Persuasion:
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In the fall of 2012, when Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), the military power now in charge of Syria, was a mere minor terrorist organization, a band of their fighters in Aleppo took me prisoner. Back then they were known as Jabhat al-Nusra. I remained in the group’s custody for two years—often in solitary confinement cells, but not always. During this time, it often happened that news of some stupendous victory would make its way, via the fighters’ two-way radios, into our prisons. It was a surreal experience then to listen as a government checkpoint got blown into the sky, for instance, or a truckload of government troops fell into my captors’ hands.
What’s going on now, however, is surreal beyond anything I saw or heard when I was in Syria. I’ve spent the past few days watching my former captors’ wildest dreams come true. Actually, I suspect that all Syrians, in every corner of the world, are watching these events unfold in a mood of unremitting shock and awe.
Nevertheless, certain sights have become familiar. Those who’ve been following the rebels’ advance have gotten used to seeing them standing in the midst of the government armories and air force bases surrounded by expensive-looking military kit.¹ “By the grace and favor of God, the Almighty,” the men scream into the camera as they pump their Kalashnikovs into the sky, “we are in complete control here.”
Technically speaking, they ought not to be quite so astonished. I’m sure they know this. This is a religious army, after all. According to the dogmas, God wrote down every last detail of what’s occurring now at the beginning of time. In the presence of an act of God, however miraculous, the correct attitude is calm submission to His will. Somehow, in their enthusiasm, the footsoldiers sometimes forget this. But the leadership never does. They know the religion much better than their underlings do, have internalized the law more deeply, and enforce such discipline as there is. It won’t be long before the leaders put a stop to the soldiers’ love of making a show of themselves.
In the early days of my capture, the flags on all the fighters’ pickups bore the legend “Victory Front, the al-Qaeda System in the Levant.” It was imprinted on the stationery and scrawled across their t-shirts and bandannas. Even back then, however, the thinkers within the high command were doubting the wisdom of presenting themselves to the world as terrorists.
On one hand, people within the army generally liked the brand image of al-Qaeda, since it suggested fearsomeness and a dark, globe-spanning power that could spit in the eye of each great Western nation, one by one. On the other hand, the Western nations could not be brought around to seeing even a shred of good in al-Qaeda. By the summer of 2014, their intelligence agencies had all but cut off the flow of weapons and cash with which they had earlier nourished the Syrian rebellion. That summer, after the day’s work had been done, when they were lounging on their pillows and scrolling through their iPads, the high command sometimes allowed me to sit with them. Though many learned men debated the question at great volume late into the night, even then it was obvious, at least to me, that the al-Qaeda brand was about to be kicked into the gutter.
“They called us terrorists/ I told them, what an honor you’ve done me.” This was the opening line of one of Jabhat al-Nusra’s most crowd-pleasing, brand-amplifying anthems. It certainly filled the rank and file with esprit de corps. It brought along the schoolkids too, as it had a catchy tune and audacious lyrics (“We destroyed the trade towers/with civilian airplanes we did it/ reduced them to dust, ahh!”) Increasingly, however, the outside world was failing to understand. Thus, that summer, whenever a media contact outside Syria rang up a commander inside the truck, whoever was closest to the stereo system made sure to kill the volume.
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