The Impossible Revolution

Sectarianism rarely appears barefaced, but instead cloaks itself under a thick hijab of high values, whether modern or ancient: modernity, secularism, enlightenment, or civilization; ‘authentic’ values such as Islam (represented as singular); or novelty and ‘uniqueness’. But behind the veil, there is nothing to be found but Sultanism and racial discrimination.

On the other hand, there is no escape from closing the book on the public religious sect. Alawites are not Sunni, and neither are Druze, Ismailis, or Shiites: they should not have to endure Sunni education in schools or refrain from public expression of their own identities. Similarly, the Kurds are not Arabs: they should not be stripped of their personality and language, and Arabic should not be imposed on them.

If we have no choice other than turning the page on the status quo of the public political sect, we must ensure equal rights for Alawite Syrians as individuals and as a community. We need to think about liberation from sectarianism and the Sultanic state as liberation of Alawites, not from them. The Assad Sultanate is not the state of Alawites, although it has used their labour and blood in order to rise above all Syrians.

Contemporary Salafism is a schismatic phenomenon, hostile to the world; it generates hatreds within the community, within its groups, and even within the same individual. Its only destination is death. In my opinion, Daesh has stepped up because the revolution as an aspiration to own life and liberty has stumbled and fallen. Salafism emerged because there are no social revolutionaries in Syria. Salafists’ social bases have overtaken those of the social revolutionary forces.

Alawites to their coffins, Christians to Beirut!’ This slogan was designed so efficiently that it could simultaneously taint the protests with Sunni extremism, justify sectarian alliance between Alawites and Christians, cajole the West and instigate the Western public against those violent backward Sunnis. It is unfathomable how such a slogan would reportedly arise only during demonstrations in Latakia!

It is interesting that, in his book Crisis in Syria, the Lebanese-Canadian Kamal Dib suggests that power be shared equally between ‘minorities’ and Sunni Muslims who (according to him) make up 75 per cent of the population—virtually giving a ‘minoritarian’ three times the political fortunes of a ‘majoritarian’! This even surpasses the system of consociational democracy in Lebanon, to which this ‘secular’ author objects. According to Ahmed Beydoun, the Lebanese system is based on an equation that gives a Christian (only) twice as much weight as a Muslim!

Throughout the book, it is remarkable that the words ‘Islam’ and ‘Muslims’ are never mentioned in a positive or a compassionate context. Throughout Dib’s book, these two words are used in an uninhibited, remarkably straightforward manner: they always and exclusively appear in a negative context, in connection with the dangers of terrorism, beheadings, and the persecution of women, intellectuals, Christians and ‘minorities’.

The death of Hafez inaugurated the time of the dynasty. The Assad family has taken the place of the father—not only because Bashar is weaker than his father or less qualified, but because the logic of inheritance and building of dynasties leads to that result. Whoever succeeds Hafez is an heir, a son among others, he is not the founder nor is he the greatest. Bashar cannot neutralize the family unless he renounces the logic of inheritance to become another founding father who either ends dynastic rule altogether or establishes his own dynasty. Bashar is too small for both. The Sultanate belongs to his family and not to him. Sticking with him is required for the cohesion of the Sultanic family and the Sultanate as a whole, but this does not signal an appreciation of his personhood. Bashar has no personal use value, only an exchange or public value. When necessary, he can be replaced. That is possible, one day.

The amount of supernatural glorification bestowed upon the man throughout the years of his rule and beyond is related to the principle of the regime’s coherence, its sacred religion. A basic function of his state was the public glorification of the president to ensure people’s submission. Assadism is a religion and a state, and its religion is its state. Speaking of ‘a cult of personality’ is probably insufficient for Assad. Hafez is a sacred founder in the eyes of his loyalists, particularly his sectarian followers. He is not merely a unique governor or a genius leader. He is unique and a genius because he is blessed, not vice versa. Here, one might also speak of the outer, rational face of Hafez—his genius and uniqueness—and an inner, metaphysical side—blessed and holy. This face is only visible to his Alawite followers. Hafez’s mausoleum in Qardaha is visited as a sacred monument. A few years ago, a cardboard sheet came into my possession, showing pictures of Alawite religious chieftains over 1000 years (a sort of a family tree drawing), the last of which was Hafez al-Assad, who was described in religious terms.

A mural in Masakin al-Haras (the region also called Al-Areen or the lion’s lair, inhabited only by Alawite officers of al-Haras al-Jumhoori, the Republican Guard) depicts Hafez bowing to kiss the hand of his mother, her head surrounded by a halo.

Despite the explicitly negative feelings, the guard forces do not rebel against the bourgeoisie. Instead, they hold to a fundamental loyalty to the regime and hostility toward its opponents as well as toward the general population. The regime has never had a problem using it as a cudgel against all opponents. Security and military forces with security functions, the upper ranks of the army, and the police have never, not even once, sided with the general population or expressed a sense of connection with them. After the revolution began, defections were very rare.