Inside Syria : Defiance
By
Clarissa Ward
CBS News correspondent Clarissa Ward observes an opposition gathering in the suburbs of
(Credit: CBS News)
Within hours of meeting up with pro-democracy activists in
President Assad has repeatedly said life in
Almost all of the activists with whom I spent time are wanted by the regime. Getting stopped at a checkpoint would have meant certain arrest.
In order to move around the city, they've come up with clever ways of avoiding checkpoints, relying on networks of spotters who can tell them which roads to steer clear of.
But in spite of their best efforts while driving along the roads dotted with soldiers, there were moments fraught with tense concentration. The silence in the car was interrupted by the sound of someone lighting a cigarette, and the driver mumbling to himself about directions.
We arrived safely at the mosque where the protest was to take place and another activist hopped into the car to discuss the plan. He warned that soldiers were only 300 yards away, so the protesters would only be able to march a short distance - close enough for their voices to be heard by the regime's guardians, but far enough away that they could quickly disperse, should the military respond.
I was dispatched to a balcony to watch the protest with the women. They cautiously peered through the curtains at the men gathering below.
"Hey, yella, hey, yella, we fear no one but Allah," a man began chanting, the voices vibrating with emotion. (Yella is a difficult word to translate into English but it basically means "come on" or "let's go.")
A group hoisted one man onto their shoulders and he began to lead the chant, his fist pumping in the air.
"Hey yella, hey yella, we will be victorious," he shouted. The crowd intoned his words enthusiastically.
There were not more than a hundred or so men, but it was startling to think that similar small protests were going on across the suburbs surrounding
The men ended their protest by shouting "Allahu Akbar," growing louder and louder, knowing their voices could be heard by the military just a few hundred yards away.
Then someone shouted "shabiha," the name used for the pro-Assad militias who are known for their cruelty. The word literally means thugs but is a play on the Arabic for the word ghost - a fitting description for these heavily armed men who wear no uniforms and seemingly appear out of thin air.
Panic set in, the men started running. In the apartment where I was watching everything from above, the small children began crying and the women pleaded to God, throwing their hands up in the air and wailing, "ya Allah, ya Allah."
I tried to think of what to do with my camera, but my heart was racing and my mind was blank. I reached for the memory card I had been using and replaced it with another filled with innocent looking tourism snaps I'd taken.
Five long minutes later, my activist contact came up to give the all-clear. The shabiha were gone.
The children stopped crying and the women calmed down and invited me to drink coffee with them. They seemed accustomed to this roller coaster of a life - one minute shrieking in fear that their men would be killed, and the next playing host to a guest.
For them, it was just another Friday.
Read more: http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-503543_162-57337273-503543/inside-syria-defiance-and-fear/#ixzz1fp1vSwcY
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"The master class has always declared the wars; the subject class has always fought the battles. The master class has had all to gain and nothing to lose, while the subject class has had nothing to gain and everything to lose--especially their lives." Eugene Victor Debs
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