A Meeting with Aram

Apart from the souq, Aleppo has an enormous castle, or the ruins of one, sat on the top of a large mound of earth in the centre of the old city, the views from which reminded me very much of Cairo.

One evening with Alfredo, I managed to talk to some French girls who were working with him temporarily. One of them was really gorgeous, though I'm sure I found her more gorgeous than I normally would. If I'd met her in the West, she'd have been only one of a number of lavish ladies - vivid of speech, alluring in appearance - that I might typically meet. But here, in the land of concealment, where mother nature's daughters are shy, she shone like a shepherd moon, like a spring in the desert, an oasis deep with water, surrounded by high class palm trees. The effect was agreeably hypnotic, while it lasted.

Unfortunately nothing developed between us but it was nice to be remineded that half of the human race existed, and had minds of their own. A pity, though, that these women weren't Arabic. Indeed, I have not spoken to a Middle Eastern women since the school teacher near Kahta in Turkey. If I didn't think this was totally normal for the region I'd think it was bizarre.

As long as they're happy, I tell myself. But happy is not what Alfredo suggested Syrian women were when he told me the suicide rate is high in Syria, especially for women.

I'd decided to go next to Lattakia, on the coast. I told myself I wanted to swim in the sea. I also wanted to see the area that Syria's ruling class (or should I say tribe), the Alawi sect, come from. A particular variant of Shia Islam, they constitute a mere 11% of the population but completely dominate political power in the country and have most of its wealth. Given that most of the country are Sunni (74%) and would probably, if you asked them, like to have some of that power themselves, the Alawi have a robust reason to ensure their grip on power doesn't falter. Not only might they lose their pre-eminence if things like democracy had a say, they might face vengeance and reprisals if their hegemony were eroded. Nothing like a solid dose of fear to make the ruling classses twist the knife one last time.

In an internet cafe which like so many boasted computers that intermittently crash because of power cuts, I met an Armenian twenty year old guy called Aram, who worked in the cafe. While we waited for the power to return, he walked me to the station and helped me buy my train ticket to Lattakia. He told me that there are 40,000 Armenians in Aleppo. That sounds like alot but its only 2.1% of Aleppo's population of 1.9 million. He told me, gloomily, that he didn't like the Arabs. Remembering Stephen's good relations with the Assyrians, I asked him if they were any better. Alas, they weren't. The Kurds?....actually they're ok. But didn't the Kurds kill your ancestors I innocently asked, not wanting to turn him into a Kurd basher. Well, ok, yeah, but the Turks (who he hated most of all) were to blame since they told the Kurds to kill the Armenians and to take their land. Through all this chatter I hadn't noticed the tattoo on his arm which said 'Jesus' in bold Gothic font. Are you a Christian I asked, by which I meant are you devout. No, he chuckled, I wear it to annoy the Arabs.

While we waited outside another internet cafe run by his Armenian friend - a cafe also suffering from power failure - I finally noticed the swastica hung around his neck. Wondering, hopefully, if he might possibly be an appreciator of ancient Indian philosopy, I asked him why he was wearing it. Because Hitler was a good man who knew what should be done with the Jews, he said. And what was that, I asked. He killed them 'one by one'. Apparently, he believes (as do many so it seems) that the 11 million Jews of the world control the wealth of the planet's six billion. Curiously enough, however, he later expressed a desire to go to Israel. Examining him on this apparent inconsistency, he said it was fine if the Jews were confined to their own country; it's only a problem if they're elsewhere. If this counted for a form of Zionism (does it?) its a pretty strange form, surely.

Standing up for my own and most people's aversion to the corporal from Linz, I told him that Hitler was an evil man and not anybody I thought anyone should admire. Possibly he was disarmed by the reasonable discursive tone I adopted. In any case, he didn't seem eager to fight for his hero, only pointing at some graffiti on the wall that said 'Hitler rules' (or something like that) next to a scrawled swastica. He said Hitler was aware of racial issues, implying that this was good. I conceded his point that Hitler was very race conscious but added that he was so in a diabolical way that, in fact, had the effect of rendering the whole question of race disreputable and too explosive to be mentioned. So in the long run, was he really a servant of race consciousness? I wasn't implying that race consciousness is good. In fact I find it morally neutral but think that it can be fascinating and insightfula topic, if your heart is a good one. But since Hitler any innocence it might have possessed has been rendered almost inaccessible, in popular western discourse anyway.

He seemed perplexed that I didn't seem to hate anybody, any ethnic group. The feeling of incomprehension was not reciprocated. I find it very easy, given the genocide and the population transfers, to understand why Armenians hate the children of their persecutors, even though I see no nobility in it. I partially explained my tolerant attitudes by saying I'm an Englishman and that we have no natural, serious enemies, never having been invaded, deported or wiped out by another people, being instead a dominant race whose role it has been to give others reasons to hate us. A curious advantage of being a top dog but surely an advantage nevertheless. What we have entertained have been insufferably pompous attitudes of condescending superiority. But we have never, I think, really hated the peoples over whom we have ruled becasue we've had no reason to.

I asked him if he knew Gurdjieff, a fellow Armenian. He hadn't so I told him, patronisingly but with conviction, that he would be a far better man to get enthusiastic about than Hitler. And of course he was Armenian too, so he could conjoin his patriotism with an esteem for his amazing thought too.

The internet cafe I eventually was able to use was attached to an Armenian youth centre, with sports and other recreational facilities. Everything about the place looked affluent. The Armenians also have their own schools and have carved out quite a comfotable niche for themselves. Why was this I asked Aram. Because, he said, unlike the Arabs, Armenians use their heads. Hmmm I thought, but let the matter lie.

He seemed keen to talk further so later we went for some pizza and then for a couple of beers during happy hour at the hyper air-conditioned Sheraton Hotel. Walking in from the heat is an exciting experience, as your body rapidly adjusts to the enveloping wall of cold air. Aram used to be a barman at the Sheraton's 'English bar'. We were also joined by another of his Armenian friends, Magar, who works for an auditing company. The money he said was rubbish, but compared to others he was doing ok. Top jobs in Syria apparently provide you with 400 dollars a month, no more.

We were isolated at the bar and it seemed safe to discuss politics, and they were happy to, though Magar looked around suspiciously at one moment when some people walked behind us.

Magar told me about a Finnish anarchist he'd once befriended in Aleppo who had gone around spray painting on pictures of the President. Worried that the police might associate him with this person's crimes, he confessed that he'd known him to an agent who was a vague acquaintance that he'd known him, but said that he'd only spoken with him and wasn't involved. He presumed the police had been watching him in the first place and he wanted to pre-emptively clear his name. I asked him about the political prison near Palmyra, and he told me about the torture equipment kept there, about one particular device used for stretching the back.

Then Aram said that he expected to be asked by the police the following day what he'd been saying to me. Until now, I'd suspected that I might have been followed, but they put all my doubts to rest. Presuming that their self-preservation instincts would assist them to be quiet, I told them when we spoke about Israel that I'd been there three times. I said that in a demonstrative hush-hushing gesture that I hoped was dramatic. They were shocked and laughed, yet nonetheless seemed impressed. Technically, I suppose, my being in Syria was illegal; though since nobody had asked me if I'd ever been to Israel I hadn't had to lie. They were even more shocked, however, when I told them I'd met someone in a bookshop living in Syria who actually went to Israel fairly often on a second passport by flying out to Greece first.

We exchanged emails and Aram said he'd write to me about what the Police said to him if they approached him, but I haven't heard anything yet. Hopefully, the allure of his beloved computer games have clouded his memory.