Syria 1st-Hand: Awaiting the Regime's Tanks in Binnish (Abdul-Ahad)

Anti-regime demonstration in Binnish, 25 November

---

Ghaith Abdul-Ahad writes for The Guardian of London from Binnish in northwest Syria:

Twice the army had come to Binnish. On the first occasion they arrested more than 70 people, demonstrators, old and young. The lucky ones were released after two months. Some are still missing. On the second occasion the people fought back, with hunting rifles, old guns, stones even. When the security forces withdrew there were 21 dead: 11 demonstrators and 10 pro-regime fighters.

The people had won their liberty, temporarily at least. Buildings were covered with anti-regime slogans. "Binnish is free," reads graffiti scrawled with red paint on a whitewashed town wall. In the middle of the market square is a huge revolutionary flag in green and black and adorned with three red stars: it is the old Syrian flag, the one that predates the Assads.

But this freedom is precarious. The security forces are gathering once again at the town's margins. Today, as in other hotspots in Syria's nine-month uprising, this is a town under siege, surrounded by tanks and roadblocks manned by the army, police and pro-regime militias.

This menacing array does not dampen the revolutionary fervour. By night crowds gather in the town centre. More than 100 men stand in rows waving their hands and chanting.

A man called Hamza, who before the revolution sold gas canisters, had converted his wagon into a jury-rigged mobile broadcasting unit with two megaphones.

He stood next to it, reading out slogans directed against the regime of the president, Bashar al-Assad, from a piece of paper.

"Ya Bashar. Ya Bashar. Ya Bashar must leave."

The crowd swung with rhythm and shouted back: "Ya Bashar must leave!"

A cheerful young man danced in the middle of the crowd, a big drum strapped to his shoulder. "I am the Viagra of the revolution," he said. "I make the people rise and dance." He beat his drum to the rhythm of the chant and the people danced, waved and lit candles. We walked away from the square with a man named Ahmad. "Every time I say 'down with the regime!' or 'Bashar get out!' I feel I have regained a bit of my dignity," he said. "I tell you, I have never before had dignity in this country."

Anxiety

The peace of the following morning was shattered by Hamza, who drove around town with his megaphones blaring: "People of Benish, the army is here. All men to your positions. Allahu Akbar! The army has surrounded the town. All men to your positions."

As before previous assaults, the regime had cut all communications in the night. Landlines, mobiles and internet were down, so Hamza and his wagon was the only means of spreading the news. His voice swept through the rubbish-strewn streets and alleyways. He followed his announcements with revolutionary songs and anti-Assad chants.

Within minutes the town was up and ready to fight. Young men who had been snoring heavily under thick blankets sprung to their feet, shook the sleep from their heads and grabbed their guns.

Flocks of children in pink and blue uniforms on their way to school abruptly turned around and walked back to their homes in single file accompanied by jittery mothers in colourful scarves and long black gowns. Scooters, tractors and cars ferried fighters into the town centre.

We hurried to the square with Mustafa, a chubby, red-headed 26-year-old. He had a Kalashnikov with two magazines of bullets strapped together and a black plastic bag filled with more bullets. His mother stood silently at the entrance of the family house watching him walk away.

Did he think his weapon had a chance against the tanks? "No," he said, his eyes fixed on the street ahead. "Am I afraid? Yes, I would be lying if I told you I was not. I am scared that I will see something horrible happening to my father, or brother or uncle. "I am scared that I will fall into their hands. I was arrested three times.

"I was beaten and tortured for months. I can't go through that again. I will die a hundred deaths, but I won't be arrested again."

There were dozens of men in the potholed market square now. They carried old Kalashnikovs, hunting rifles and pistols. Ammunition was in short supply.

Mustafa, who had been buying and hoarding bullets for weeks, scooped a handful of them from his black plastic bag to give to the men who had none.

At one end of the square stalls were still selling grilled meat, sending up thick blue smoke that mingled with the dust and fumes kicked up by motorbikes and lorries.

Children surrounded the fighters and chanted songs that mocked Assad, but the fear and anxiety was palpable.

Underneath the freedom flag, in a glass and aluminium box, were the pictures of the 11 young men who had been killed in the previous army raid. They stared sternly at the men gathered underneath.

Muhammad al-Sayed, a tall wide-shouldered man with a barrel chest who was the head of the Benish security committee, grabbed the microphone from Hamza's wagon.

The town was still experimenting with democracy and all decisions were taken in caucus-like meetings. There were no leaders and no commanders but village volunteers.

"All Free Syrian Army fighters stand on one side," Muhammad said. "Schoolchildren on the other."

Two separate groups formed from the gathered men and boys, but they soon mingled again.

A group of fighters gathered around Muhammad to discuss strategy.

"We should all head to Taftanaz," one man said, referring to a neighbouring town in the line of fire.

"What if we are crushed there?" said another. "They will come into Benish without any resistance."

"We should go to our checkpoints and wait," said a third man.

"All men get back to your checkpoints and positions," Muhammad declared from the microphone.

"No, no," said another man, who was carrying an American rifle. "We have to split into fighting groups of three to four men and disperse through the city so if they come we can attack and ambush them."

The other men nodded and Muhammad told the men to form into small units and separate.

They left the square on motorbikes and in cars.

The teenagers meanwhile marched down the street, chanting: "The people want to execute the president."

Read full article....