward where our water and environment are highly respected, where our desert should become green, where our Ghota should get back it’s apricot tree and it’s spring blossoms, where our factories should produce something we can sell worldwide to go forward, it’s time for our farms to be efficient and our earth to be treated as a goddess. It’s time for the rich Abou ahmad to pay his taxes back to Syria to improve schools and hospitals for his own kids and above all for the poor Abou ahamd to send his kids to learn science and literature where they could become an energy for Syria future, it’s time to build our realistic Syria away from a rosy unrealistic dreams.
Syria is for real, for today, for tomorrow.

Long ago, when I was in 7th grade, our Arabic teacher assigned to us the eternal composition about cooperation and solidarity. My classmates wrote classical solid definitions of the two words and their compositions were filled with historical anecdotes, quotes from Hadith, Quran, poetry, and other sources. That was the first time when my unrefined dreamer woke up. My composition spoke of wolves and villagers, of chickens, sheeps, dogs, and of battles in which both villains and heroes were victorious because they, each with their own, worked together. It suffices to say that I got my first ever F. This essay is written with the same naïve spirit. And an F may be warranted, but I had to get it out.

Syria is my grandmother’s narrow balcony overseeing the Mediterranean, a distant ship waiting to be loaded with Iraqi oil, and a colorless, but colorfully decorated taxi navigating the town’s only roundabout and heading towards the coastal road where it will soon pass the majestic crusader’s fortress as it continues a 5000 years journey that started an hour ago not far from the birthplace of the first alphabet.

She is my own home town, overseen by yet another magnificent fortress, which over the same 5000 years witnessed generals, kings and princes, whose armies gathered in all corners of the known world, and were joined across history with a common goal of acquiring power over this hard to keep jewel. She is where roads, some well cared for, and some in need of repairs, carry caravans that are moving people and goods from all imaginable places to countless destinations. In no other place it is so easy to imagine the modern metal beasts transformed into caravans of living beasts of burden that traveled the same paths for several millennia.

She is the bustling marketplaces, old and new, where languages intermix and tempers flare and subside as bargainers make agreements surrounded by modern and ancient vehicles which co-exist, miraculously, with daring, cautious, and outright risk taking pedestrians.

She is where fields, vineyards, groves, orchards, and hectares upon hectares of wheat, some of which witnessed the earliest successful attempts to cultivate wild grains, continue to do the same, uncaring if they were to be burnt by a foreign general, by lightning, or by their loving peasants to enrich their soil after harvest. It is as if these fields know that many a general and his soldiers have either left in defeat or were eventually absorbed into the ever expanding Syrian fabric as they joined the peasants, merchants, and artisans whom they subjugated, and built cities now cocooned under the hills which intersperse the semi-arid landscape. All is a day’s worth of making a living in a place where the calls to prayers emanating from nearby and distant minarets are as natural and as in place as the angelic harmonies of church bells, the sounds of ancient songs, and the shy taps of dancers.

Syria is a bridge between east and west, north and south, old and new. This is what many of us Syrians think of whatever each of us may chose to confine Syria to. Well, I no longer do, for I no longer confuse a living river with a passive inanimate structure. As a river does, Syria, forced by the gravity of human progress, flows within the confines of its historical landscape, but like the river waters, Syrians, ever since the dawn of civilization, have reshaped history into more fertile, lush, and diverse plains.

Some argue that Syria has never been a single country, and as such, any definition of Syria and Syrians is null and void. But we Syrians know who we are to the core of our being. And over the ages, we have coalesced under a set of overarching unifying traits, chief amongst them are: a deep awareness of the interconnectedness of our complex history, recognition of our ties to all races and creeds, a painfully earned sense of the transience of empires, and a hard earned right; to some a duty, to oppose hegemony, be it cultural, religious, racial, military or economical.

Long before parts of the new world were destined to become a melting pot, we in fact were, and continue to be, the products of the first true melting pot and of the longest cross cultural exchange in history. This is why we are at ease no matter where we settle and this is also why we may appear ambivalent to episodes of upheaval or stagnation. It is not carelessness but understanding that continues to shape us.

The nomad’s house is nowhere, ours is everywhere. We have been subjects as well as citizens of countless empires and by now nothing is new under the light of our collective consciousness. Our essence and role is to incubate, and like any fertile soil, we have, and we will continue to do so for a long time to come.

Roads will be built, forts will be erected, and armies will maneuver over the landscape and in the skies, but we, the peasants, artisans, merchants, and artists, we, the students and teachers of history will continue to hold the amber for the next campfire, around which the new will be molded out of the old, and we will do what we have always done, nurture infant civilizations until they reach adulthood and are ready to go on their own.

My uncle Zakai’s name is inscribed on the hospital’s wall as a founding father. I come from a long line of physicians and my grand father Wahid Hakki (also a physician) single-handedly implemented a retirement fund for Syria’s physicians in the forties. I can’t think of a single surgeon in the US who I’d trust with my body and a scope more than my good friend Tarif Aita. The same thing goes for my other colleagues and friends. I would only trust Ibrahim Nejmeh with my eyes, Rashed El Yousef with my hernia, and Imad Rabbat with my ear, nose and throat. Rakan Chatty has unequaled manual dexterity, Huda Bitar is a great dermatologist and that’s just doctors who are my peers. Senior Syrian doctors and surgeons are equally impressive; Mohammad Shami treated me as if I was his own son during my years of working every summer at his hospital and that’s something I’ll never forget. I love all of these men and women dearly.

Why do we have so many great Syrian men and women physicians (in Syria and outside Syria)? I have only one answer; it’s normative. It’s very Syrian to be a doctor. Consider this historic tidbit; Hippocrates was born in the middle fifth century BC in Kos (a Greek Island off of the coast of Turkey) and died in Larissa around 400 BC. What is most interesting to me is that it is rumored that he spent his last years in Damascus, teaching at its “medical school”. This implies that the Father of Medicine worked in Damascus’ medical school. Syria had doctors even before medicine’s father was born.

Today, outstanding Syrian Doctors can be found everywhere on earth. In the US, studies have shown that close to 20% of Syrians living here are doctors. The fact that the president of Syria went to my medical school, where his degree was signed by my father in-law should surprise no one. We are a nation of physicians. Admittedly, the Baath party had something to do with putting out a huge number of us doctors. But Syria was making doctors before the Baath Party, before the United Arab Republic and even before Hippocrates! This brings us back to Damascus and my personal gamble. I was getting fat and about to get sick. Diet and exercise were no longer cutting it. I let Tarif almost painlessly remove most of my stomach with his scope…and it worked. I’m now slender and light. I’m off all the medicines for hyperlipidemia, early diabetes, and hypertension. What’s better, I actually look better (at least my wife -Hiba Mounir Bittar- says so).
Of course, things could have gone differently. I could have had a terrible complication. I could also have had my surgery done in DC, where I am a clinical professor of surgery considering that I live less than a mile from Georgetown. But I didn’t, and I’m very thankful to Dr. Aita, Dr. Nejmeh and Dr. Issam Rabat (Imad’s brother). My brother-in-law Nabil Kalai stayed up all night with me that first night at the hospital. I would like to also thank the doctors, nurses and staff at the hospital who made my stay comfortable. You have to love Syria and its people to trust them with your life. They came through for me, and they will come through for you. Just tell them I sent you.

Dr. Ayman Hakki is a board certified general surgeon who received plastic surgery training at Georgetown University Hospital in Washington, D.C.He is one of the leading cosmetic surgeons in the Baltimore, Maryland area and an esteemed member of the team at Chesapeake Plastic Surgery Associates.He is a recognized portrait artist and brings his artistic skill to his work as a cosmetic surgeon.He has written a number of important scientific papers on the subject of cosmetic surgery and has presented these at national meetings.

One of the very first images that come to mind when I think of Syria is a group of very special and talented people seated in a semi circle formation in a TV studio (I know it was a TV studio because I’ve seen it on TV, ok?) The Show Host was hovering around the middle, managing a 60 minutes conversation with them. Trying his best to allow everyone the chance to speak. For me, the scene was surreal; this group of adolescents couldn’t be more different, more diverse. There were young women with head scarves; young women with plain pants and button-up shirts and coiffed hair. Some wore heavy make-up. There were few bearded guys; the rest were clean-shaven. Some spoke with timid voices; others were outspoken and fluent and hence were naturally given more air-time to speak. (You may tell me that such is the diversity of human beings. Agreed. But if you know a little about Syria you’d know the cultural implications of the scene, but I digress)

What brought these young, bright people together though, is the fact that they were the best of the best, the top twenty achievers in the Baccalaureate exam that year. For both scientific and literary branches. I listened intently. Literally savoring every word. Each one of them was capable of approaching a question from a different angel. Well, no surprise there. They’ve passed the Baccalaureate exam with excellence. They mainly talk about their visions: how do they envisage themselves in the near and far future. And what could be done to maintain their strong faith in their ability to create those visions. Syria has always been about these people, we pride ourselves on a free education that allows everyone not only the chance to learn, but to excel too.

Fast-forward few years; I am in one of Aleppo University’s many dormitories, where me and my friends escape the boring theory classes to play cards. The guy next room shows up at the door, quick introductions are made and I learn he’s from around the mid-region (or Al Mantika Al Wosta). Everyone entitled to accommodation at the dorms is decidedly not from Aleppo. Further enquiries are made and I learn that the guy is majoring in Theatrical Criticism. He leans on the door jamb and has a quick exchange with one of my Trix playmates (or classmates, if you like).

My colleague recounts the details of an encounter he’d had that day. The other guy listens intently and then he gushes into his own vision of how the scene could have been played out in a better way. A playwright in action. I am amazed at this guy. Not only he’s brilliant, he’s totally into his special field of study, and he loves it. I marvel at how this son of Homs country-side had moved 200-odd kilometers to a different city in pursuit of knowledge-based passion.

This is very unlike the common Syrian notion that nothing ‘feeds bread’ but the heavyweight studies like Medicine or Engineering. But it only takes special people to break the common notions, right? And this is why this guy epitomized Syria to me. He’s able to break the rigid social notions, and he couldn’t care less. He could very well have been one of those present in the TV studio, or one of those who were very close to being there. Or one of those who deserved to, if only slightly different metrics were employed. My impression grows firmer every time I’d meet him from then on on the campus (most often with the obligatory click-clack of the high-heeled shoes of one of his many female colleagues trailing along).

Even today, whenever I go home on a vacation, with the Big Chip of a Dubai Expat on my shoulder, I’d have a humbling experience of some sort. An encounter with one or two people who’d prove to me the incessant intellectual quality and clarity of this place. In my deepest and wildest thoughts I realize that GDP per Capita becomes irrelevant at a certain point. While I do hope for my country to be in a better shape economically, I know that whatever is the case, it’s not going to be detrimental to the growth of brains in this land. Fast-forward 20 or 30 years to the future, if fate wishes that I am still in my expat status then, I am quite sure that I’d meet my friend from the Theatrical Criticism class again. Or maybe one of his many metamorphosis and renditions. Probably the click-clack would have ebbed a little. But not the glimmer of the brilliant minds. One way or the other, scenes and events would be registered, analyzed and then recreated. Of this I’m certain, and because of this I’m hopeful.

Apart from stating the obvious which countless millions of fellow Syrians and I feel; this, to me, represents more than a word sequence with a romanticized sentimental value.

For Syria, to me, is far more than its mere land area 185,800 km2. It is far more than the truncated Sykes-Picot creation, the geographical entity uneasily sandwiched between the Mediterranean and the Iraqi desert, and Turkey and the vast nothingness of Arabia. It is far more than a flag, a National Anthem, an Independence Day. It is far more than a few of the most ancient cities, or the apocryphal “cradle of civilization”.

Syria, to me, is the fluidity of childhood memories—memories of extended family, and of affection and human warmth. It is the memory of sitting on a grandparent’s lap eating chestnuts next to the stove in the winter, or enjoying the cool mountain breeze in one of its many idyllic paradise-like getaways in the summer.

My Syria is the memories of dodging school to go to a movie in a shady theater with friends, and the rote learning of hollow ideology-laden slogans in crowded schoolyards. It is the simple pleasures of aimless wandering around in crowded streets, or sipping a dodgy syrupy cup of tea in a leafy café.

My Syria is the unrequited innocent love-lorn poems written to a girl, and the feeling of betrayal by failed ideals or icons. It is the listless limp of hopes upon encountering the first failure at work, and the frustration of thoughts and ideas that are forever forbidden to leave one’s chest—for fear of rejection or outright condemnation by a stubbornly-entrenched tradition of conformity.

It is the mixed palate of sights, aromas, and tastes of the Syrian cuisine. It is the sensual waft of cardamom and laurel from the age-old spice markets, it is the undulating sounds of traditional music permeating the airwaves. It is the clattering of donkey carriages and the interminable honking of car horns in crooked narrow alleyways. It is the overpowering sense of immersion into the rich and colorful fabric of a life as ancient as history, and as young as the people who made—and continue to make—it happen. Everyday.

My Syria is friends, companions, and loved ones. It is the ocean of kindness, chaos, and contradiction that is the Syrians. We are a people well-versed in ambiguity; we say what we do not mean, we do what we do not want to do, we comply to what we cannot possibly fathom. For we are, much as our traditional old Damascene houses—interior paradises. We may be plain, unadorned, and unassuming on the outside; yet marvelously colorful and full of hidden treasures and nuances on our insides.

My Syria represents a commitment, a covenant, a creed by which I live, breathe, and aspire. It is a dynamic, constantly-evolving philosophy, a guiding principle and paradigm.

My Syria, is the Syrians—a vibrant, living, breathing concept. One that I love, and I teach my children to love—by respecting, working for, and striving to improve and develop.

My Syria is an idea worth living in and for, and worth dying in and for.

I will live for Her, so that She may live for me.

And for all.

One charming piece after another show portraits of people. Happy-looking, multi-generational members of what clearly look like families, all gazing at us in distinct studio poses. Several renderings are even complete with name tags that identify each of the persons in the snapshots, making the artifacts a kind of a two thousand years old Facebook, forever locked in stone. The wall and floor panels were made with stone chips that came from the land, mountains and plains in the direct vicinity. The resources provided the platforms. Their integration formulated the picture.

The “picture” today is not that different. Even more than what it was two millennia ago, Syrian society is a mosaic of races, sects, languages, and religions from the region and the world at large. Its members have many tints and characters, each based on their own individual heritage, and each adds its contribution to the richness of the culture, rendering an overall composition that is arguably more coherent and at peace with itself than much of the surrounding parallels. It is by far not perfect, and it most certainly has a lot of room for improvement, but yet, it is something to be cherished and built upon.

Syria is a mosaic of its people. It is a living mosaic that needs peace, prosperity, and enlightenment to flourish. The beauty of the mosaic that is Syria shines more when each distinct member shows their unique colors and character, and when the contributions of each member, no matter how small, are given their place and are allowed to add to the big picture. Extremist, dogmatic and exclusionist ideologies will destroy the richness of Syria, and only the millenia old traditions of moderation, tolerance, wisdom, and moral values will preserve and nourish it.

Who knows, even with all the difficulties facing us, if we give it all we’ve got, we may still be able to paint a good picture for future museum goers. I hope that we will.

It is impossible for a society to form and take shape without it being attached to a particular geographic territory, which is the fundamental factor that shapes the character and temperament of such society.  It follows from this sociological principle that when a nation is no longer conscious of its natural environment it thereby loses its national identity, leading to its impending fragmentation, which can only bring it woes and disasters.  This has been the case of our Syrian nation, where our loss of national consciousness has pitted various particularistic groups against each other and drained the nation of its energy, making it an easy prey for foreign designs and agendas.  Nevertheless, with our proper understanding of the true meaning of Syria the homeland, we can once again retrieve our lost national identity and Syrians can once again occupy their rightful place among the living nations of the world.

The Syrian homeland is that stretch of geographic territory where the Syrian nation was formed, and it has natural geographic boundaries that differentiate it from other lands, stretching from the Taurus Mountains from the northwest and the Zagros Mountains in the northeast to the Suez Canal in the south, including the Sinai Peninsula, and from the Syrian (Mediterranean) Sea in the west, including the island of Cyprus, to the arch of the Arabian Desert and the Persian Gulf in the east.  It can be expressed with the general description “The Syrian Fertile Crescent, with Cyprus being its star.”

It is here where civilizations that enlightened the world and contributed to humanity in general were born.  These civilizations include the Sumerians, Babylonians, Assyrians, Akkadians, Chaldeans, Arameans, Hittites, and Canaanites.  Syria was the birthplace of the alphabet, the first musical notation, the first code of laws, the wheel, the sail, the numbers, astronomy, mathematics, engineering, architecture, chemistry, physics, art, and philosophy.  Syria thus can be accurately said to encompass all science, all philosophy, and all art in the world.  It is from this land that the world was transferred from an age of darkness to an age of enlightenment, allowing mankind to advance and develop into where we are today.  Syria has historically played a crucial role in the advancement of human civilization and it shall inevitably reassume this role once the Syrians become aware of their national identity and return their nation to vitality and strength.

Every Syrian should keep imprinted in their mind the vastness of their homeland, the symbol of their heritage, from the glorious mountains of Lebanon to the peaceful hills of Palestine and to the grand plains of Sham (Syrian Arab Republic) and Iraq if they are to transform their nation from a weak fragmented body into a strong, advanced, and dynamic society, where they shall continue to contribute to the world from their wide array of talents and intellectual capacities.  While our forefathers experienced conquerors in the past and tread on their remains, it is our job to put an end to conquests and to proceed therefrom to our natural position as global leaders in scientific, philosophical, and artistic achievements.  Only then will the true image of Syria finally be uncovered.

I grew up in a magical time and place, when and where everybody knew my name. My hometown was a typical Mediterranean fishing village. Folks worked and played together effusively oblivious to descent, affluence and creed. With the sun lifting her skirt daintily above the knees and dipping herself unashamedly in the bluest of blue seas, men gathered around square wooden tables and played cards. Women walked leisurely along the tree-lined Al-Mina Street, pushing babies in strollers and enjoying the unhindered view to the west and the cool evening breeze wafting from the east.

The winds of change blew over the Levant altering the landscape as it has done so many times in the long course of history. Happy times were followed by abysmal ones. As I became of age, the ingrained travel bug nagged at me. I stood by the eternal sea and looked back at what I was leaving behind. Syrians were increasingly identifying themselves more microscopically. They were Muslims or Christians. Turning the magnification level further, they inhered in a sect of Islam or a church in Christianity. They were rich or poor. The rich were snobby and the poor detestable. They went their different ways as there were no more places to host them both. They were liberal or traditional. They belittled each other by virtue of the way they dressed or celebrated their nuptials. Syrians differed from city to city, from street to street, from home to home. Yet these were not the disparities that jointly form a mosaic of colors, shades and hues. They were mere pieces of a giant puzzle with a tedious and dull background. Their discord only vanished within the confines of a stifling political calaboose. They whispered in hushed voices and looked behind their shoulders. They shared their fears of walls… walls with ears everywhere.

The illegitimate affair between mosque and state produced a misbegotten political model which threw its shadow over the entire Arab world. Colonialism or not, we were breastfed subservience to our leaders with good manners and hospitality. No vision of liberation was conceived by the intellectual elite. The curse of polarization and division that plagued the masses infected the upper cerebral echelon of society with equal force. Bootlickers usurping stolen wealth, forming a new parasitic socioeconomic class, holding the welfare of the country hostage in their despicable hands and partners in crime on one side and disillusioned expatriates conquering distant lands, disenchanted denizens waiting in queues for their daily bread and nihilistic fundamentalists seeking salvation in the archaic realm of fanaticism on the other. A magnificent human tapestry, millennia in the making was ripped apart in front of my eyes while Syria lost her way and succumbed to her external injuries and internal bleeding.

But she was not born yesterday my Syria. She has witnessed wave after wave of raiders from without and vandals from within triumph then lose their grip and vanish like swill in the gutters of time. Like the mythical phoenix, she will rise from her ashes. Syria is Abu Al-Alaa Al Maari (973-1057), author of “A Treatise on Forgiveness” which was the inspiration for Dante’s Divine Comedy. Syria is Nizar Qabbani (1923-1998) the greatest modern Arab poet who made women and Damascus even more beautiful than they already were. Syria is Sadik Jalal Al-Azm (1934 – ) who attacked, head-on, the putrid state of theological reason and political literature, unabashed, unafraid and unperturbed. Syria is Saadallah Wanous (1941-1997) one of the most influential playwrights of the 20th century on the international scene and a social and political critic with a sharp eye for the details behind the details at home.

Syria is also ordinary people with a passion for the good life. Syria is two adoring young lovers holding hands on a mountain road and stealing moments of joy and intimacy. Syria is a brilliant new generation of youthful men and women capably chiseling their freedom and emancipation from the rocks of stagnation and conformity. Syria is the unborn children who will come along and set her on the proper course in the making of history. Syria is her persevering and ingenious people waiting impatiently on the sideline. Syria is a sailor who leaves his home behind in search of fortune in lands beyond. Syria is a Tartoussi, sitting by the sea, trousers rolled, a glass of Arak in hand, cheering “Kasak Ya Watan”. Syria is me.

Might Syria be true to its heritage of religious creativity? Might Syria produce the future Muslim Martin Luther; or, at the very least, might Syria succeed in separating religion from the state; thus, setting an example for the Arab world, like Kemal Ataturk’s success in separating Islam from the Turkish State following the First World War?

State secularization and Islamic reform are important for two reasons. The first is to set free peoples’ creativity and intellectual reasoning. The hold of the ulama class on Muslim minds is the worst form of slavery. Continued control by the clerics will continue to manacle Muslims to seventh century laws and dogma of the Arabian Desert. Unless this control is ended the Arab and Muslim peoples will sadly remain intellectually barren, trapped in poverty, the object of ridicule and exploitation by the developed world.
To join the ranks of the developed world is to manumit the Muslim mind from the spell of the ulama. Such would free people from the debilitating demagoguery of the belief in predestination, fate, superstition, and psychotic explanations of the evil eye and the machinations of angels and djinn. Release from the ulama’s hold would end personal status laws that reduce women to chattel. Release from the ulama’s influence would also mean becoming free to study the historicity of the Quran and the Hadith scientifically without the fear of being persecuted under blasphemy laws.

The demand for the clerics’ services should be reduced. Muslims can learn from the European experience. Had it not been for separating Christianity from the European state, for ending the tyranny of the church’s clergy, the industrial revolution might not have happened when it did and Western modernity might not have become what we see today. Muslim governments ought to separate religion from the state, institute modern laws and judicial systems, and emphasize in the educational curriculum and public discourse the peaceful and creative parts in the Islamic creed. Separating religion from the state does not mean, however, relegating the religious preferences of individuals a secondary role. The relationship between God and man is a personal matter and must be respected.
The second benefit from state secularization and religious reform is to sharpen the fight against jihadism and terrorism. Release from the control of extremist clerics, who preach violence, martyrdom, and intolerance against other religions and Islamic sects, like what the Saudi Wahhabi clerics teach with impunity, could reduce jihadism and terrorism. Is it a coincidence that fifteen of the nineteen hijackers who committed the September 11 murders, along with Osama Bin Laden and many of his lieutenants, are all Saudis? This is not to imply, however, that 9/11 was a state-sponsored atrocity.

Attempts at secularization and modernization in independent Syria date back to the country’s first coup in 1949, led by General Husni Al-Zaim. During his short four-and-a-half-month rule, Husni Al-Zaim set in motion fundamental changes akin in some respects to the Ataturk reforms in Turkey. For example, literate women were given the vote; the process of breaking up the awkaf (or religious endowments) and of substituting modern civil, criminal, and commercial codes for the Muslim Shari’a law was advanced (Patrick Seale, The Struggle for Syria, 1986, 58).

Syria’s successive governments since independence from the French mandate in 1946 maintained a drive towards modernization. However, religious reforms have been lacking. Shari’a courts, for example, still hear cases involving personal status, family, and inheritance disputes of Muslims (non-Muslims follow their spiritual courts). Further, although Syria’s constitution is the only constitution in the Arab world, apart from Lebanon’s, that does not make Islam the religion of the state, it specifies, however, that the president must be a Muslim.
While it is safe to say that most Syrians are conscious of the threat Islamist extremism poses to their way of life and age-old religious and ethnic harmony, the forty-year old rule by the “secular” Baath Party has been timid in effecting serious religious reforms. The caution may be attributed to the government’s inability to confront hostilities from two quarters simultaneously; namely, Washington’s political hostility towards Damascus plus the opposition that religious reforms could provoke, especially among the orthodox element of Syria’s Sunni population. Orthodoxy has been on the rise alarmingly in the recent decades as a reaction to political frustrations at home and from abroad.

To fortify against Washington’s pressure, the government projects an image of Islamic piety in order to benefit from Islam’s injunction that Muslims mus t obey the Muslim ruler blindly. God orders in 4:59 of the Quran: “Obey God and obey God’s messenger and obey those of authority among you.” Further, the Prophet Muhammad was reported as saying, according to Muslim’s Hadith collection, “He who obeys me obeys God; he who disobeys me, disobeys God. He who obeys the ruler, obeys me; he who disobeys the ruler, disobeys me.” Abi Dawood and Ibn Maja, also, quoted the Prophet in their Hadith collections as ordering the faithful to hear and obey their ruler, even if he were an Ethiopian slave.

For Syria to embark upon a serious program of secularization and religious reforms, the government needs to concentrate all of its resources to confront domestic religious opposition to secularization and religious reforms, without foreign distractions. Good relations between Washington and Damascus could go a long way towards enabling Syria realize its religious reforming potential.