It was early in the morning as Anwar al-Bouni drove to the court in Damascus where he works as a human rights lawyer. He had just spent 10 days in hiding, afraid that the regime was trying to frame him in a criminal case to silence his outspoken views. He barely noticed the two motorbikes next to him.
When he slowed to make a turn, the second bike pulled up and the pillion passenger kicked at Bouni’s door. He stopped the car.
”What happened? What’s the matter?” he said. The man jumped off the bike, opened the door and began punching and kicking Bouni.
”He didn’t say anything. He just beat me on my head, my nose, my mouth. He hit me, he kicked me and then when people started to gather around us, he got on the bike and drove off,” said Bouni, sitting in his apartment chain-smoking and sipping black coffee. He was bruised and badly shaken, but escaped serious injury.
The incident was a crude reminder of the perils of criticism in Syria’s closed society. During decades of dictatorship all opposition movements have been firmly repressed. There are few who dare to publicly condemn the regime. Bouni is one of them and now he is too scared to go back to work. Others have been forced into exile or sent to jail.
Prisoners of conscience
”I know there is a price to pay. If they are going to arrest me, then I am ready. But I was surprised to see it happen this way,” said Bouni, who first became a lawyer to represent the six members of his family who were jailed as political prisoners.
Syria is now facing its greatest challenge for more than 20 years, a crisis that may bring down the Damascus regime. Senior Syrian officials have been implicated in the assassination of the former Lebanese prime minister, Rafik Hariri, and a unanimous United Nations Security Council resolution this week ordered the regime to cooperate with the on-going inquiry or face ”further action”.
Yet the ultimate dilemma for the country as a whole is that, at a time when the regime’s survival is threatened, there is no credible opposition ready to take power. There is a small, secular, liberal movement made up of left-wing dissidents and human rights activists, like Bouni, who propose a democratic future but have little support on the streets. And there is a larger Sunni Islamist movement that has more street power and a more conservative agenda but has been crushed by the regime.
”The opposition hasn’t been able to make a real relationship with the people because they have no media that reach ordinary people,” said Bouni.
Newspapers and television channels are state controlled, which means most Syrians’ only access to news about the opposition comes from Arabic-language satellite channels, radio or, for a few, the internet. This means the opposition’s progress is often more closely followed by Western diplomats and think tanks than by ordinary Syrians on the street.
While many Syrians privately criticise the regime and accept it was probably involved in the Hariri assassination, they are also defensive about pressure from the West.
”People don’t understand what’s happening. They think America is attacking Syria and they are afraid of change,” said Bouni.
Reform agenda
Last month, the opposition drew up an agreement calling for reform and elections. It united secular liberals with Kurdish activists and, most importantly, with Islamists — even the outlawed Muslim Brotherhood, the largest Sunni religious movement, signed up.
The Damascus Declaration for Democratic National Change blamed 30 years of authoritarianism for Syria’s problems and called for a ”radical change in the country and the rejection of all forms of cosmetic, partial or circumspect reform”.
It was carefully phrased but important because it meant the opposition finally stated that the regime itself was the problem. Among those who signed up publicly was Riyad Sayf, a prominent Damascus businessman and MP, who is still in jail after a crackdown on political openness five years ago.
Haitham al-Maleh, a veteran human rights lawyer with Islamist links who also signed the declaration, was encouraged by the support of the Muslim Brotherhood. Under President Bashar Assad’s father, Hafez, the Brotherhood in Syria was crushed in the early 1980s, leaving tens of thousands dead and many more in jail.
”The Islamists have paid a high price and they are still afraid and until now they have been sleeping,” said Maleh. ”Maybe this declaration will make the opposition stronger than before. If the Islamist side moves, then maybe something will happen.”
Activists have waited for years for Assad to live up to his claims to be a reformer. It is true that jails are less crowded with political prisoners than they were in his father’s time and that vast portraits of his father have been replaced by advertising hoardings. This is not like Iraq under Saddam Hussein: cellphones and satellite television are freely available. But membership of the Muslim Brotherhood is still punishable by death, intelligence agencies operate with impunity, and political critics are often jailed.
Shadow of Iraq
On Wednesday, 190 political prisoners were freed, which may have been a gesture for the Muslim holiday of Eid or, as some government officials promise, the beginning of a reform programme. Absent among those released, however, was the dissident MP Riyad Sayf.
Always, the shadow of Iraq hangs in the background. Assad’s regime likes to argue it is the only reasonable alternative to civil war and an Islamist-run state.
”The experience in Iraq has hurt us a lot,” said Michel Kilo, a writer and left-wing political activist. ”Bashar has pushed his country into a final struggle with international forces. Society is without hope and we worry that there will be a catastrophic finale.” — Guardian Unlimited Â