Eric Umansky

Freezing our Assets Off

The other day, I tried to log into my online brokerage account. (Just a little routine business, nothing to do with the recent roller-coaster.) But I couldn't get in. Instead, I just got a message in red, "! In order to continue, you will need to speak with Schwab."

You know you're in trouble when they put an exclamation point at the beginning of the sentence. So, I "spoke" with Schwab.  It turns out, Mr. Schwab noticed that I had tried to log in from Syria.  So they froze my account. As the rep explained, the freezing comes courtesy of U.S. sanctions against Syria. As soon as I can prove I'm no longer in Syria, I can have my funds back (which, thankfully are doing just fine for the moment, earning 4.5% interest in the trusty custody of Schwab).  All these even though I was simply trying to transfer money from the (American) online brokerage to my (American) bank.

The financee also had a recent encounter with the less-than-smart sanctions. She tried to get a care package from her mother. But no dice. Why?  The  sanctions,  expanded a few  years ago, bar any mail from the U.S. other than documents. (The overall sanctions do have two  exceptions, for food and medicine. But apparently even those small openings don't apply to small-fry like us. They need permission from on high.)

Part of this is just a personal kvetch, obviously.  ("What do we want? Access to our online brokerage! When do we want it? Now!")

But I think it's also a glimpse at much of the problem with U.S. policy here. The U.S. has been increasingly cutting off connections and venues to Syria. Recently, a friend of mine who's lived here for years was arguing the folly of such a policy. Syrians, he pointed out, are traders. As in the U.S., their business is business. To be all sticks and no carrots with near-encompassing sanctions, means losing one of the most important forms of influence the U.S. can have here. Meanwhile, China, Iran, and plenty are filling the gap. 

No all sanctions are bad.  Despite their often dubious efficacy over the years (think Cuba) there are times when they still might be worth it anyway.  But the point is simply that sanctions have costs. And in the case here,  not all of them  are bourne by Syria--or even kvetchy folks like me.

Testing Me

One reason I haven't been posting much lately: Learning Arabic is hard! 

After a month of class--five days/week, four hours/day with a few hours of daily homework and studying mixed in--I had a "final" today.  (At the University of Damascus, where I'm studying, each level of class lasts a month).

In the test, there was reading comprehension (reading a few paragraphs and then answering  questions about them), writing ("describe your room in your home country"), listening to a tape (and then answering questions about the faux conversation) and then, finally, an oral interview.

The orals were with a teacher I  didn't know, but who was overall quite warm, friendly, and even helped me with a few words.

There was one slight glitch. She asked me where I was from.

I told her America. At that, she arched her eyebrows, smiled and then began to mock rub tears from her cheeks.

Did I mispronounce America, I wondered. Does Am-ree-ka mean tears? 

She clarified things with her next question. Smiling, she asked (in Arabic), "Do you like Bush?"

"La !!!!!" I answered quickly and empathically.

We'll see in a few days, but I believe I passed. 

Primer on the fighting in Lebanon

I've never much understood exactly who are the jihadists the Lebanese army has been battling (still) for months now. In a recent interview, journalist Nir Rosen offered one perspective:

Well, Nahr al-Bared refugee camp doesn’t exist anymore. It’s been wiped out completely. The Lebanese army destroyed, flattened completely a refugee camp that at once housed 40,000 people. And they’ve now been made homeless. They left with only their shirts on their backs, basically.

What provoked this conflict was the existence of a group called Fatah al-Islam that declared itself in late 2006. They sort of piggybacked onto a pre-existing Palestinian group, a secular one called Fatah Intifada, taking advantage of, I think, benign neglect on the part of Syria and a very welcoming environment in northern Lebanon, where you have Salafis already work in close reliance with the Sunni-dominated Future Movement. And it seems like, as Sy Hersh explained in his article, the Future Movement, led by Saad Hariri, hoped that they could take advantage of the presence of the Salafis and jihadists in the camps and elsewhere to be sort of the Sunni militia against Hezbollah.

But these groups weren’t interested in fighting Shias. They were more interested in fighting Israel, the US, the crusaders, and establishing their own sort of Islamic emirate in the north. And as a result, there’s been a very brutal and bloody clash with the Lebanese army and security forces.

They took advantage of the fact that the Palestinian camps in Lebanon are basically autonomous in terms of security. The Lebanese security forces weren’t allowed, thanks to an agreement several decades ago, to actually enter the camps. And some of these camps, Ayn al-Hilwah, south of Beirut, have long been exporting jihadists to Iraq. What happened about a year ago was that the flow was reversed, and fighters from Iraq began seeking shelter elsewhere.

They can’t go to Jordan. They can’t go to Syria. Lebanon was a much more permissive environment -- no strong state, no strong security forces, Palestinian camps already sort of lawless, and a place where Lebanese seek shelter if they’re absconding from the law, and a very friendly environment for Salafis in the Sunni areas because of the increased sectarian tensions in Lebanon.

I have no idea if this is all--or even half--right. For example, I'm not sure why  or if the "flow  of fighters" to Iraq has really reversed. But it does seem all quite plausible to me, at least as much as the  other  theories floating out there. 

Eh, What Kind of Rally is That?

A headline from the BBC: " Ugandans Hold Anti-gay Sex Rally."

I heard there were lots of those in the '70s, with keys  and cashmere.

"Hey, Look Over There"

I find Syria Times fascinating. I assume the English-language government-owned paper has a similar story lineup to the Arabic papers in Damascus (owned by the same folks!). And what a lineup that is. There’s the cascade of hard-hitting reports such as, "Syrian stand the best in Budapest festival."

But what's struck me the past few days are the sheer number of articles about Israel. I count six in today's paper alone. By contrast, I count exactly zero stories dealing with politics in, say, Syria.
And whatever the motivation for the story choice, it sure is convenient for certain people here.

And by the way, some of the articles about Israel/Palestinians are just that, articles. They pick-and-choose facts, but facts they are. ("A Palestinian was killed by Israeli forces," etc. etc.) 

There are also editorials, and they tend to be more,  eh, evocative. One from the  paper last week: "Jews Offending Racist Israel."

A brief snippet: "According to racist Zionist-Jewish rabies [sic! Rabbis, perhaps?], killing is  not a game  that has certain rules but is a duty against all non-Jewish peoples called 'aliens.''.... It goes without saying then that Zionism, which has nothing to with the Jewish religion, is a hotel and criminal movement targeting not only the Arabs and Muslims but mankind as well."

The Other Other Damascus: rags to riches

By Sara

While our adventure to "little Baghdad" the other night gave us our first real taste of being in a third world country, it was stark contrast to what we experienced the following evening. We attended a jazz concert at  Art House, -- and swanky doesn't begin to describe the hotel/art gallery/restaurant opened earlier this year. Unfortunately, we didn't have our camera with us, but Eric took a few shots with Rasha's cell phone which we'll try and post soon. The rooms would definitely not fit into my 'everything here is cheap' post of earlier this week, ranging from $200-$600 per night.

Set in the hills just above Damascus along the Barada River in a restored 400-year-old mill, it wouldn't look out of place on the Cote d'Azur or Capri. Walking through the giant, ornate wooden doors into the cavernous stone structure takes ones breath away. Every detail, from the unique handmade furniture, to the art, to the arrangement of the lobby seems purposeful and perfect. The concert was held in a large, serene hall just below the lobby with incredibly high ceilings and great acoustics. The bathrooms were just about the most lovely I've ever seen.

Although I got a little antsy during the Egyptian 5 piece ensemble's "Oriental" (their adjective) jazz performance, the original music was quite interesting and the group very talented. More intriguing was the people watching. From our vantage point in the back of the room, we could see (at least the backs of) the elitest of elite of Damascus. A high percentage of the women appeared to have had their hair done that afternoon (most with the exact same do - a curlier version of the "Rachel"), and had clearly bought their fancy duds and stilettos abroad. There were very few hijabs in sight.

After the concert, Rasha guided us up the elevator to the rooftop restaurant. As the elevator doors opened, Eric let out a little shriek of delight in seeing the gorgeous lap pool tiled in mosaics. The adjacent patio dining area was equally stunning, with a spectacular view of Jebel Khasaioun (the mountain that overlooks Damascus) and the presidential palace. The clear, relatively cool night, mood lighting and neighboring mosque minarets all added to the enchanting aura. Unfortunately, there was no availability-- that or our collectively sensible shoes, jeans and mussed hair didn't make the 'fancy enough' cut. When I make my triumphant return, I will definitely be wearing lipstick.

We stood on the roof for a few more minutes (off to the side after we were asked by the wait staff to kindly do our gawking elsewhere), then went downstairs to the slightly less-fantabulous outdoor cafe for tea and more ogling.

The other Damascus

We live in a foreign place. But in our neighborhood there’s also a lot that’s darn similar to home. There’s a Benetton. There’s a café complete with annoying ventes, talls, and grandes. There’s even a supermarket selling soy milk.

Last night, we went somewhere that felt like a whole different country, different not just from the U.S. but from the Syria we’ve settled into. An acquaintance of ours lives in Sayyeda Zaynab, a kind of sprawling “suburb” about 15km south of Damascus’ city center. With a mass influx of Iraqi refugees, it’s also now known as “the Iraqi ghetto.”

 

The ride there—with an exceedingly friendly taxi driver who even gave us a fair fare—was pleasant. That is, until we got near Sayyeda Zaynab itself and the air turned smoky and acrid. People were burning trash every few blocks. As we met our friend, E.—an academic doing research in the area—she explained the city’s garbage trucks rarely make it to the neighborhood. (We’re later told there are blackouts at least daily and the water, well, our friend doesn’t even enjoy bathing in it.) 

 

When we got out of our taxi, we didn’t get stared at or hassled, but neither did it feel particularly welcoming. Sara had been advised to wear her “modest dress” and a dark-colored head scarf. (Sara’s was purple and green plaid.) Nearly every woman on the street had a hijab, few as colorful as Sara’s. 

 

We met E. outside in the center of the neighborhood, outside a Shi’a shrine that has a marvelous-looking modern mosque built around it. (The mosque is about 20 years old, built by these kind folks. The shrine, which is what the neighborhood is named after, is apparently for the sister of Hussein.) E. declared Sara’s scarf insufficiently modest/pious (or, perhaps just too conspicuous) and in its stead gave Sara and conservative tight-fitting—and apparently very uncomfortable and hot—black hijab.

With that, we walked into the shrine, men to the left, women to the right. It was bumper-to-bumper (tush-to-tush!) —E. advised us to keep close tabs on our wallets—but just a remarkable scene, with people chanting, singing and fervently kissing the walls of the shrine.  The newly refurbished inside of the shrine—rehabbed, again, courtesy of these folks—was simply opulent, every inch filled gold and elaborately colored tiles. 

(I didn’t have the guts/gall to take a photo while actually inside.)

After we left the mosque, and then had dinner—some very tasty lamb and chicken with some very questionably cleaned water glasses—we headed down a souk street filled with vendors hawking fruit, nuts, and tchotchkies (though I don’t think they call them that).

“This is where Iraqis first come when they arrive,” said E, pointing out the Iraqi license plates on many of the vehicles. “You can also get a taxi from here to Baghdad.” (Nearly all the Iraqi-plates were on Chevy Suburbans, I guess the car of choice for Iraqi border “taxis.")

Pointing to local branch office of Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani and then the one for Moqtada Sadr, E. said, “This street is the one place I don’t get a good feeling. Things happen here.”

What things? I asked her.

“You know, bad things,” she said, and then pointed to the microbus that would take us back to Damascus. And we were on our way.

The Price is Right

By Sara

As we have both touched on in previous posts, a dollar goes a long way here. Having spent the last 12 years in Manhattan where one can barely find a cup of coffee for that much, Damascus is a cheapskate's paradise. A few examples of approximate prices:

* a cab ride almost anywhere within Damascus: $1.00 (50 Syrian Pounds)
* fresh pack of 5 very large pita, baked same-day: about $.40
* 250 ml bottle of olive oil: $1.25
* 1 liter bottle of mineral water: $.50
* a copy of the (government sponsored and subsidized) Syrian Times: $.10
* 7 bananas, 4 nectarines, 2 tomatoes (my fruit stand purchase today): $3.00
* 1/4 lb of Turkish coffee: $1.25
* average price for domestic cleaning help: $10.00 per hour

Certain goods are pricey, like books (in English), Hagen Daaz & Gatorade (found both of those out the hard way- and yes, that's what I get for buying that dreck anyway), and iced lattes from our neighborhood Starbucks knockoff are $3.00.   

Attitudes

One of the first things Syrians here in Damascus ask us here is, understandably, where we’re from.  After all, it’s reasonably clear we aren’t from here. When we tell them America and New York, we’re almost inevitably met with, “Ahlan wa Sahlan. Welcome! Very welcome!”

Last Thursday morning I got into a taxi to school. The driver, who was behind the wheel of a particularly down-on-its-heels Lada, didn’t seem particularly friendly and began, real serious-like, to extol the virtues of his Russian-made Lada, pointing to Hyundais and Fiats on the street and saying (roughly) they suck. Only then, after I had become a little worried by his enthusiasm for Soviet engineering, did ask me the inevitable question about where I’m from.

“Ah, America. Nu-York!!!”  he exclaimed, perhaps just a bit too excitedly. Seconds later we were at my stop and as I began to take out my wallet, he stopped me. “No, no, please, free. Ahlan wa Sahlan. Welcome!”

I have had one, shall we say, non-welcoming incident. At least that’s what I think it was.

Sara and I and friends were on the swank train to Aleppo later that same Thursday. We were enjoying the views, the A/C, and one insanely long Egyptian variety show on flat screen monitors. Then the gentleman sitting in front of me had trouble putting his seat back.

Frustrated, he turned around and started talking to me. I looked at him and smiled with my hands out, a gesture meant to convey, “I have no idea what you’re saying. I’m just a dumb foreigner. Also, I didn’t break your seat.”

After a few more minutes futzing with his chair, he again turned and began to speak to me. He didn’t have a friendly face, a perception perhaps enhanced by the near rotting of his teeth. Then he began with the usual inquiry, asking me where I was from.

“New York,” I said.

“Ah, New York,” he respond, without any smile that I read.  “September 11,”

“Ummm… Yes.”

“But you still alive.”

“Yes, I am.”

And with that, he turned around and got off at the next stop.

Ahoy, Matey

By Sara

Taking a page from the "When in Rome..." playbook, I have been thrilled to discover the abundance and variety of cheap dvds here-- in fact, as far as I can tell, pirated movies are the only ones available in Syria. They're sold in regular looking shops, in plain view. What's more, there's no waiting around for movies in the theater to be released on dvd- that's for chumps. I bought myself a copy of the new "Hairspray"  (anyone watching John Travolta in drag, however, has no business calling others chumps) the other day for 100 sp ($2.00), the price of every movie at that shop.

I was very glad to have it on hand yesterday when I was bedridden with some sort of food poisoning, which had struck Eric the day before. As I dizzily made my way to the couch to fire up the Mac for some movie watching, I couldn't help but think how lucky I was to not have to wait in line at a multiplex and pay $11.00 to see the movie- that is until I started watching. Shot with a dv camera in the movie theater during a showing, you can hear audience laughter and actually see shadows of people walking in front of the camera going to and from their seats. At one point, the video shooter actually goes and tells an elderly-seeming man to move out of the way and helps him to his seat as he appears to have forgotten where he was seated during a bathroom break.

I don't think this experience will stop me from buying dvd's-- Eric just ordered the first two seasons of the Sopranos- but I at least now I know what to expect. Moral of the story-- you get what you pay for.