It is impossible to speak of the new Syrian society without addressing the revolution’s role in destroying the fabric of the former. It is impossible to talk about it without considering the beginning of new values for this new society – one awaiting the end of this revolution’s bloody phase, so that stability can finally reign. Such talk of Syrian society only makes us realise how these diverse budding values are being tried and tested with every passing day.

Despite the bloodshed and rows of martyrs; despite the regime destroying cities with scud missiles, war planes, heavy artillery, and every other means possible – despite all this, Syrians don’t stop their spirited chanting, painting, and writing in protest at the current situation.

All this while they repeatedly question Syria’s future, and contemplate the shape of this new revolution – a revolution which celebrates an impending freedom: the freedom of expression and the freedom to criticise – a liberty which the revolutionaries haven’t stopped exercising since the onset of this great uprising.Before the revolution, Syrian society had become full of death and decay. The absence of objective newspapers and public criticism created a deceptive and delusional national image, which at the best of times made Syria appear civil.

The dictator was portrayed as decidedly saintly in caricatures, writing, cinema, theatre, and in all other art forms. And this very dictator made even the elite regress to behaviour resembling that of those in a state governed by the mafia – one in which every type of free expression was scorned. Such an environment eradicated any inkling of criticism, and aimed to venerate he who has been declared sacred. It is one where the ruling classes have been granted their positions by the governing power as a form of immunity. And those included in the unspoken agreement of this unholy alliance participated in celebrating the scraps that the regime threw their way now and again – particularly after Bashar Al-Asad came to power in 2000.

While it is true that, officially, the ruling power allowed artists and writers to produce their counter-rhetoric on the sidelines, the more telling truth lies in the fact that any public interaction with these creative minds was all but prohibited. Books and films that the regime itself took part in producing were not banned, however.

Similarly no social movement was allowed to grow and continue, youth projects were stopped and restrictions were placed on their leaders. Any collective action that could stir up even the discussion of dissent was banned, unless the venture was under the regime’s complete control.

The ruling power didn’t even permit the publishing of independent newspapers. And when one was allowed, its owner was backed by the regime – so that there was barely a discernible difference between the paper and the government’s own publications. In fact, it was arguably even more loyal than government-owned newspapers. In the same vein, all private magazines and creative publications were banned.

This is exactly what happened with Alif magazine, a publication that celebrated new writing. A group of independent writers, myself among them, had been publishing it since 1990. We have numerous examples of writing that all fall into the category of ‘banned collective work’  i.e. subversive of the government. Thin margins were left for us in which to pursue our individual work – as long, of course,  as it didn’t approach the sacred cows embodied by the president and his entourage.

This created a society entrenched in lies and convenient, deceptive silences. It has also enabled the veneration of a select few who have benefitted from the lack of ability to criticise. With the spread of this culture of hypocrisy, these names have transformed themselves into a group of mini-dictators in training who have then collaborated with the bigger dictator in their fight against freedom of speech. A freedom which until recently only a few courageous journalists have dared to exercise.

The stance of the Syrian educated elite with regards to the Syrian revolution casts light on some of the details of this hypocritical culture. Great poets, writers, artists, and film directors stood against their people’s revolution – the same revolution that they talked about and foretold for 40 years. They, these people, talk comfortably about new art and new cinema, but they refuse the birth of a new society unless it’s done their way. They see the revolution and yet they are oblivious to the blood of their people which has been spilled day after day.

This blood has become an icon for all Syrians who dream of a civil future for their new nation, one based on freedom of expression. No society will, or can survive without it.

I believe that the Syrians have felt the jolt that any society wanting progress or transformation needs – a shock required by any culture wanting the creation of a new system, one based on humanitarian values defending freedom of speech and human rights, all which is in line with great Arab precedents.

This shock is still on-going. It will continue as long as the revolution continues and it is able to explore new methods of resisting dictatorships, which maintain a culture of exclusion and censorship, and Islamic hard-line regimes.

The blood of martyrs has given this fledgling new Syrian culture a great push. It has destroyed the culture of silence and prevented new forms of hypocrisy taking root in Syrian civil society – our society, for which we all in Syria wish revolution and ensuing freedom.

About the author
Khaled Khalifa was born in 1964, in a village close to Aleppo, Syria. He is the fifth child of a family of thirteen siblings. He studied law at Aleppo University and actively participated in the foundation of Aleph magazine with a group of writers and poets. A few months later, the magazine was closed down by Syrian censorship.He currently lives in Damascus where he writes scripts for cinema and television. Khalifa’s In Praise of Hatred – published secretly in Damascus and banned forty days later – was shortlisted for the International Prize for Arabic Fiction in 2008. Set in and around 1980s Aleppo, the story unpicks a life lived under dictatorship and loudly echoes the violence across the Middle East and the Arab world over the past two years.In Praise of Hatred is longlisted for the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize 2013. It is published by Doubleday in the UK and has just been released in paperback by Black Swan.

About the translator
Sawad Hussain is a literary translator who currently teaches Arabic in Dubai. She graduated from SOAS with an M.A in Arabic Literature. She is very passionate about the Arabic language and is an avid reader. Her goal one day is to translate a book from an Arab country that hasn’t been as well represented in the literary arena as other nations – such as Sudan, Yemen or Mauritania.

The post Written in blood: The beginnings of a new Syrian society appeared first on English PEN.

The entrance to the Aleppo Citadel has been shelled, and part of its wall was damaged. This 1,000 year old citadel sits on top of a hill in the middle of the city which grew and extended around it. It is a place where the secrets of history are kept. As children, we used to climb the hill surrounding the citadel on which it sits, looking over the city like a vulture protecting it from the mice of darkness. At that time, we were eager to discover some of the citadel’s secrets. The elders used to tell us there was a deep subterranean passage, leading far from the citadel to parts of the city, used to supply foodstuffs to the citadel when it was surrounded by invaders so that the defenders would be able to resist them. The Aleppans used to move into the citadel at times of attacks, and shut its gates. This passage was critical at both times of war and peace, when the ruler of the city would run away if the population rose against him. It was also used by lovers who used to go discreetly in and out. But we could not find the passage, though everyone knew it existed.

I remember one day they started to demolish an old house to construct a new building on the site. Excavations were going on when a dark passage was unearthed. It was part of a canal that ran under the city homes, just like the subway tunnels in some cities now. The vaulted ceiling was built with stones, while water flowed from its source and spread throughout the ancient city.

That was a very important moment in my life as a boy. My friends and I went down to examine it. It was a real world of magic and at the same time scary. We waded in the water that came from Hilan, a village to the north of the city. In every home, there was a well connected with the canal running under the ground.

In my novel The North Wind I wrote about how men used to hide in their homes from the eyes of the Ottoman Recruiting Units which were looking for young men to draft to fight in the First World War. When these young men felt the danger of these units which raided their homes, they went into the wells to hide in the canal, where their neighbors supplied them with food by ropes. It was also used by burglars and lovers. They would sneak out of the well at night to carry out their business, and then go down again into this ramified world that could take them to wherever they wanted.

The alleys in the ancient city, some of which are no more than 1.5 meters wide, diverged irregularly. Rooftops are attached and linked to each other. Since they are flat, it is easy to walk across them, moving from one rooftop to another. It is very suitable for burglars and those running away from the police, or from their parents or from jealous spouses. I myself used to move around these rooftops, to enjoy watching other people’s homes from the top. When I was a boy, before I was a teenager, there was a house where I saw a pretty young woman lying on a mattress beside a fountain in the courtyard. She used to wear bright, colored, see-through dresses. She would toss around waiting for someone, who never came. Was the world empty of men? I wondered.

Lately I heard that the fighting between the government troops and the opposition was taking place in the old city, which has resulted in the destruction of many houses there. This news scared me to death, and brought to mind my first visit to the Bahsita quarter in the heart of the old city. Bahsita is a place every young man must have visited at least once in his lifetime, either to have sex with a woman, or just to watch the women there. It is full of narrow alleys and houses like the traditional houses in the old city (I have described this quarter in my novel The Pastoral Comedy). In the evening the quarter becomes crowded with both visitors and spectators, while women sit in the courtyard of their houses, or in front of their houses in the narrow alleys wearing the scantiest clothes to expose their bodies to attract customers. There were also street vendors who sell sandwiches and tonic drinks for the men to restore their energy after they had sex, which was in most cases quick, but enjoyable. In this place I lost my innocence when I was sixteen years old. An experienced friend took me there to visit a woman who was in her forties, who, he said, understands young virgin boys, and helps them with patience. Indeed, he was right, because she understood my awkwardness at that time.

News of the battles going on in Aleppo’s ancient souk, and the fires that burnt a large number of shops there, made me think about the souk which is called al Medina, that is “the city” and considered the backbone of our lives. Al Medina is a network of narrow streets and alleys lined with shops on both sides, even though the alley is two meters wide or even less. For each trade there is a market, and discovering these thirty seven souks is an exciting tour I used to take before the holidays. These alleys are eight kilometers long and occupy seven hectares, all covered with vaulted roofs, and lit by the rays of sun through small windows at the top. More than twenty khans (caravanserais) occupy a part of these souks, decorated with striking architectural designs. These khans in the past were commercial centers receiving the convoys shuttling the Silk Road. Today they are very important commercial and industrial centres in the Syrian economy.

Discovering these souks filled me with joy in my boyhood. In every step I discovered a new and surprising secret, in particular, the Niswan Souk “the women’s market” which specialises in selling women’s stuff, from bridal dresses, to underwear and lingerie. Usually, the souk is crowded with women, and with one visit to the souk, one can discover what women wear for their husbands to make them continue to love them. In a shop window I once saw a two-piece underwear set which flashes with a light when touched by the husband. I wanted to discover the secrets of the world of these souks and khans. So I wrote the television series The Silk Market which observed and recorded the social, economic and political life in the 1950s to the early 1960s, in a period full of political turmoil. The series was filmed in the actual places, the traditional old souks, khans, alleys and homes in Aleppo, where the battles are taking place now, and where the government forces are bombing them using warplanes and artillery… Oh, my God!

It is not only the stones dating back to antiquity, but also the inhabitants of the city that keep its secrets. Foreign travelers and writers could not uncover the secrets of this city. They presented to their readers the surface image only, while the inner image remained uncovered, in particular the community of Allepian women, and their relationships. Specifically, a hidden phenomenon called the ‘intimate girls’.

Every Aleppian knew or had once heard about those intimate girls in the society of Aleppo. In order to understand the secret of this long tradition we should know that the local society used to separate women from men. However, women developed relationships with the same sex, even on an emotional level, for they were seeking a passionate and intimate social daily relationship. Men prevented their wives and daughters from mingling with men, but they allowed relationships with other women. Such a relationship developed sometimes, to its utmost limits, with men’s consent, or at least with their silence. We know the importance of music in the city. You can hardly find a home in the city without the musical instrument, the Oud, and some parents allowed their daughters to learn music and singing in order to have parties at home. Women used their musical skills in their daily meetings, especially, the intimate girls who used to meet on a certain day of the week. There, every woman would sit beside her girl friend, whom she calls Abla. They would sit very close to each other, wearing revealing clothes, singing and flirting. They would address each other with love lyrics, and dance together, caressing and kissing.

A long time ago I heard about these relationships and the intimate girls. I decided to write about those women so I wrote a novel A State of Passion. When I began my journey of study and research for the novel I found the only thing written about this in past literature was a few lines in the Comparable Aleppo Encyclopedia which addressed the linguistic, cultural and social aspects of the city. Therefore I set out to interview dozens of the well-known intimate girls, their acquaintances or relatives. The result was amazing. I discovered a wondrous hidden world of women’s relations, whose mainstay was friendship, love, intimacy, music, singing and dancing. It was a world of love, jealousy, betrayal, touching, and most often a world of sexual intimacy. A world where women with traditional lives and a husband away from home 12 hours a day found pleasure and emotional life without cheating on him with another man

I hope that the words I used to describe my city, Aleppo, do not become some kind of obituary for a dead city.

About the Author

Nihad Sirees is a civil engineer who lives in Aleppo. His novels include Cancer, The North Winds, A Case of Passion, and Noise and Silence. Of his many television dramas the most widely acclaimed, Silk Market, set in Aleppo during the political turmoil of the 1950s, was shown throughout the Middle East, in Germany and in Australia. His latest series, Al Khait Al Abiadh (‘The First Gleam of Dawn’), provides a frank depiction of the country’s government-controlled media. After increasing surveillance and pressure from the Syrian government, Nihad Sirees left Syria in 2012. He is currently at Brown University in the US on an International Writers Fellowship until the end of February 2013.

Additional Information

Nihad Sirees is touring the UK this month. He is appearing with Golan Haji and Robin Yassin-Kassab at the Southbank Centre on the 29th of January. To find out more information please follow this link.

He is also appearing at Waterstones Piccadilly on the 30th of January, alongside Malu Halasa and Ghalia Kabbani. To find out more about this event please follow this link.

The Silence and the Roar is translated by Max Weiss.

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