God, Turkey and Bashar

Syrian journalist Rasha Rami reports on a demonstration she witnessed on September 1, 2012 in the city of Antioch in Turkey’s Hatay province, on the border with Syria. Demonstrators called for an end to Turkish cooperation with Syria’s opposition and the repatriation of refugees. The Turkish authorities banned subsequent protests, while officials in Hatay instructed Syrian nationals to remain in the refugee camps or leave.

Rasha Rami

I did not know how I really felt when I saw thousands of Turks in Antioch chanting for my country Syria, so burdened by civil strife and foreign intervention.

Was I happy because they were thinking of my home city of Aleppo, which was being shelled day and night? Or was I angry that they were cheering on the criminal who was devastating Aleppo and killing its people?

On September 1, thousands of demonstrators gathered in the city of Antioch to protest against Turkish involvement in the Syrian crisis. They believed this was having a negative impact on them and on relations with Syria.

From all over Alexandretta [Hatay], the protesters said they were protesting as a matter of personal choice, not because they had been mobilised to do so by some political group.

The slogans heard at the demonstration included, “We don’t want war with our people in Syria”; “No to Turkish involvement in Syrian affairs”; and “We don’t want al-Qaeda in our land.”

These slogans invoked natural rights, but what I found unusual was that demonstrators were also cheering for President Assad al-Assad – “God, Turkey and Bashar”.

The demonstrators also called for the expulsion of members of the Free Syrian Army and their families, as well as the refugees now living in camps in Turkey.

The slogans were in Arabic – many of Alexandretta’s residents speak Arabic, since the province was part of Syria until 1937.

Organisers said the demonstration had not been granted official approval, so they had to plan it in secret and hand out leaflets only one day beforehand. They said the Turkish government did not want the international community to know that people opposed official policies, especially given the attention this demonstration received in the media.

All the protesters to whom I spoke said Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s policies had lost them the respect of the Syrian people and leaders, as well as damaging their businesses which flourished in recent few years thanks to commerce with Syria.

Burak, the owner of a textile store, said he relied on his market in Aleppo, and Turkish government policy meant he had incurred losses.

Another demonstrator, Hande, said her concerns were not political – she felt threatened because, she said, members of al-Qaeda and the FSA were in her city.

“We have never seen bearded men walking around our markets and living in our buildings,” Hande said. “They lead a normal life during the day, but we know that they go to fight Assad and kill Syrian soldiers during the night. They’re terrorists, and we don’t want Syrian criminals and mercenaries mingling with our children.”

When other protesters spotted that I was conducting interviews, they gathered around me and asked where I was from.

They accused me of working for one of the “tendentious” TV channels, using the term the Syrian regime uses for satellite channels that support the revolution, such as Aljazeera and Arabiyya. Some threatened to kill anybody who worked for them.

When they found out I was Syrian, they attacked me for not reporting the truth or describing the injustices suffered by Assad.

I was barely able to convince them that I was covering the demonstration in order to convey their sincere feelings to the Syrian people and their leader, and that I did not work for those TV stations.

One protester said ambulances were being used to transport weapons into Syria, and that hospitals near the border were treating “terrorists and assassins.”

Seeing many portraits of President Assad and Imam Ali, the Prophet Muhammad’s son-in-law and a central figure for Alawites, I asked some of the protesters what faith group they belonged to. They said they were Alawites.

When I asked one of them if he supported President Assad because he was an Alawite like him, he said yes.

“Assad is a young Alawite who knew how to rule and develop his country. Why replace him with a Sunni who could destroy his country with regressive thinking as Erdoğan is doing today?” he said.

I asked him why he and others who were unhappy with Erdoğan’s policies did not call for Alexandretta to be returned to Syria. That would reunite them with their nation of origin, and would also boost the number of Assad’s supporters.

No one had an answer. The people around me just shook their heads. Perhaps they thought it a stupid question.

After the demonstration, some of the protesters gathered in a nearby café, where I was also planning to meet my friend A.B., an activist from Aleppo.

When I arrived. I found A.B. talking to one of the demonstrators. They both looked like they were about to explode in anger. The demonstrator then left.

A.B. told me the man had seen a photo of the Syrian independence flag in his hand. The man was wondering what the opposition really wanted and was concerned for Syria’s security, A.B. told me.

A.B. replied to him, “I want to be an Alawite in a country with a Sunni majority ruled by the Muslim Brotherhood, and at the same time be able to demonstrate against the government. I simply dream of doing what you are doing now.”

My friend went quiet for a while as he looked at the banners lying on the floor. Then he said, “They’re cheering for my enemy, who killed my best friend and forced me to leave my city and family…. That is unfair.”

“People in Syria, whether FSA members or not, were scared to leave home today,” he continued, adding that he would have liked to tell the demonstrators that “it was this fear that pushed [Syrians] to escape to your country, and you now want to expel them all.”

I realised I shared A.B.’s view of the demonstration. The ambiguity I had felt earlier in the day turned to clarity. I was not happy that our Turkish neighbours shared our concerns; I was angry at them because they had not gone through what we had. They had not lost their homes or loved ones. They feared only for their own interests – economic, political or sectarian.