Our Sectarianism – not just the regime’s creation

[This article by Mohammad Abu Hajar is part of a special series focused on Oral Culture and Identity in Syria. It is the outcome of an ongoing partnership between SyriaUntold and openDemocracy's North Africa West Asia in a bid to untangle the roots of sectarian, ethnic and other divides in Syria.]

It
is clear that brief answers attempting to dissect reality as it
exists do not provide a fair answer, for this reality is open to
contradicting interpretations that can be analyzed through a
sectarian perspective and which enables its holder to enunciate rules
and descriptions that are sectarian in nature.

Indeed,
any discussion centred on sectarianism may only contribute to
strengthening it. It seems, as well, that the biggest beneficiary of
any talk about sectarianism to date is the "Syrian state,"
wherein the political authority that controls all its internal
minutiae purports to play the role of protector to all its citizens
who belong to all sects. It therefore pushes forward approaches that
make sectarian statements and actions seem as if they were a
revolutionary product.

The
myth of a cohesive society

From
the discursive standpoint of this authority and its supposed behavior
that "transcends sects", stemmed the populist arguments
peddled by regime supporters at the start of the 2011 uprising:
arguments which presumed the cohesion of Syrian society. This
cohesion supposedly existed before the start of the protest movement
itself. It is a cohesion subject—or
that was subjected—to
the dangers of confusion and dissipation; suddenly rendered
vulnerable all because of the revolution’s coy appearance. 

At
the time, any conversation about revolution and political change in
Syria, even the notion of addressing corruption, was directly
followed with talk about sectarianism and national unity from regime
supporters. A person whom we knew and who grasped well how much
sectarian consciousness penetrated him, even in his personal
relations, would tell us how his family had berated him the first
time he asked about their sectarian affiliation. It is a story that
he and his family know very well was not plausible, neither before
nor after the revolution.

Perhaps
a full survey of the demographic composition, in urban neighborhoods
and rural villages, would be enough to show how matters were in
reality. A minimal level of linguistic knowledge of how members of
each and every sect speak about other sects is enough to debunk the
narrative of a completely "homogeneous" society. You can
clearly see the demarcation lines that exist between various ethnic,
sectarian and religious groups. This demographic separation—be
it voluntary or organized—was
crudely obvious even to tourists before the conflict.

The
demographic divides were clearly exploited at the beginning of the
revolution

The
demographic divides were clearly exploited at the beginning of the
revolution when a set of checkpoints was erected at the entrances of
specific neighborhoods—Sunni
ones—but
not in front of the others. In a way, these checkpoints served as
confirmation that sectarian boundaries, which were drawn in the minds
of residents of all neighborhoods and of every group, existed in
Syria well before the revolution manifested itself physically. These
limits had been previously defined by sets of symbols and signs,
observable differences in lifestyle, clothing and food. They were
also demarcated by the presence of certain dialects in some regions
and not in others, by the signs on streets and shopfronts, and by the
way someone speaks to others or about others.

This
lexica of symbols represented the extreme limit that a collective
mind could attain of how to be in control; an oral history—a
series linguistic and physical signs; and even the extent to which
zu‘ran
[gangsters] and shabiha
[thugs] could reach into some neighborhoods.

The
example of Tartus

It
was known that in cities such as Tartus, for example, each group had
its own thugs, its own tough street guys with their specific corners.
There was something like a custom, an undeclared and unwritten
"social contract", that explained and codified how
residents would have to behave if they were to live in places where
other groups were present; that is, how they transacted with both the
place and the population existing there. Such a contract was binding
even for the thugs and qabadayat
[machos]. A breach of contract by any of them was a transgression for
which not only the offending party but also his complete group would
pay the price.

This
social contract was also an expression of how areas of different
demographic compositions had developed over time. Each sect, during
the period of urban development and prosperity, together with the
increase of rural migration, developed its own thugs and
representatives, specific foods, and symbols that could be used to
indicate the presence of others—or refer to those others in the
middle of a conversation where the speaker is unsure about the
existence of something that could spark trouble and reach the ears of
the other or become public talk.

It
was a sectarianism that used to show itself through trembling fingers
trying to wrap themselves on someone’s trembling wrist in order to
draw the attention of others to the existence of a member of the
Alawite sect. It was an attempt to say that there was, in the middle
of that gathering, one of those who put on the khal’ah [a
piece of cloth placed on the shrine of the righteous
guardians; Alawites cut pieces of this fabric to make bracelets
in the hope that they will protect the person wearing it]. It was a
sign that all others quickly understood, and typically the Alawite
himself understood it well before anybody else. Admonishments would
rain on anyone who took the liberty of describing the Alawites as
"Nusayris”
or "shembreess”
[a demeaning term used by Sunnis when speaking about Alawites without
openly saying so]; who said "they shall return to their
villages uncivilized as they came"; or who made fun of all the
Alawite religious symbols, sheikhs and the legend of the shrine of
"Abu Taqa" [a shrine that belongs to one of the Righteous
Guardians and which many Alawites claim possesses the miraculous
ability to detect lies]. Reprimands would fall on our Sunni friend
because he allowed his tongue to go loose without thinking rather
than because he erred in his descriptions.

On
the other side of Tartus, another Tartusi resident was trying hard to
put the tip of his thumb above the first joint of his index finger.
He believed that this could stop his friend who kept talking about
Sunnis – about the relation of their sheikhs to sexual perversions
and to what their Sunni wives do while hidden under the headscarf,
all while using Omar and Abu Bakr as insults to be haphazardly thrown
around. At times, someone in the gathering would flash his shiny
teeth, trace his fingers over them and end by tapping each tooth or
mentioning he had a toothache last night. That was another sign that
everyone understood. It signalled the presence of a qashmar
[a demeaning attribute used by Alawites to describe Sunnis without
declaring so openly], one “who does not enter religion of the
beloved Prophet except on the path of the penis”. Some Alawites
believe that a Sunni cleric must have sex with his religious student
before starting to teach him. After the qashmar
or qashamer
[plural] left the gathering, our companion would have been subjected
to a similar rebuke to the one our Sunni friend previously
experienced: How did you allow yourself to speak in such a manner in
front of the Sunni? The problem being here that the discussion
happened in front of the Sunni person versus that it happened at all.

Once
the qashamer
or the shembreess
had left, the two sides could then fearlessly speak about the
bkabisha
feast, an alleged celebration orgy where all the members of a
community join in. One person was sure that those were the Marashida
(Murhsidi sect), while another strongly objected saying this was in
reality the celebration of the Ismailis. Someone else said he heard
about a young man who participated in this sexual tryst. This young
man wanted to know whom he was fucking since complete darkness does
not let you know what's happening. He discovered later on that he had
slept with his mother and sister, so he killed both of them and then
killed himself. It was a story that no one would be able to confirm,
but everyone could agree that this was a satanic ritual and then
peace prevailed.

Talk
about Christians

Talk
about Christians is summed up by speaking about their daughters'
clothing and the tenderness of their young men, whose manhood and
masculinity was put in doubt over a diet that allows eating pork
unlike in the Muslim and Jewish tradition. Was it not the famous
proverb that said "Have lunch with the Sunni / Alawite /
Murshidi / Druze / Jewish person and stay with the Christian"?

You
can trust Christians to the degree of sleeping in their house. They
will not backstab you like others would. Here there exists a wide
range of sects, and each sect formulates whom we can eat with, all
according to historical relationships that communities have
constructed with each other. All this means that you must not trust
the Christian’s food for they want you to eat pork in order to
become like them. Pork is responsible in one way or another for the
lack of male hormones, which are responsible in turn for a Christian
brother’s tolerance with the very short skirt of his sister!

Limited
mixing, clear turfs

In
general, there is nothing to be afraid of. These sorts of mixed
sessions were rare to happen anyway. You would often sit with a
“homie”, a friend of the neighborhood, where the neighborhood had
one sect only. Homies need no labels, no signs, and no symbols. In
these neighborhoods, and especially in lower classes neighborhoods,
we live and die with each other. There we don’t have to communicate
with the Other. There, none of us will use our fingers for
designations and symbols that we may not always like to use because
they serve as a reminder for people to exercise self-restraint. In
such neighborhoods, the presence of others is considered to be a flaw
for which only they can be held accountable for it. They are
responsible for their own presence there and any resulting reactions
it could trigger from others.

I
remember that we were in a working-class café in a neighborhood of
one sectarian predominance, when one of those who were sitting
started to speak about Alawites with a louder voice than what was
generally allowed to happen in mixed places. Our friend here was
safe, confident and unafraid. The only way to stop him was to
publicly declare and with a clear voice: our friend sitting with us
here on the table belongs to the “honored community”. After a
moment of silence, one of our friends went on to bash the gathering
and the one who was supposed to be a guest: Why did he not declare
his sectarian identity since the start!

Here
it is considered to be a grave mistake not declaring oneself a
stranger. The right way to follow in such neighborhoods is to reveal
things unless a specific prohibition is issued—unlike
in mixed alleys where speaking openly about sects is forbidden until
proven otherwise. Symbols, significations and esoteric movements all
belong to mixed neighborhoods or places of communication. In those
alleys parents teach their children a lesson on how to speak on the
phone, in the street and at school. I remember one kid in our
neighborhood, aged five or six, who was talking to his relatives on
the phone. One of his relatives had fallen in love with an Ismaili
girl. I remember the kid saying: “We don’t want the girl she is
Ismaili.” Heartbeats accelerated, and hands raced to snatch the
phone from the hand of the child who did not know—yet—what
must and must not be publicly said.

I
remember that when we moved from one neighborhood to another in the
late 1990s, I was then in the first stages of middle school. On my
first day in a relatively mixed neighborhood, the children of the
neighborhood met and asked me frankly whether I was Sunni or Alawite.
My mother and sisters did not wear the veil but our dialect was
different! Mine was a situation where it was difficult to easily
identify the sect and so they had to publicly ask about it. As a
result of caution or because of my parent’s attitude towards the
matter, I used to deny that I knew the answer to that question, up
until they started asking me if I knew the khal’ah,
and when they heard my answer, they got the response to their desired
question.

A
shared grasp of sectarian borders and symbols

This
kind of sectarianism was known by everyone, even by the sons and
daughters of communists who—supposedly—were
raised away from the dominant religious thinking. I remember that I
took a friend for a stroll and we entered a neighborhood of Tartus
that he had never visited before. He was very taken by it, or perhaps
quite fearful of his new surroundings since my friend’s ancestors
did not belong to it. It was as if he had taken a civilizational slap
similar to what happens during a first visit to Damascus or New York.
Everything was the same outside of your original neighborhood. This
sectarianism defines one area of the city as kharab
al-Islam
[Undermining of Islam]. Within the borders of this region, a Tartusi
Sunni can with full liberty. The area starts from the Mosque of
Peace, and ends somehow at edge of Al-Mina Street. It is a place
where caution reigns. In this region, veiled women and writings that
advertise Hajj and Umrah prevail. The names of the women such as
deceased's sisters and wives, are not written on the obituaries that
are put in the streets.

This
kind of sectarianism was known by everyone, even by the sons and
daughters of communists

Before
the Sunni quarter, directly on the other side, there was an area
dubbed kharab
masihi [Christian
undermining]. It started at the “Church of the Lady,” which
corresponded to the Peace Mosque, and extended to the Al-Mishwar
restaurant. It enveloped the most vital places for the people of the
city, such as mixed-gender cafes and gold-selling stores. The most
ubiquitous images here were pictures of artists, announcements of
upcoming concerts, and obituaries headed by the crucifix next to the
image of the male or female deceased. This is the vital area of ​​the
Christian Tartusi.

To
the south of this Christian enclave begins an area where the Alawite
Tartusi can move and behave with full liberty. This region starts
with the Imam Ali mosque located exactly behind Al-Mishwar
restaurant. It stretches on until the southwestern end of Tartus, an
area where obituaries make mention of female relatives of the
deceased and where the pictures of Bashar al-Assad are prominent.
Earlier,
it was the picture of the Syrian president's father, Hafez Al-Assad,
that dominated the scene. At the beginning of the 21st century,
pictures of Hassan Nasrallah also made an appearance.

These
borders and symbols were made by the founders of the "contemporary"
city. They were geographically, anthropologically and linguistically
engraved in every detail of daily life. When we talk about the
founders of the "contemporary" city, we cannot talk here
about the Syrian regime or about colonialism; nor can we speak of a
historical stage by itself.  But it is certainly reasonable to
say that everyone has failed to change this situation. Perhaps they
want these foundations to remain intact. One can also say, for
example, that the regime helped consolidate these limits. It
certainly transformed them into a concrete and recognized reality
when it hastened in Tartus to put security barriers at the entrances
of Sunni neighborhoods only, albeit these neighborhoods were not
politically active, not even in a minimal way of what could be
described as political activism at the beginning of Syrian
revolution. This has contributed more to the promotion of
sectarian isolationism in a city—and all its residents know it—that
has not played a pivotal role shaping the history of Syria since the
times of the Phoenicians. All of its inhabitants know that the city
was and still is very crudely and disrespectfully marginalized.

Translated
by Yaaser Azzayat