Buses, religion and politics

So another story. Sunday was my first day at ICARDA. I was given an office, a phone, and Amor is arranging all the meetings for me. I spent the day alternately reading papers (mostly Ed's and Olivier's) and shadowing Amor. ICARDA is about 40km southwest of Haleb, an I was brought by shuttle in the morning, and told I would return the same way. However, when I went to meet the shuttle at 3:15, there were multiple buses and I realized I didn't know which to take. I asked someone, he pointed, and I hopped on. I quickly realized none of these people had been on my shuttle in the morning, and assumed I had picked the wrong one, however it was heading to Haleb, so I figured I'd just hop off somewhere, do my shopping, and take a taxi back to the guest house. However, the driver and passengers realized I was on the wrong bus, since none of them knew me, and asked me where I was going, smiling slightly at my response. I explained that I knew I had taken the wrong shuttle, but that I was planning to shop and take a taxi back, and knew the city well enough.

One woman suggested I get off at her stop, so I did, and she invited me to her home. In the US, this would probably seem weird, but it's rather common behavior in the Middle East, though I'd be wary of going with a man I didn't know, more for image it would give than for safety. As we walked up the stairs to her apartment she explained that she was an only child (in her forties or fifties) and lived with her elderly mother. She offered me lunch, and having not expected company the food was set up in the kitchen, whereas guests would usually be entertained in the living room, and she asked if I minded. Of course I did not, and we sat at a small table in a small kitchen and ate a wonderfully simple meal of boiled wheat, lamb salami, and something similar spinach wrapped around rice and meat with a yogurt sauce spiced with garlic and peppermint. Over lunch we talked about where I was from and what I was doing in Syria, why I had wanted to travel to the Middle East. Though fluent in English, it was not her first language so when she asked, "Why would you want to come here?" it was not meant with the negative insinuation it seems to carry in writing. The paradox of the statement and her intent made me laugh.

I told her about the religions class I'd taken, about how the Christian students had responded so poorly when their religion was talked about, the ugly histories, when they had sat avidly taking notes during the discussions of Jewish and Muslim atrocities. She opened the conversation to politics and religion, so I felt comfortable telling her these things, and explained that there is so little cultural diversity in Montana that I wanted to see for myself and be able to tell people when I returned. We sat in the living room with coffee (Turkish coffee, ironically, which I never drank in Turkey) for another hour, talking about Syrian culture and the republic, America, and Israel. Yes, I know, tender topics everyone tells me, yet I find people very willing to discuss them, rationally and intellectually. She stressed how much equality the different religious groups had in Syria, how much everyone loved the president, Bashar Assad, and how a good dictator was much better than the alternative of life under a extremist group, the only alternative she sees.

Bashar Assad, the second son of the late president, was elected by an almost unanimous vote upon his father's death. There is only one party here, and the presidency is expected to be passed on in the ruling family. From what I know of his regime, I have to admit, a dictator he may be but he seems to be doing only good things. As Ziad stressed at dinner the first night, he takes care of his country from the inside and that makes him a good leader. Bashar Assad had taken many steps towards modernizing the country, and has attempted to forge better relations with the US and UN, but his gestures have often had less than friendly receptions. He was quoted as saying, about a year ago, that Syrian/American relations could not improve until there was a change in American leadership.

My host brought up the even more sensitive issue of Israel, and how much she wished to see Jerusalem, but her nationality forbid it. Anyone holding a passport from a Muslim country is not allowed to enter Israel, as they do not officially recognize its sovereignty. As a Christian, this is difficult for her, and she cherishes the cross pendant and wooden crucifix given to her by a foreign friend who visited the country. She told me that, as I had predicted, the image of our president was more important to Syrians than the actual person of the president-elect. That American elected a black man said a lot to the world, and she asked me to clarify that he is not Muslim, not out of any negative thoughts towards Muslims but simply in an informative sense. "If he had been Muslim?" she asks. "We would not have elected him," I replied. Her blunt conversation deserved a blunt and honest answer, and I felt comfortable with her.

We talked then of how in much of America, due mostly to mass media, the only time we ever hear the word Muslim is in connection with words like terrorist, car bombing, jihad, mujaheddin, martyr. The definition of these words are in themselves skewed in our views. I explained that most people don't even understand the true meaning of jihad (to struggle for your faith, not offensive holy war) and mujaheddin (those who struggle, not holy warriors). Here I was disappointed to find that either I'm wrong myself, though my understanding comes from multiple reliable sources, or that this misunderstanding is not unique to Americans. I lean towards the later and I was saddened at this. It seemed to contradict her earlier comments on the equality of the religions. One moment insisting that they were Syrians first, and Jews or Christians or Muslims second; the next insisting that Koran promoted holy war, offensive tactics, and killing. I no longer felt comfortable in pointing out to her that the bible has similar passages and that her own religion has a bloody history. I felt like I was sitting in Cohen's religions class again, watching five students walk out mid-class while many more scowled in their seats.