Thursday, April 21, 2016

Money Has No Smell by Pierre Razoux

Iran and Iraq took advantage of the lull in fighting on the front  beginning in the spring of 1984 to restock munitions and acquire new weapons, as well as spare parts and motors. The latter market quickly became lucrative, as harsh weather conditions and the nature of the terrain led to countless breakdowns. The price of oil was still high enough to give both the Iranians and the Iraqis some room to maneuver, though their financial reserves were running out, forcing them to make drastic choices.

Iraq did not have as much difficulty getting supplies, given that some thirty countries were willing to directly sell the it the military equipment it required. These countries were comfortable openly selling weapons to Iraq because it had been presented as the victim of the Republic of Iran’s warmongering fanaticism since the summer of 1982. Three of these countries – the USSR, France, and China – met 85% of Iraq’s needs. Initially, the Iraqi regime was primarily concerned with making its suppliers compete with each other to offer better prices. Once its resources began to diminish, its priority was to retain their trust. Tariq Aziz multiplied diplomatic tours to convince his creditors to stagger the Iraqi deb. He did not always succeed; some states, such as Spain and Portugal, quickly turned to Iran when Iraq was no longer able to promptly honor its debts. Fortunately, Baghdad could count on the Gulf States financial support [Saudi Arabia forgive Iraq its debt at the conclusion of the war.] This allowed the Ba’athist regime to avoid buying weapons from parallel-market arms dealer.

Iran, on the other hand, was in a far more delicate position. Though the country was not subject to a formal UN embargo, it was under embargo from the United States, which threatened any nation that shipped war equipment to Tehran with economic retaliation. Only those who really had something to gain and knew they had nothing to fear or expect from Washington openly braved the American prohibition.  These countries could be counted on one hand: Syria, Libya, China, and North Korea. Yet these four countries only met a third of Iran’s military needs. Tehran was forced to be creative to find the other two-thirds. Alternating seduction, pay-offs and veiled threats, Iranian leaders managed to convince twenty-five other nations to provide them with military equipment or, failing that, to turn a blind eye to the activities to the activities of their corporations. In many cases they had to purchase supplies on the parallel markets at significantly higher prices. This put them in business with more or less reliable traffickers, as well as a few high-flying crooks who brazenly cheated them. One such individual was Benham Nodjoumi, who managed top sell the Iranians thirty-four crates of scrap iron by making them believed they contained TOW antitank missiles. Nodjoumi, who lived in London, chose to surrender to British authorities and serve a long prison sentence rather than face the Iranian assassins sent on his trail.

The Iranian government was in most need of ammunition and spare parts, but also light weapons to arm its masses of newly recruited infantrymen. The Iranians dappled the same method to get their supplies, no matter who they were dealing with.. The Supreme Defense Council convened in Tehran every week to examined the bids received. The Pasdaran (Revolutionary Guards) were overrepresented because the knew that most of the equipment would wind up in their hands. Decisions were taken by consensus. When the council agreed to a bid, the Iranian bureau closest to the bidder was ordered to initiate negotiations with the dealer or his middleman. Tehran was apprised of the progress of discussions and arbitrated disagreements. Business in Europe was subcontracted through Tehran’s backrooms in Frankfurt and London, with the knowledge that the British and German authorities would be indulgent towards Iran for the sake of their own commercial interests.

In this shadow market, London became the hub of arms sales to Iran. Tehran had decided to use London as a base for an important branch of thye National Iranian Oil Company, which served as a screen to pay for European purchases. The Iranian regime also perated through two shell corporations ,both of which were well established in London: JSC International, registered in the Caribbean; and Metro International, 51 percent of whose capital was held by Iran, with the other 49% belonging to a group of Arabs and Pakistani financiers. The system was operated by three individuals. Aziz Nezafatkhan, who was close to Ayatollah Khomeini, served as the commercial attache to the Iranian embassy in Great Britain, and was known as ‘Mister 10%”; Sadegh Tabatabai, who was the Supreme Leader’s son-in-law and Ahmad Khomeini’s close friend, and shuttled between London and Tehran; and Houshang Lavi, an Iranian businessman with far-reaching connections in the city. In the United States the Iranians relied on Balanian Hashemi, an extremely rich businessman who had fled Iran after the fall of the Shah and was now trying to redeem himself by serving as the new regime’s intermediary.

On the arms market, the Iranian regime stopped at nothing to corrupt those who could bring them interesting deals. It could rely on the cupidity of numerous intermediaries ready to ignore their own governments’ prohibitions. Two individuals played a key role in supplyi9ng Iran while explicitly violating their countries’ poliocies: the Saudi businessman Adnan Khashoggi
[] and the American
Frank Cradock

Another American citizen who hit the headlines for his audacity in similar dealings was Mark Broman, director of the American embassy in Paris’s Office for Military Cooperation. Broman offered to sell the Iranians thirty Phantom fighters in the service of the Egyptian air force, despite the fact that Egypt had taken sides wit h Iraq. His plan was to convince Egypt to purchase an equivalent number of F-16s by offering to buy back their Phantoms. These would then be fictively sold to Paraguay, where the corrupt American diplomat had numerous friend ready to bend any rules for a juicy commission. The deal was exposed and foiled. Its instigator was arrested and given a heavy sentence by an American court. [this is a group that watchdogs the State Dept. offices of Military Assistance which goes by a variety of names:]

Business is Business

Things were much simpler when Tehran dealt with the representatives of states reputed for being neutral and politically respectable. In Europe, Austria, Sweden, and Switzerland improved to be valuable partners who had the good taste not to be fussy so long as the petrodollars flowed into their coffers. Austria sold Iran 140 GHN-45 howitzers along with significant stocks of ammunition.  Switzerland delivered fifteen PCV-6 Turbo Portyer utility aircraft,m forty-seven PCV-7 Turbo Trainer training aircraft, cryptology equipment, as well as large quantities of ammunition and electronic components for radars. Though it has passed legislation prohibiting the exports of arms to nations at war, Sweden provided Iran a turnkey munitions factory, 300 portabvle RBS-70 surface-to-air missiles, and forty light motorboats,, which were allocated to the Pasdaran’s naval forces. This weave of orders was manna from heaven for the Karlskoga military-industrial complex, but also the Bofors Corporation, which indiscriminately sold colossal amounts of ammunition for its famous anti-air gun to both belligerents.

These illegal arms sales spurred a long legal investigation that led to the 1987 indictment of two Swedish CEO’s, Mats Lundberg and Karl-Erik Schmitz, for serving as key middleman on the European parallel market. Over the course of the investigation, Swedish customs uncovered the existence of a European cartel shamelessly supplying the mullahs’ regime. This cartel provided more than 30,000 tons of gunpowder and explosives to Tehran, allowing Iran to manufacture mountains of ammunition in its Swedish-supplied factory. It had branches in the United Kingdom, France, Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, Italy, Greece, Spain, Portugal, Austria, Switzerland, Finland and even Norway. A variety of European ports served as hubs for sending out the explosives: Zeebrugge in Belgium, Setubal in Portugal, Santander in Spain, Genoa and Talamone in Italy, and Piraeus in Greece. The cartel’s representatives used several shipping companies and chartered two airlines: Scanco, which was headed by Schmitz, and Santa Lucia Airways, which was registered in the Caribbean. Greece proved to be one of the main channels for moving shipments to Iran. A massive explosion that destroyed a factory in the suburbs of Athens in May 1987 was probably no accident: the factory produced munitions for Iran. Many suspected that the Iraqi special services were involved in the explosion. The Greek legal system quickly closed the case.

In order to surreptitiously sell such large quantities of explosives to Iran, the cartel needed to show the existence of a legal buyer who agreed not to cede them to a third party. The cartel drew up and end-user certificate, which enables one to obtain an export license. The Yugoslavs to care of this end of the deal, taking a 3 percent commission on each contract. Concurrently, the Yugoslav government shipped Iraq a training frigate, three minesweepers, one hundred D-30 guns, 300 mortars, tens of thousands of light weapons, and millions of shells, for a total value of over one billion dollars. The Yugoslav authorities had the best of both worlds.

Even Belgium let itself be tempted when Iran offered to pay generously for fifty old F-104 Starfighter interceptors the Belgian air force was trying to offload. Though the socialist parliamentarians intervened to prevent the last the last moment, the government merely held onto the planes’ frames and sold the Iranians their jet engines. The engines were fitted to the Iranian phantoms (the F-4 and the F-104 had the same engine). Though the Iranians failed to get the Belgian F-104s, they did get twelve Phantoms (f-4Ds) from South Korea and twelve F--5 Tigers from the Ethiopian government, which was ready to do anything to reap a few million dollars.

Iranian buyers ranged wide to procure weapons, covering Europe, the Middle East, and Asia, but also Africa and South America. South Africa and Brazil; also became favored Iranian business partners. South Africa sold Tehran some thirty ultramodern 155 mm howitzers (G5) with the required stock of ammunition. Brazil provided close to 500 Cascavel and Urutu armored vehicles, as well as large quantities of shells.

In all, some forty nations contributed to the Iraqi and Iranian war effort. At some point or the other, half of them provided material support both the Iran and Iraq - including the five permanent member of the United Nations Security Council. In Europe, only Ireland can boast of having kept itself clean. Every other state was implicated to variouis degrees in selling military equipment to one and often both of the belligerents. It took public disclosure of political-financial scandals to force certain countries, including France and the U.S., to put their affairs in order.

The approximate value of all  official deliveries of war equipment to Iraq by the United States was $250 million, including cooperation in the field of military intelligence, notably in terms of space and radar imagining and ELINT-SIGINT (signal interception and cryptanalysis) data. Delivery of 6 L-100 tans[port planes, 86 Hughes 300/500/530 helicopters and large quantities of fragmentation bombs.

The approximate value of all official deliveries of war equipment to Iran by the United States was $650 million, including spare helicopter parts, F-4, F-5 and f-15 fighters and AIM-54 Phoenix missiles, as of 1981. From 1984 to 1986 they delivered (via Israel) 2,500- TOW antitank missiles, 18 Hawk surface-to-air missiles and spare parts o modernize 300 Hawk missiles, as well as supplies of satellite imagery.

Top supplier for Iraq was the Soviet Union, between 30-45 billion dollars worth. Top supplier for Iran was China, $3 billion dollars.



180,000 dead and missing
     125, 000 military
     5,000 civilians
     50,000 Kurds
520,000 wounded and maimed
70,000 prisoners of war captured by the Iranian army.

500,000 dead and missing
     380,000 military and IRGC
     80,000 Basijis (child soldiers)
     10,000 civilians,
     30,000 Iranian Kurds.
1,300,000 wounded and maimed
45,000 prisoners of war captured by the Iraqi army.

A meticulous analysis of the intensity of human and material losses of this absurd and atrociously bloody war reveals that the pace of military operations more or less followed the price of oil (intense when it was high; mild when it was low). This conclusion provides confirmation of the cardinal importance of the economic war. Due to Iran’s isolation and lack of outside financial assistance, Rafsanjani focused on economizing and waged war like “a good family man” – at least on the financial level. Ultimately, the Iranian regime suffered far more from the combined effects of the collapse of oil prices and the drop in the dollar than from attacks on its oil takers and terminals ( the U.S. part in which the author characterizes as piracy). However, Rafsanjani was far more liberal with the only cheap resource he had in abundance: his soldiers lives. Unlike Rafsanjani, Saddam Hussein waged war on credit, drawing on loans from the oil monarchies, bank guarantees from the United States and payment deferments allowed by the Soviets and he West. He proved more sparing  with his soldiers lives.  The total financial cost of the war is estimated at 1,100 billion 1988 dollars (twice the value they have today), 40% spent by Iraq, 60% spent by Iran., a huge brake on the social and economic development of both countries. To the end Saddam Hussein continued to affirm the wat was wholly justified:

‘I had no choice but to start the war, in order to put an end to Iran’s interference. I must insist on this point, because it is essential . . . All this was done for the good of the people and humanity. The people love men for their actions. It also loves symbols, and I am a symbol given that my portrait can be found in the homes of Iraqis all over the country . . . What is important is not what people say or think of me today, but what they will think in 500 or 1,000 years.”

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Lessons of the Holocaust by Michael R. Marrus

Some of the discourse on lessons involves eloquent or rhetorically appropriate commentary. I have always appreciated the radical journalist I.F. Stone’s humane observation : “the lesson of the Holocaust is that to treat other human beings as less than human can lead to the furnaces,” but I do not hear it so much recently. I am less enthusiastic about the Canadian parliamentarian and human rights lawyer Irwin Cotler’s frequently declared ‘” the Holocaust is uniquely evil in its genocidal singularity,” the meaning of which escapes me. However, taken as a whole, the category of lessons is remarkably unclear. Part of the problem is that the lessons sometimes contradict each other. Some are predictive. A series of lessons include variations on the themes of Jews being “canaries in the coal mine.” Closely related is the claim that the lessons are universal and should be projected globally. From this comes lessons to the effect that “it” happened to Jews, but it could happen to anyone. Then, different lessons have been crafted that derive from different victims’ experiences. Some survivors, as we know, emerged crushed by brutality and indescribable cruelty; others accented small acts of kindness or selflessness that saved their lives. Contrasting lessons emerge from each group. Some readers of Holocaust history might derive from Daniel Jonah Goldhagen a lesson about incorrigible German “eliminationist” antisemitism. But admirers of author Daniel Mendleson’s finely crafted inquiry into the fate of his murdered relatives in wartime Poland might prefer what the author once told an interviewer for National Public Radio, namely that “anybody is capable of anything” – certainly the most capacious lesson of any I have encountered in my own reading.

To complicate matters, Holocaust lessons change as new problems arise and new generations consider its history. “The horizon is shifting,” I read in a blog produced by the Holocaust and Human Rights Center of Maine, “With it the role and reach of Holocaust organizations must inevitably evolve.” Maine’s Holocaust Center offers a “suite of free films, panels and workshops to discuss bullying and a related program of restorative justice,” pursuing its mission “to advance  the cause of ethical literacy.” This sounds like admirable work. But some might well be concerned with the way in which those who oversee such programs are increasingly detached from the Holocaust itself, the event from which they claim to take their inspiration . All the easier it is, therefore, to misinterpret, distort and even abandon the history of the Holocaust, the elements of which may seem too remote and to horrifying to pursue without an excessive investment of time and energy. And it is here where we need to underscore the variability of lessons.

This is perhaps best demonstrated through examples. Here are some of the most commonly articulated universal lessons that raise questions for which there are no conclusive answers. I stress that these are examples, hardly an exhaustive list.

The Holocaust as a school for tolerance

This is the explicit commitment of the Simon Wiesenthal Center’s Museum of Tolerance in Los Angeles, in which the main exhibit on the Holocaust is accompanied by a “Tolerancenter”, where “visitors focus on the major issues of intolerance in our daily lives.” I certainly have no quarrel with admirable objectives such as these.. To historians, neve-the less, the idea that “intolerance” or “prejudice is what the Holocaust is all about would be laughable if this were not  a serious matter, maintained seriously by men and women of obvious good will. Let us be clear: people in history have forever been “intolerant” and “prejudiced” by our twenty-first century, North American definitions, without necessarily slaughtering each other and committing genocide in a manner that practically defies belief for any society. The Holocaust is about mass killing, on a continental scale, of a particular group of victims, and not about intolerance and prejudice. Throughout history, societies have commonly stigmatized, exploited, brutalized, punished, and persecuted groups and individuals – and seen worse- without slaughtering them so obsessively or seeking to wipe them of the face of the earth – why and how did the barriers of law and custom and religion seem to collapse under the Third Reich and how did the German’s manage to organize killing on such a vast scale? Narrowing the Holocaust to an issue of intolerance and prejudice not only prompts a misunderstanding od such wrong-doing in our world today, it also misstates the significance of the event, the authority of which we are then borrowing disrespectfully.

It began with words

Public personalities who have called for restrictions on hate speech in the media and on the Internet have historically invoked the Holocaust with the claim that “it began with words,” suggesting that unfettered speech was a fundamental cause of the Holocaust, if not the fundamental cause. Again, demonizing others has unfortunately been common in many societies and for that matter exists in many parts of the world today, without the kind of genocidal massacres we associate with the Holocaust. While no one claims that the subject of antisemitism is unimportant for a study of Nazism, most historians would certainly challenge the idea that it paved the way for Hitler’s rise to power or that it mobilized Germans to a genocidal attack on Jews.

Some years ago, historian William Sheridan Allen summed up a consensus succinctly when he said that more Germans became anti-Semites because they became Nazis than became Nazis because they were anti-Semites. Then, too, claims about the salience of antisemitism dissolve when examined comparatively. Was German antisemitism, for example, any more widespread or venomous than, say, Polish or Hungarian or Romanian antisemitism? Probably not. And how would it compare, for that matter with Canadian antisemitism in the pre-war era? If you were situated in the 1890s and were told that one of the European states of the day would be responsible for a Holocaust, which would you chose? More often than not, anyone who knew anything about European antisemitism would probably select tsarist Russia. And after that , most certainly France. Germany would not be high on the list. So, why Germany?

All it takes for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing

There are few who believe that good men should “do nothing.” But “all it takes?” The slogan is all call for civil courage which that urges us to stand up, to speak against social justice but at the same time assumes a softened version of the Holocaust that is politically safe and even comforting because it involves no killers, only victims and witnesses. In any assessment of the rise of Nazis or the Holocaust it would also be an outrageous misstatement to claim that “good men did nothing” to oppose Nazism- or even, for that matter, to resist the Final Solution. Too few, certainly. Too late, as is so often the case in human affairs . But “all it takes’ and “do nothing”  hardly constitute a serious assessment. It is a childishly simple view of how genocide functions and slights the resistance that did occur to no effect whatsoever.

One person can make a difference

Arguably, the history of the daily lives of Jews under Nazism suggests precisely the opposite- how even the most resourceful, the bravest, those who were willing to hurl themselves against the machinery of destruction, more often than not failed even to slow the killing,. Coming from a religious discourse that may celebrate acts of goodness wherever they appear, this claim probably has more to do with our hunger for a redemptive messages than anything else.  It may gratify us to identify heroes who sacrificed themselves or who became martyrs to a good cause. But formulating such cases lessons of the Holocaust obscures the historical reality of wartime genocide and falsifies the situation that bystanders actually faced.

Siding with victims

“Indifference and inaction always means coming down on the side of the victimizer, never the victim.” Goes another familiar slogan.  There is a considerable historical discourse on what might have been done to rescue Jews during the Holocaust, and there are specialists in Holocaust lessons who relentlessly pursue long-gone actors, charging that they could and should have done more to save the victimized. Who could deny such assertions, in general terms at least? In hindsight, there few instances, and few individuals, for whom this is not true for virtually every human-made catastrophe – either in our personal lives or in public affairs. Afterwards, we can always identify how things might have been done better.

During the Second World War, when so few, including the victims themselves, grasped the reality of the Final Solution, and in the throes of a world-wide conflict of unimaginable destructiveness, people did not have the luxury to act as we might like to think we would act – and it is so easy to imagine them doing now. What is important if we want fully to understand is to assess the situation people faced with as clear-eyed judgment and as a full awareness of the evidence as possible. Disagreement about such things is inevitable and historians are by no means unanimous that, practically speaking, large numbers of Jews could have been saved from the Nazis’ implementation of mass murder and they also disagree on whether prioritizing rescue was a conceivable choice for decision makers involved in a desperate struggle against the Third Reich.

The strongest part of this argument has to do with the Depression years, when Allied immigration [policies turned increasingly towards restrictions in the late 1930s, following the Anschluss with Austria and the events of Kristallnacht.  Still, in country after country where policies towards Jews have been examined, historians have identified fierce opposition to opening the door to refugees in general, Jews in particular. Once the lethal machinery of destruction began to operate Jews were almost completely inaccessible to Allied rescue possibilities, and in any event such ‘humanitarian intervention,” as we came to call it in the 1990s, efforts on behalf of millions of people in wartime, was about as foreign an idea to Allied governments as modern-day human rights might be to nineteenth -century imperial powers. Such notions were generations in the future [which none-the-less refutes the notion that the WWII generation was ‘The Greatest’].

My quarrel is not necessarily with the probity of any of the purported lessons as as various people have drawn them. Some of these may be exemplary. The problem is not with intentions or goals quite true; many are often very well-intentioned, even exemplary; the problem is insufficient acquaintance with Holocaust history. . .  


Marrus's thesis is that more often than not 'lessons' come at the expense of history- they distort and trivialize what actually happened. He does it himself. I was fascinated, in particular by his rejection of Hannah Arendt's observation of Eichmann's representing the banality of evil which on the face of it, in consideration of the revelations of the Sesson interviews long after the trial, seems correct .(…/the-sessen-interviews-by-…)
Raul Hilberg himself rejected Arendt's characterization, as he reflected in the "Politics of Memory" thus:
"She did not recognize the magnitude of what this man had done with a small staff, overseeing and manipulating Jewish councils in various parts of Europe, attaching some of the remaining Jewish property in Germany, Austria, and Bohemia-Moravia, preparing anti-Jewish laws in satellite states, and arranging for the transportation of Jews to shooting sites and death camps. She did not discern the pathways that Eichmann had found in the thicket of the German administrative machine for his unprecedented actions. She did not grasp the dimension of his deeds. There was no "banality" in this "evil"."(…/politics-of-memory-by-rau…)
Yet later in the book, as if looking into the dark mirror of his own past, assembling his own cast of characters in
'Perpetrators Victims and Bystanders' he seems to have made a significant concession to Arendt's idea when he wrote:
" For me, the destruction of the Jews already was the setting, the irremovable reality, and within this extraordinary outburst I looked for all that was ordinary. I had done so from the beginning, when I dealt with everyday bureaucratic procedures, and now I was pursuing the same object as I examined the lives of people. In their daily routines, these individuals, like agencies, sought stability, particularly their own private equilibrium. It did not matter whether they were perpetrators, victims, of bystanders; they all manifested a need for continuity and balance.
The craving for the familiar, the habitual, the normal, emerged as a leitmotif wherever I looked. Psychologically this clinging was aimed at self-preservation, and its manifestation runs like a thread through the upheaval. At a basic level they provide an explanation of how these groups managed to go on - the perpetrators with their ever more drastic activities, the victims with their progressive deprivations, the bystanders with the increasing ambiguity and ambivalence of ther positions. When Sigmund Freud delivered a lecture about war during the first major conflagration of the twentieth century, he said that mankind needed a passing check from the burdens of civilization. What I began to note was the reverse side of this phenomena: the adhesion to time-honored products of this civilization in the midst of unprecedented destruction...."
So,the 'banality of evil' might be revised to 'the banality of tradition in evil times', no? And, might not Eichmann have exaggerated the enthusiasm with which he pursued the destruction of the Jews among his Nazis friends in Argentina in equal proportion to the way he downplayed them annd portrayed himself as an unthinking cog in an irresistible 'machine' when on trial in Jerusalem? He was just 'trying to fit in' in both cases, as far from enacting a Kierkegaardian existentialism as any of us really are and thus equally inept and banal before the 'ultimate', retrospective judgments of history?
So,isn't it true that the 'lessons of the Holocaust' are really the lessons,not of the Holocaust per se, but of all of History, an observation that can be made of "The Present Age', as Soren had it, a character of the 'eternal present' in all human affairs perhaps even during the most revolutionary of upheavals.So easy to see the evil gone by, so difficult to encompass their totality in our own time.

or,maybe,evil is what you don't see, the rest is 'go-along/get along'

Saturday, April 2, 2016

The Present Age by Soren Kierkegaard

The present age is one of understanding, of reflection, devoid of passion, an age which flies into enthusiasm for a moment only to decline back into indolence.

. . . Not even a suicide does away with himself out of desperation, he considers the act so long and so deliberately, that he kills himself with thinking—one could barely call it suicide since it is thinking which takes his life. He does not kill himself with deliberation but rather kills himself because of deliberation. Therefore, one can not really prosecute this generation, for its art, its understanding, its virtuosity and good sense lies in reaching a judgement or a decision, not in taking action.

Just as one might say about Revolutionary Ages that they run out of control, one can say about the Present Age that it doesn't run at all. The individual and the generation come between and stop each other; and therefore the prosecuting attorney would find it impossible to admit any fact at all, because nothing happens in this generation. From a flood of indications one might think that either something extraordinary happened or something extraordinary was just about to happen. But one will have thought wrong, for indications are the only thing the present age achieves, and its skill and virtuosity entirely consist in building magical illusions; its momentary enthusiasms which use some projected change in the forms of things as an escape for actually changing the forms of things, are the highest in the scale of cleverness and the negative use of that strength which is the passionate and creating energy during Revolutionary Ages. Eventually, this present age tires of its chimerical attempts until it declines back into indolence. Its condition is like one who has just fallen asleep in the morning: first, great dreams, then laziness, and then a witty or clever reason for staying in bed.

The individual (no matter how well-meaning he might be, no matter how much strength he might have, if only he would use it) does not have the passion to rip himself away from either the coils of Reflection (1) or the seductive ambiguities of Reflection; nor do the surroundings and times have any events or passions, but rather provide a negative setting of a habit of reflection, which plays with some illusory project only to betray him in the end with a way out: it shows him that the most clever thing to do is nothing at all. Vis inertiae (2) is the foundation of the tergiversation (3) of the times, and every passionless person congratulates himself for being the first to discover it—and becomes, therefore, more clever. Weapons were freely given out during Revolutionary Ages . . . but in the present age everyone is given clever rules and calculators in order to aid one's thinking. If any generation had the diplomatic task of postponing action so that it might appear that something were about to happen, even though it would never happen, then one would have to say that our age has achieved as mightily as Revolutionary Ages. Someone should try an experiment with himself: he should forget everything he knows about the times and its relativity amplified by its familiarity, and then come into this age as if he were from another planet, and read some book, or some article in the newspaper: he will have this impression: "Something is going to happen tonight, or else something happened last night!"

A Revolutionary Age is an age of action; the present age is an age of advertisement, or an age of publicity: nothing happens, but there is instant publicity about it. A revolt in the present age is the most unthinkable act of all; such a display of strength would confuse the calculating cleverness of the times. Nevertheless, some political virtuoso might achieve something nearly as great. He would write some manifesto or other which calls for a General Assembly in order to decide on a revolution, and he would write it so carefully that even the Censor himself would pass on it; and at the General Assembly he would manage to bring it about that the audience believed that it had actually rebelled, and then everyone would placidly go home—after they had spent a very nice evening out. An enormous grounding in scholarship is alien to the youth of today, in fact, they would find it laughable. Nevertheless, some scientific virtuoso might achieve something even greater. He would draw up some prospectus outlining systematically some all-embracing, all-explaining system that he was about to write, and he would manage to achieve the feat of convincing the reader (of the prospectus) that he had in fact read the entire system. The Age of Encyclopedists is gone, when with great pains men wrote large Folios; now we have an age of intellectual tourists, small little encyclopedists, who, here and there, deal with all sciences and all existence. And a genuine religious rejection of the world, followed with constant self-denial, is equally unthinkable among the youth of our time: nevertheless, some bible college student has the virtuosity to achieve something even greater. He could design some projected group or Society which aims to save those who are lost. The age of great achievers is gone, the present age is an age of anticipators. . . . Like a youth who plans to diligently study from September 1 for an exam, and in order to solidify his resolve takes a holiday for the entire month of August, such is our generation which has decided resolutely that the next generation will work very hard, and in order not to interfere with or delay the next generation, this generation diligently—goes to parties. However, there is one difference in this comparison: the youth understands that he is light-hearted, the present age is on the contrary very serious—even at their parties.

Action and passion is as absent in the present age as peril is absent from swimming in shallow waters. . . .

If a precious jewel, which all desired, lay out on a frozen lake, where the ice was perilously thin, where death threatened one who went out too far while the ice near the shore was safe, in a passionate age the crowds would cheer the courage of the man who went out on the ice; they would fear for him and with him in his resolute action; they would sorrow over him if he went under; they would consider him divine if he returned with the jewel. In this passionless, reflective age, things would be different. People would think themselves very intelligent in figuring out the foolishness and worthlessness of going out on the ice, indeed, that it would be incomprehensible and laughable; and thereby they would transform passionate daring into a display of skill . . . . The people would go and watch from safety and the connoisseurs with their discerning tastes would carefully judge the skilled skater, who would go almost to the edge (that is, as far as the ice was safe, and would not go beyond this point) and then swing back. The most skilled skaters would go out the furthest and venture most dangerously, in order to make the crowds gasp and say: "Gods! He is insane, he will kill himself!" But you will see that his skill is so perfected that he will at the right moment swing around while the ice is still safe and his life is not endangered. . . .

Men, then, only desire money, and money is an abstraction, a form of reflection . . . Men do not envy the gifts of others, their skill, or the love of their women; they only envy each others' money. . . . These men would die with nothing to repent of, believing that if only they had the money, they might have truly lived and truly achieved something.

The established order continues, but our reflection and passionlessness finds its satisfaction in ambiguity. No person wishes to destroy the power of the king, but if little by little it can be reduced to nothing but a fiction, then everyone would cheer the king. No person wishes to pull down the pre-eminent, but if at the same time pre-eminence could be demonstrated to be a fiction, then everyone would be happy. No person wishes to abandon Christian terminology, but they can secretly change it so that it doesn't require decision or action. And so they are unrepentant, since they have not pulled down anything. People do not desire any more to have a strong king than they do a hero- liberator than they do religious authority, for they innocently wish the established order to continue, but in a reflective way they more or less know that the established order no longer continues. . . .
The reflective tension this creates constitutes itself into a new principle, and just as in an age of passion enthusiasm is the unifying principle, so in a passionless age of reflection envy (misundelse) (4) is the negative-unifying principle. This must not be understood as a moral term, but rather, the idea of reflection, as it were, is envy, and envy is therefore twofold: it is selfish in the individual and in the society around him. The envy of reflection in the individual hinders any passionate decision he might make; and if he wishes to free himself from reflection, the reflection of society around him re-captures him. . . .

Envy (misundelse) constitutes the principle of characterlessness, which from its misery sneaks up until it arrives at some position, and it protects itself with the concession that it is nothing. The envy of characterlessness never understands that distinction is really a distinction, nor does it understand itself in recognizing distinction negatively, (5) but rather reduces it so that it is no longer distinction; and envy defends itself not only from distinction, but against that distinction which is to come. (6)
Envy which is establishing itself is a levelling, (7) and while a passionate age pushes forward, establishing new things and destroying others, raising and tearing down, a reflective, passionless age does the opposite, it stifles and hinders, it levels. This levelling is a silent, mathematical, abstract process which avoids upheavals. . . . Levelling at its maximum is like the stillness of death, where one can hear one's own heartbeat, a stillness like death, into which nothing can penetrate, in which everything sinks, powerless.

One person can head a rebellion, but one person cannot head this levelling process, for that would make him a leader and he would avoid being levelled. Each individual can in his little circle participate in this levelling, but it is an abstract process, and levelling is abstraction conquering individuality. The levelling in modern times is the reflective equivalent of fate in the ancient times. The dialectic of ancient times tended towards leadership (the great man over the masses and the free man over the slave); the dialectic of Christianity tends, at least until now, towards representation (the majority views itself in the representative, and is liberated in the knowledge that it is represented in that representative, in a kind of self-knowledge); the dialectic of the present age tends towards equality, and its most consequent but false result is levelling, as the negative unity of the negative relationship between individuals.
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Everyone should see now that levelling has a fundamental meaning: the category of "generation" supersedes the category of the "individual." During ancient times the mass of individuals had this value: that it made valuable the outstanding individual. . . . In ancient times, the single individual in the masses signified nothing; the outstanding individual signified them all. In the present age, the tendency is towards a mathematical equality . . .

In order for levelling really to occur, first it is necessary to bring a phantom into existence, a spirit of levelling, a huge abstraction, an all-embracing something that is nothing, an illusion—the phantom of the public. . . . The public is the real Levelling- Master, rather than the leveller itself, for levelling is done by something, and the public is a huge nothing.

The public is an idea, which would never have occurred to people in ancient times, for the people themselves en masse in corpora (8) took steps in any active situation, and bore responsibility for each individual among them, and each individual had to personally, without fail, present himself and submit his decision immediately to approval or disapproval. When first a clever society makes concrete reality into nothing, then the Media (9) creates that abstraction, "the public," which is filled with unreal individuals, who are never united nor can they ever unite simultaneously in a single situation or organization, yet still stick together as a whole. The public is a body, more numerous than the people which compose it, but this body can never be shown, indeed it can never have only a single representation, because it is an abstraction. Yet this public becomes larger, the more the times become passionless and reflective and destroy concrete reality; this whole, the public, soon embraces everything. . . .

The public is not a people, it is not a generation, it is not a simultaneity, it is not a community, it is not a society, it is not an association, it is not those particular men over there, because all these exist because they are concrete and real; however, no single individual who belongs to the public has any real commitment; some times during the day he belongs to the public, namely, in those times in which he is nothing; in those times that he is a particular person, he does not belong to the public. Consisting of such individuals, who as individuals are nothing, the public becomes a huge something, a nothing, an abstract desert and emptiness, which is everything and nothing. . . .

The Media is an abstraction (because a newspaper is not concrete and only in an abstract sense can be considered an individual), which in association with the passionlessness and reflection of the times creates that abstract phantom, the public, which is the actual leveller. . . . More and more individuals will, because of their indolent bloodlessness, aspire to become nothing, in order to become the public, this abstract whole, which forms in this ridiculous manner: the public comes into existence because all its participants become third parties. (10) This lazy mass, which understands nothing and does nothing, this public gallery seeks some distraction, and soon gives itself over to the idea that everything which someone does, or achieves, has been done to provide the public something to gossip about. . . . The public has a dog for its amusement. That dog is the Media. (11) If there is someone better than the public, someone who distinguishes himself, the public sets the dog on him and all the amusement begins. This biting dog tears up his coat-tails, and takes all sort of vulgar liberties with his leg—until the public bores of it all and calls the dog off. That is how the public levels.
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Translated from the Danish by Richard Hooker Endnotes
1 This word has two meanings in Kierkegaard: 1.) reflection as "thinking," "deliberation," as opposed to acting and doing; 2.) most importantly, reflection as "reflection," that is, becoming a kind of mirror in which you derive your individuality from imitating the people around you. In Rousseau, modern society was characterized by people getting their identity entirely from the opinions of others; in Kierkegaard, reflection is a matter of getting your identity solely by imitating others. This gives rise to "the public."
2 The way of inertia.
3 "Evasion," "recusal."
4 Besides "envy," etymologically misundelse means "contrariness" or "spite." This is very similar to Nietzsche's ressentiment .
5 That is, it does not understand the exceptional in a positive sense as being better than itself nor does it understand the exceptional in a negative sense as being worse than itself. 6 The Final Judgement.
7 That is, it flattens everything to the same level; nothing is below this level, nothing is above this level.
8 "In mass, in a single body"
9 Danish Pressen , "the press," which in contemporary English is called "the media."
10 That is, viewers, onlookers, people who watch what happens rather than makes anything happen.
11 Danish: den literaire Foragtelighed , literally, the literary scandal sheets; what we would call "tabloids. 

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

The Sunni Tragedy/ North Lebanon by Bernard Rougier

Lebanese Sunni militants of “Ansar”, supporters of the anti-Syrian opposition pose while securing an alley in the neighborhood of Baba al-Tabbaneh in the coastal city of Tripoli north of Lebanon on Saturday, February 11, 2012

The Sunni Tragedy in the Middle East; Northern Lebanon from Al-Qaeda to ISIS by Bernard Rougier

[ This is a dense book, filled with characters and events. I will present  excerpts  in the following order: first the scene in North Lebanon, focusing on Tripoli ;then the author’s methodological essay followed by a combination of introductory and  concluding remarks. Finally I will reproduce select passages that provide unusual insights into his topic.]

The Disenfranchised Region

Today, the North is the poorest region of Lebanon. It’s population  comprises 21% of the Lebanon population, yet includes 38% of the ‘poor population’ and 46% of the  ‘extremely poor population,” a larger proportion than any other governorate (region). The city of Tripoli and the Akkar and Miniyeh regions are especially poor, with infant mortality rates far above those of Beirut. Deteriorating economic conditions have coincided with social and cultural regression. Tripoli lost any significant Christian population after the civil war [1975-1990]. The ‘contented modernity’ of the 1960s, which the historian Khaled Ziyadeh described in his ‘urban biography’ of the city, gave way to a constellation of urban islands, enclaves increasingly withdrawn from each other and increasingly parochial. The economist Charbel Nahas evoked several instances  of “spatial trauma” to explain the city’s geographic evolution and its shrinking sphere of influence. After 1976, the civil war’s rifts deprived Tripoli of its trade relations with Christian areas, including Zghorta, Bsharre, and Batrun. During the civil war, these areas were directly connected to Beirut via a road network designed to bypass Tripoli. On the coastal road from the capital to Tripoli, militia checkpoints discouraged trade flows, leaving the ill-named “Capital of the North’ on its own to bear the pressure of an influx of migrants from the furthest villages of its mountainous hinterland. Finally, the city suffered from the opening of the Lebanese economy to the Syrian market. Flooded with cheap goods and labor, it was unwillingly integrated ‘into a partial regional market, different from the national market in terms of prices.’ This led to the ‘decline of craftsmanship and ‘industry’ in the city, as well as to a ‘fall in agricultural investment and revenue.’

Tripoli’s present-day social and physical geography bears witness to that period. The avenue that crosses the city from north to south, skirting around al-Tell square, divides Tripoli into two urban segments: the wealthy and the middle class live in the west, the poor inhabit the east. Following the flood of the Abu Ali river in 1955, the poor rural population poured into the historic city center, which had housed the administrative of the Ottoman vilayet (province) of Trablus al Sham, with its Mamluk mosques, khans and markets, and stately French and Ottoman buildings. The ancient olive groves of Qubbeh and Abu Samra sheltered the residents of the old town when the fled the flood; the more affluence residents moved out and settled on the western side of the city. In the early 70s, these two neighborhoods underwent a similar phase of impoverishment, and soon afterward, the civil wat accelerated their economic deterioration. For example, the neighborhoods of Bab al-Tabbaneh, with over 50,000 inhabitants, has the chiaroscuro of a medieval city – towering buildings, crowded homes (seven people per household on average), and unsanitary, damp, dark apartments, often at risk of collapse. In 2008, 60% of the neighborhood’s families lived below the ‘extreme poverty ‘ threshold ($2 a day per person or less).

This ‘Tripoli of the poor’ connects to the rural areas of Akkar and Dinniyeh, but it has few links with the western side of the city, built around the broad avenues that link al-Tell Square and the al-Mina neighborhood on the seafront.  It is the former district, along with its geographical extensions into the countryside, that provided a setting for the process of militant mobilization analyzed in the last four chapters of this book. In fact, the dynamics of ‘enclosure’ underscored by geographers and urban planning experts have not prevented this area from forming connections within the region and across the world. There was a time when Tripoli envisioned itself as a Arab version of modernity, when it welcomed, for example, the bold projects of avant-garde Brazilian architect Oscar Niemeyer, who designed its international fairground. The war put an end to those progressive dreams. Now it is a broken town, fragmented into multiple militant spheres, capturing, in way, a larger process that is going on across the Levant.

(this sites the twin bombings of 2013)


This book is an augmented and updated version of my Oumma en fragments ( A Fragmented Umma) published in French in 2011 at the Presses Universitaires de France. The two new chapters have been added, as well as other hitherto unpublished material. It is the result of many years of research. My first contact with North Lebanon was in the late 1990s. At the time I was studying the development of a jihadi identity in the Ayn al-Helweh Palestinian refugee camp for my doctoral dissertation. Relations between the camp sheikhs and religious figures in Tripoli later orientated me towards the unexplored field of religious circles in North Lebanon. While teaching political science in French Universities, I devoted the time between school sessions to investigating the various “Sunni worlds” from a most propitious vantage point – the city of Tripoli and its environs. On each subsequent trip, I tried to preserve the ties made in the previous years and to further broaden my circle of relations. I collected the first data at the beginning of the 2000s and complete fieldwork in May 2014. This extended period of research was critical, for it enabled me to gain the trust of my various sources, and to familiarizer myself with the factors shaping their particular social, political, and economic environments. Repeated trips to Tripoli made it possible to analyze the shift in the positions of different actors that took place as the regional situation evolved and to understand, from within, the constant negotiation between beliefs and opportunism, between strategy and tactics, and between risk-taking and preservation. To account for the competition of influence that occurs between different levels of decision-making, I tried to consider individuals of different social backgrounds, searching out the mosque preacher and the former militant, the local notable and the petty criminal, the minister and the local security officers.

Among my various institutional interlocutors, I met several times with Wissam al-Hassan, the former head of the Information Branch of the Internal Security Forces (ISF). His able investigations played an important role in uncovering the murderous network behind the assassination of Rafiq al-Hariri, making it possible for the Special Tribunal for Lebanon to issue an indictment incriminating members of Hezbollah. Despite the numerous precautions he took, Wissam al-Hassan was himself assassinated in 2012 in the Christian neighborhood of Ashrafieh in East Beirut. There is no doubt he tried to influence my analysis of regional events in general, and in North Lebanon in particular – such is the nature of any interview between a researcher and a leading actor. It is part of a researcher’s job to understand the factors that might lead such an actors to assume a particular stance in his account of  events. Nonetheless, al-Hassan had no doubts as to the sincerity of the religious figures he dealt with. When asked if he trusted the Salafi sheiks of the North, his answer was “No!” – illustrating the complexity of power relations within the multi-faceted and divided Sunni world that the contradictions of the North encapsulate. In his windowless office at the ISF, he continuously received phone calls soliciting a favor or an intervention, each time engaging his phenomenal memory so as to identify the possible plan and the beneficiary of such an intervention.

In addition to Wissam al-Hassan,any people gave me their trust (or part of it.) Like al-Hassan, some were assassinated, Kamal Madhat, representative of Mahmud Abbas in Lebanon, among them. On the other side of the regional political spectrum is Sheik Sa’ad al-Din al-Ghiyyeh, himself at the crossroads of Jihadi Islamism and collaboration with the Syrian intelligence services, who was assassinated shortly before this book went to press. As I was recommended to him by Rif’at Eid, Ali’s son and the new chief of the Alawite community in Ba’al Mohsen, Ghiyyeh welcomed me several times into his home in the Qubbeh neighborhood, and provided increasingly dramatic revelations about his intersecting relationships with the heads of Syrian intelligence and Syrian jihadi militants. As a combatant who trained in Abu Nidal’s group in the late 1980s, as a jihadi volunteer in Iraq with Zarqawi in 2003, and with close ties to the Alawite community of Ba’al  Mohsen (his mother’s denomination), the ‘sheikh’ was clearly a man of action, but he was also a seasoned adventurer in the arena of politics. Fearing for his safety (and rightly so), he always carried a miniature revolver in the pocket of his three-piece suit. During one of our last meetings, he claimed he wanted to submit for approval to his Syrian contacts a “made in the Iranian embassy in Damascus’ plan that would make him the leaders of Hezbollah in Northern Lebanon. In 2011, with no explanation, he abruptly put an end to our meetings. I never knew if he took this decision on his own, or if his superiors instructed him to stop talking to me out of fear of his volubility.

I was immersed in the work that would serve this book not only time-wise, but geographically as well. In Australia, I made new connections and studied transnational solidarity networks, without which my fieldwork in Lebanon would have been unintelligible. The material for this book encompasses a broad array of documentary sources – hundreds of interviews, sermons, flyers, and legal documents. Chapter 1 in particular is informed by legal documents supplied by lawyers acquainted with the “McDonald’s network’ affair [bombings of McD’s restaurants in 2002] – over one hundreds handwritten pages recording the ‘confessions’ of arrested persons. I had access to part of the report of the prosecutor investigating the Fatah al-Islam* affair, after the arrests of suspects in the camp previous to the establishment of the group. Wissam al-Hassan had also the writing of a memoir entitled Fatah al-Islam: From the Cradle to the Grave, a few pages of which he let me read during an interview in the summer of 2008.  On the other side, I also received from Hamas militants testimonials by the families of the groups fighters, which underlined the presumed responsibility of those close to Hariri in North Lebanon. Thanks to the sum of knowledge accumulated patiently over the years, I was able to make both an external and internal critique of these various documents. As the French historian Antoine Prost writes, “One must first be an historian to make a critique of a document, since in essence, it means confronting that document with everything one already knows about the subject it deals with, the place and the time it concerns.”

Such a critique thus demanded a certain number of methodological precautions so as to take possible distortions into account: the data obtained may have been extracted under duress, with the result  that the ‘testimonies’ of the accused persons are a priori to be regarded with caution unless they are confirmed by other sources or, at least, proved consistent with the overall narrative framework that emerged from the questioning. Far from any normative judgment judgment of one person or another’s responsibility, I was above all concerned with trying to discern, in concrete terms, how a jihadi group had constituted itself, and gave priority to understanding the conditions that made possible the successive play of encounters between individuals of different backgrounds and professional pathways. The main preoccupation of the officials in charge of the inquiry, by contrast, was to establish the degree of responsibility of persons directly involved in carrying out terrorist acts. My work as a researcher was to recreate a part of the social, political, and religious universe, so as to shed light on the circumstances underlying the creation of a terrorist network in North Lebanon, which required a very different vernacular.

It will up to the reader to judge whether the interpretation given here reflects the respect for objective criteria that has always guided this research. Contrary to postmodern epistemology, the author of these lines believes that social reality exists, and that it is possible to objectively reconstruct the perceptions that actors have of it at diverse moments of their actions.

These documents, like the interviews with the lawyers of the accused, are nonetheless of exceptional value. They provide wealth of information and detail, once one has calibrated the weight of the private code that saturates the text with its own ‘language game.” Pieced together, these documents reveal a progression of events that enable one to follow, over roughly a decade, the evolution of different categories of actors that ‘make’ Middle Eastern politics today.

 Rather than impose the very broad and imprecise category of “Islamism’ on the communal and regional divisions within North Lebanon, we have forged the three Weberian-inspired ideal types – the muqwatil (local combatant), the muqawim (resistance fighter), and the mujahid (jihadi) – that enable us to get a better grasp of the situation.

The 1978 Iranian revolution promoted the muqawim as a representative of revolutionary, third world Islam aiming to oust western influence in the region. The muqawim built a power system linking Tehran to the eastern Mediterranean, taking as his Lebanese representatives the pro-Iranian Lebanese Hezbollah. In concert  with the Pasdaran  (The Iranian Revolutionary Guard), Hezbollah has been fighting in Syria since January 2012 in defense of the Assad regime.

The mujahid emerged from the Afghan jihad of the 1980s that attempted to build a power base in Greater Syria. Through informal networks, he claims to defend the whole Islamic community (umma) against the West and secular Muslims. Beyond the  al-Qaeda organization, the mujahid is currently exploiting the Syrian civil war to build an underground organization and base of power.

Finally, the muqatil symbolizes an attitude of local defiance towards external aggression. He lacks a sophisticated ideology, drawing his identity instead from his concrete environment and conceptualizing his fight as against an alien intruder. While the muqawim and the mujahid attempt to impose their reading of religion on other Muslims by force, this defining themselves as Islamic militants, the fighter assumes an Islamic or non-Islamic outlook depending upon his political socialization and preferences.

These categories ae only meant to function as an aid in understanding the political reality of the Arab Middle East. Obviously, they do not correspond to the more complex realty on the ground, where individuals and groups may even pass from one form to another as shifting circumstances dictate.

*FAI (Fatah al-Islam) Name of the jihadi organization proclaimed by its leader, Shaker al-Absi, on November 26, 2006, in the Palestinian refugee camp Nahr al Bared, neat Tripoli. The organizations core is made up of former Zarqawi associates present in Iraq a few months before the fall of Saddam Hussein in 2003. In late 2005, it refocused its activities on Lebanon, taking control of the infrastructure (training camps, offices, buildings) left behind by the Damascus-based Palestinian organization Fatah al-Intifada, whose leaders, expelled from the PLO in 1983, had formed a special relationship with the Syrian intelligence services. The organization represented a grave threat to the March 14 anti-Syrian coalition. The group’s true aim was to shatter the Sunni, anti-Syrian confessional movement from within by turning its own militants against the Hariri family –accused of betraying Islam by allying himself with the West. A vicious war between this jihadi militia and the Lebanese army ensued.

 A Sunni Tragedy

When Lebanon’s civil war ended in 1990, the county’s North fell under the firm grip of the Syrian imperium. For the ensuing fifteen years it remained essentially marginalized from both national and regional  politics. However, with the assassination of former prime minister Rafiq al-Hariri and the subsequent end of the Syrian military occupation of Lebanon, the North has become an arena in which various forces struggle to impose hegemony over Sunni political and religious expression.

Backed by the West and Saudi Arabia, Rafiq’s son, Sa’ad al- Hariri, used his seat in Beirut to construct and lead a broad anti-Assad coalition and champion Lebanon’s sovereignty. This bloc became the March 14th Movement, names after the date of a mass demonstration against the Syrian regime that took place in downtown Beirut on that date in 2005. His opponents were Bashar al-Assad’s regime and its local allies, including the powerful pro-Iranian Hezbollah – named  March 8th  after the date of an earlier demonstration reaffirming Lebanese solidarity with the Syrian regime and the goal of “Resistance’ against Israel.

But al-Hariri and his allies also confronted a number of amorphous Sunni religious networks that were vying to become the new leaders of Lebanon’s Sunni community. The fact that all of these forces had ties with  political power bases or religious hubs outside Lebanon – political bureaus in Riyad, Damascus, or Tehran; religious centers in Medina or Mecca; Iraq  militant networks in al-Anbar; charities in Doha; even cells meeting in mosque basements in Copenhagen and Sydney – turned North Lebanon into a cauldron in which competing and often irreconcilable regional and transnational interests clashed.

During this period, jihadism emerged and held the ground against a host of foes. At first it took the form of an underground network, then evolved into an armed movement that threatened to upset the internal equilibrium of the Sunni community. North Lebanon thus offers the first example of how jihadism, revolutionary by nature, contrived to seize control of the Sunni community by sidelining its political elite and frightening its middle classes.

Since the outbreak of the civil war in Syria in 2011, thousands of Syrians have sought refuge in the northern cities of Tripoli, Akkar, and Dinniyeh.

on this map the Syrian City of Homs is just a few kilometers from the north end of lake Oattinah

Volunteers from the Free Syrian Army (FSA) also sought safe haven, but quickly came to realize that they would have to remain underground if they were to escape the reach of the Syrian regime’s local allies. At the end of 2013, Islamist rebels from the Syrian “Islamic Front, as well as radical jihadis from Jabhat al Nusra (Al-Qaeda in Syria) and from the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS), followed the FSA fighters to North Lebanon. Hezbollah’s massive intervention in the Syrian civil war starting from 2012, combined with the influx of Syrian refugees in North Lebanon, rendered the border between Lebanon and Syria more and more irrelevant, which in turn facilitated the enrollment of young Lebanese into ISIS’s so-called caliphate.

What makes North Lebanon such an interesting and troubling setting is what it lacks, or only weakly possesses. It is not an intellectual hub generating new political rhetoric and local innovation. The region is instead a locus of hybridization, a crucible for multiple influences, and a cradle for mobilization –factors which give it an exceptional relevance. The wealth of the region’s external connections  means that it is not a passive recipient of influences, for these connections run in both directions. The actors who occupy this space are not only at the receiving end of these influences, but also themselves influence a range of external communities. North Lebanon is an arena in which a plethora of militant and political agendas intersect. At stake is the ability of Sunni Islam in the Levant to create a unified civilian leadership in a highly fragmented political and religious environment. This region has been particularly important to the Sunni community since the end of the civil war, when the influence of Sunni notables who had previously  enjoyed local powerbases in the cities of Sidon, Beirut, and Tripoli precipitously decline. The dominant demographic is Sunni, but this observation conceals more. The governorate of North Lebanon, whether we are speaking of its urban center, the city of Tripoli, or its rural and mountainous areas, the sub-districts of Akkar and Dinjniyeh, is are heterogeneous spaces: consider the many Christian villages in Akkar, the proximity of the Maronite town of Zghorta; and the existence of the Alawite minority neighborhood of Ba’al Mohsen. This relative confessional and political diversity results in an internal division of space, with militarization arising inmixed areas where invisible borders now separate Sunni villages controlled by Salafi militants from Alawite villages under the sway of militias backed by the Syrian regime.

Sunni elites in the Levant are threatened by the diffusion of Islamist norms that directly undermine their political legitimacy. As much as Islamist has restructured Shi’a communities that were once divided and dominated by others in Iraq and Lebanon, it has had the opposite effect of de-structuring the Sunni communities of Bilad al-Sham. The reason for this lies with the fact that Shi’a Islamism managed to domesticate a state apparatus in Iran in the wake of the 1979 revolution, whereas Sunni radical; Islamism rejected the state system entirely – whether regional or international – and created its own mythology during the jihad against the Soviet Union in Afghanistan in the 1980s

In the Levant, perhaps more than elsewhere, events confirm the Hegelian notion according to which only a community able to fight retains the freedom to make its own decisions. The problem is that most of the Sunni militants ready to fight and to die are doing so in the name of jihad “for God’s sake”. By definition, jihadism cannot find accommodation within an existing political framework. Jihadism is the enemy of the modern secular state. The only way it can get beyond this irresolvable  internal contradiction is by manufacturer a political framework of its own – hence the proclamation of an alleged Islamic State straddling Iraq and Syria. Likewise, the jihadi ideologues preferred means of imposing hegemony over the Sunni community is to placed that community in a relationship of permanent conflict with the Shi’ites. The establishment of an Islamic State from Mosul to Tripoli is also the only way to avoid becoming a powerless minority in Iraq and Lebanon. Crushed jointly by Iran, Syria, Hezbollah, rendered defenseless by the West’s indecision, the Syrian and Lebanese aspiration to freedom has evolved into a jihadist nightmare.

Jihadi groups are also exploiting a specifically Sunni social revolution that sees young men – little educated and socially marginalized- managing to become local chiefs, community leaders, and religious judges. Jihadi values give them the means to overturn social hierarchies, for inherent in the jihadi ideology is virtually permanent mobilization in defense of Islam against its man enemies. This radicalization may turn into the death knell for the political  zu’ama* in the Sunni milieu, once youths are no longer willing to serve as cannon fodder for the political ambitions of others that bring them no benefit.

In the context where forty years of dictatorship has deprived Sunni society of memories of its urban political history, the effort for military emancipation has been hard pressed to find political and institutional expression. Without Western support but with an abundance of funding from the Gulf countries, those who continue fighting in the ruins of Homs, Aleppo and Damascus are prepared to weather the horrors of enemy bombings and to die in God’s  name. Thus, the continuation of the war reinforces the territorial and ideological disintegration of the community. The longer the struggle goes on, the more it consolidates value systems incompatible with an enduring political community. In such conditions, Sunni elites will find it more difficult still to reconstitute the political memory of their community and incorporate it into a national framework reconciling liberalism and Arab identity.

* The Lebanese political system is characterised by a patron-client system, that is: a system of personal ties between a political leader called za’im (plural zu’ama) and the voter. The za’im provides services for the client in exchange for political support. These services can consist of getting them a telephone connection or a job, a promotion or protection from the police. The zu’ama were often members of families of landowners like the Karami family (Sunnis from Tripoli) or at least families that were always represented in parliament.


The External Provider: The Role of Bilal Khaz’al
Born in Tripoli in 1970, Khaz’al was raised by his grandmother and aunt, as his parents lived in Australia. He spent part of his adolescent years as a militant in the branch of the Tawhid Movement* that Hashem Minqara controlled in the al-Mina district. At the time, young recruits were initiated into Islam through reading Sayyid  Qutb’s ( founder of the Muslim Brotherhood) texts. In 1985, the Syrian army’s invasion of the city forced the family into permanent exile in Australia.

There young Bilal lived in the Lakemba district, a southwest suburb of Sydney. The main street offers the casual visitor several miles of “Little Lebanon, with Arabic shop signs, a number of Lebanese cafes and restaurants, and several Islamic bookshops. The religious buildings of the district chronicle successive waves of immigration that have formed multiple strata in this neighborhood where human geography recreates invisible borders similar to those inside Lebanon, the source of all the immigrants. Migration to Australia accelerated remarkably after the start of the civil war, with the number of Lebanese born in Australia doubling after 1975. In the 1980s, a final wave consisted mainly of Sunnis from Tripoli or its surrounding areas. Most of these immigrants lacked both skills and resources. Khaz’al, still an adolescent when he arrived, had only completed a primary school education. He began religious studies in the Lakemba mosque, established in 19778 on the outskirts of Lakemba.

Sheikh Taj al-Din al-Hilali was his teacher. Born in 1941 in Upper Egypt and trained by the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood, Sheikh al-Hilali had arrived in Australia from Lebanon in 1982, four years before his young student. Asa ember of the University of al-Azhar’s mission in Lebanon (which retreated to Tripoli after the Israeli invasion of June 1982), he had taken part in the foundation of the Tawhid Movement. Soon after his arrival in Sydney, a group of worshippers from the Lakemba mosque encouraged him to stand for election as Sheikh of the mosque, in hopes of ousting the incumbent, Ahmad Zayudan, who was close to the Kata’ib Christian party and had the local Iraqi Ba’athist  party’s support. Representatives of the Kata’ib party in Sydney, worried about al-Halili’s influence, tried to have him deported by the federal government but the move only consolidated the Sheikh’s religious legitimacy.

Al-Halili’s election marked a turning point in the way Lebanese immigrants organized and defined themselves in Australia. For the Sunnis, religion began to take on greater importance than one’s village or origin, the identity marker that mattered the most to earlier generations of immigrants. This of religious criteria of identification intrinsically implied the labeling and rejection of non-Sunni Lebanese as alien to the group. In addition this allowed religious elites to take advantage of a framework in which they could directly negotiate with national and local government representatives. These representatives had become convinced since the 1970s that a ‘multiculturalist’ policy towards religious and ethnic minorities was beneficial. Being accustomed to the Lebanese political scene, which was structured by the subtle linguistic codes of intercommunal dynamics, these new religious elites had no trouble mastering the discourse of ‘interethnic harmony’ in their dealings with Australians, yet so no contradiction between this mode of political action and their Islamist orientation.

Young Bilal’s poor English prevented him from continuing his studies, and he took a job as a baggage handler for  Qantas. IN doing so, he managed to avoid some of the social problems faced by the ‘third wave’ of Lebanese immigrants which in the 1990s included unemployment for over a third of the working age population. Those who had recently arrives were poorly integrated into Australian society and survived largely on welfare benefits. With an average of four to six children per household, Muslim families had the highest birthrate in the country at the time. Khaz’al;, on the other hand, was integrated both socially and economically. He had little reason to embrace an Australian cultural model that inflated the meaning and value of the esthetic, erotic and athletic aspects of the body, since such an ethic ran counter to the strict teachings he had received from Sheikh Salem al-Rafi’i during his adolescence in the Tawhid ‘emirate’.

It is difficult to determine how Khaz’al became involved in jihadism at a time when no Internet or satellite television was available. At the beginning of the 1990s, the jihadi ideologue Abu Qatada toured the Islamic centers of Sydney and Melbourne, and it is possible that Khaz’al crossed paths wit him. In August 1992, at the age of twenty-two, he left Australia for two months- his destination remains unknown,. Immediately after he returned, he launched the monthly jihadi magazine Nida’u al-Islam. Its forty issues contained interviews and articles dedicated to the main figureheads of jihadism. Including Osama bin Laden, as well as the texts they penned. The magazine was published in both English and Arabic and presented itself as the voice of the Islamic Youth Movement created by ‘Sheikh  Bilal Khaz’al’. This association had a prayer room on the second floor of a modest building on Haldon Street.

The creation of the Islamic Youth Movement constituted a definitive rupture from al-Hilali. The Egyptian sheikh disapproved of thoe whose “short robes and long beards are their only assets in the science of religion,” and stated that Abu Qatada had ‘excommunicated him’ during  the latter’s visit to Australia. The quarrel between the two men should be seen in the broader context of harsh criticism  by the jihadi movement of the Muslim Brotherhood’s behavior. Khaz’al had no choice but to give up all hope of taking control of the Lakemba mosque, which was attended by many worshippers during Friday sermons and enjoyed generous Libyan and Saudi funding.. This failure in conquest of local Islam incited Khaz’al to shift the focus of his action. In 1998, he met Osama bin Laden and Ayman al- Zawahiri at the jihadi training camp  in Taliban controlled Afghanistan. Khaz’al’s path- the experience of military defeat, followed by exile abroad- coincided with that of other militants who had broken with nationalist Islamist movements to refocus on a transnational struggle.

From Australia, Khaz’al would go on to affect the evolution  Ka’keh’s group in the environs of Tripoli. He influenced its orientation, approved of the assassination strategy, and transmitted messages and money. The magazine publisher became and interlocutor and facilitators of connections between different networks, a person who provided the resources that made it possible to develop a network over a shot period of time and established links between jihadis whose experiences and backgrounds varied.
 In September, Khaz’al published a one-hundred page jihadi manifesto- using an alias- entitled Handbook of the Rules of Jihad: Essential Rules of Jurisprudence and Organizational Orientation Concerning every Fighter and Mujahid Who Fights Impiety….

Thus a baggage handler for Qantas, with no more than and elementary school education in his home country, contributed to a body of jihadi writings that has seen continual growth  since the advent of the Internet in the mid-1990s. This corpus first appeared at the time of the Afghan war in the 1980s, and expanded as subsequent Middle East events generated additions. In unabashed ignorance of the different schools of Islamic jurisprudence’s methodological traditions, Khaz’al justified the use of terrorism by equating prophetic precedents with the contemporary situation. This Khaz’al placed himself in the category of ‘haddith-shouters,’ who who used litanies of sacred narratives to drown out their critic. ‘Religious law’ is proclaimed generously through-out his manifesto in an effort to confer divine authority on and justify an anthology of  prescriptions chosen for their usefulness to his cause.

The global scale of the struggle paradoxically allow Khaz’al to renter the Tripolitan scene from his Lakemba suburb of Sydney. He helped al- Ka’keh (‘the engineer’) become more influential within a group  of about 25 jihadists by using the latter’s voice to advocate assassination as the main mode of action. Nonetheless, before organizing a deadly operation, the group first proved itself in a more limited way (bombing western restaurants like McD’s and Pizza Hut)

*MUI/Tawdid (Islamic Unification Movement):  proclaimed on August 25, 1982 in Tripoli, during the Israeli invasion of Lebanon. Strongly influenced by the Iranian revolution, the Tawhid Movement, which groups together various neighborhood militias, has  managed to dominate the city by imposing strict religious directives (bans on alcohol and mixed schools). In 1986, the Tawhid defended Tripoli against the Syrian army assault, while its chief, emir Said Sha’ban, protected by Ayatollah Khomeini, negotiated the city’s surrender with Syria’s president in September. On December 19, 1986, Syrian soldiers and their local allies took revenge for Tripoli’s resistance and massacred several hundred persons in the Bab al-Tabbaneh area.


Yielding jihadi power in  local militias has its difficulties as Sheikh Kana’an Naji recited  to the author about  his experience running the ‘Islamic emirate’ in Tripoli:

We became involved in messy dealings . . . We shouldn’t have gotten involved in these sorts of issues . . .People would come to us and say “so-and-so insulted so-and-so ..Do something!” Someone says to you: “You must intervene . . .” So you send over some youth to deal with the problem . . .but sometimes he would mess up .. .act dictatorially.. The lesson we must learn is that Muslims mustn’t get involved in these kinds of issues, issues of the actual forces on the ground . . .The most delicate and dangerous thing is justice. It takes ten years of study to become a judge. And even with ten years of study, it’s still difficult. The toughest job is dispensing justice to people And all of a sudden someone who can barely write shows up and wants top mete out justice! . . Because he represents de facto power! This is what happened in Tripoli, exactly as it happened in the rest of Lebanon. Tripoli was no different. Power corrupts.

Al-Qaeda and Fatah al-Islam

Jordanian-Palestinian Abu Muhammad al- Maqdisi.

Fatah al-Islam’s leaders came from the Syrian-Iraqi jihadi universe in which Abu Mus’ab al-Zarqawi was a signal authority. This network existed in parallel to al-Qaeda’s network, without being a part of it. In Shaker al-Absi’s view, acquiring the ‘al-Qaeda franchise’ would increase Fata h al-Islam’s regional prestige, In other words, such recognition would end speculation that Syria was sponsoring the group to further its own regional interests. This suspicion had been undermining his tial new  group’s credibility and causing potential new recruits to hesitate about joining the group.

Before granting Fatah al Islam this recognition, the historic leaders of al-Qaeda investigated the group In 2005 al;-Qaeda-Central had chosen  Tripolitan sheikh Nabil Rahim as their representative in Lebanon, tasking him  to coordinate at all times with al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula and in the “Land of Two Rivers’ (Iraq). In 2006  Rahim met with with al-Qaeda leaders in Mecca while performing the ‘umra’ ( lesser pilgrimage, a chance to collect some funds for the group he was patiently forming in Tripoli. In early 2007, sheikh Rahim received an al-Qaeda emissary, Saudi Sheikh Addallah al-Bishi who had previously taught Sunni Kurds in Sanandaj, the capital of Iranian Kurdistan, where he was hosted by none other than Sheik Rahim, who then invited him  to Lebanon.

During his roughly two week stay al-Bishi ( the al-Qaeda ambassador) taught Islamic studies courses in the Samer center and the Cooperative. He listened to some young Saudi volunteer’s grievances about being confined to their camp despite having contributed thousands of dollars and promised the opportunity to fight in Iraq. Sheikh al-Bishi believed that they should be allowed to go home if they desired. No religious obstacle should prevent them from doing so. This ruling angered Shaker al-Absi ( leader of Fatah-al Islam) as he felt the presence of the Saudis strengthened his organization and added to its credibility. At any rate, he thought, they might be detained while crossing borders and ‘spill beans’, a concern that later proved justified.

Sheikh al-Bishi saw too many shortcomings in Fatah-al-Islam, even beyond the situation with the Saudi volunteers. There seemed tio be no good reason why al-Absi’s refusal to deal with the (Palestinian) Fatah was not extended to all Palestinian factions, all being equally guilty of impiety in al-Bishi’s opinion. He also seemed opposed to the practice of robbing banks- the source of most of Fatah al-Islam’s funds. In a more practical vein, the group’s open existence in a camp in North Lebanon raised the possibility of infiltration by the region’s intelligence services. Al-Bishi’s ‘jihadist audit’ did not produce the results Fatah al-Islam’s leaders hoped for and under threat from its more radical members, had to flee the camp. He was arrested by Lebanese authorities while crossing into Syria on his way to Iraq on a mission to attempt to stop Zarqawi’s attempt to regain control of Al-Qaeda in that country.

Establishing ties with al-Qaeda also required that a respected ‘alim’ (scholar of Islamic law) within the jihadi community get involved. To this end al-Absi contacted the Jordanian-Palestinian Abu Muhammad al- Maqdisi.

The categories that Sheikh Maqdisi used to structure his ideas frequently appeared in Fatah al-Islam’s communiques. To him, rigorous divine unity (Tawhid) meant that believers would refuse to acknowledge and follow rules other than those emanating from God alone. Hence, true believers should disobey their political leaders (corrupt tyrants) because the norms of government in modern states are not inspired by divine texts. In fact, the leaders of Fatah –al Islam identified with al- Maqdisi’s idea that any participation in state institutions was tantamount to apostasy. Thus, they did not hesitate to deride secular Arab leaders with the insulting term zanadiq, whose semantic field extends from ‘heretics’ to ‘drunken libertines’. Moreover, al Absi the activist and al Maqdisi the intellectual had both distanced themselves from Zarqawi’s descent into anti-Shi’ite sectarianism, despite the history they shared with him as militants and detainees.

Al- Maqdisi’s obsession with releasing believers from the hold of positive law in every field also legitimized the jihadi groups practice of committing common-law crimes ( theft, hostage-taking, etc.) This explains why Fatah al-Islam’s leaders began robbing banks. Yet far from earning al-Maqdisi’s support, this practice met with his censure. In a letter to Shaker al-Absi, al-Maqdisi questioned the relation ship between means and ends in Fatah- al-Islam practices.

Do not expect me to encourage our brothers resort to pillage! Are such actions logically part of the path of jihad? Did they pledge allegiance to us for that purpose? They pledged allegiance to us on the basis that we were al-Qaeda, and I have been asked time and time again, “Where are the resources, the equipment, the weapons?”: And when I told them to be patient, that we were preparing for all that, they answered: “Did we not pledge an oath to al-Qaeda. Only a  few volunteers who are unable to leave the camp are convinced that robberies are authorized by religion. The others want to kill and fight . . .Please answer me clearly … either we continue working together, or we will provide you with fraternal support.’

Sheikh al-Maqdisi’s questons are typical of the mixture on interest and wariness that characterized responses to Fatah al-Islam by other famous jihadi figureheads able to grant religious legitimacy. His doubts reflected his refusal to become an involuntary role model for a group without real recognition that was locked into a cycle of common-law criminality,at a time when he was endeavoring to improve his image in Arab public opinion.

Jihadi Ideology and Resources
The jihadi ideology worked symbolically: real people were treated as symbols, stripped of their historical, national, and anthropologically substance. The Maronite patriarch, a potential tart for assassination, was no longer viewed as the leader of one of the oldest Christian communities in the Middle East. He was disembodied, labeled, and assimilated to be a representative of America, the West, or Christianity. As such, he was to be fought against and eliminated if possible. Similarly, Fatah was mot a Palestinian organization struggling to recover its territory, but a secular entity despised for politically acknowledging impious entities, including the West, Israel and Arab regimes. Jihadi symbols were used to destroy religious systems deeply rooted in the political and religious history of the region. Whereas Islamic law was designed to set boundaries on the arbitrary actions of Men, in its jihadi guise it left open the possibility of actions unrestrained by any limits.

To legitimize assassination as a tactic, Khaz’al cited a hadith about a Jewish woman who was strangled for insulting the Prophet of Ismam. BY not intervening, the prophet Mohammad was said to legfitimize the murder of anyone who insulted the religion. According to Khaz’al, because the killer did not ask the Prophet’s permission, all believers were justified in taking this kind of initiative when someone insulted Islam. No external authority was required, not even that of the Messenger of God

The words of the Prophet were interpreted eschatologically, as if current political events were of no intrinsic interest, often only to be interpreted in the future perfect, because their significance lay in what was to come, a divine intervention to save humanity, as signs of the fulfillment of prophetic passages in the sayings and actions of the Prophet recorded in the 7th century. Khaz’al’s “Orientations” also included many comparisons between present-day Muslim leaders and famous traitors of Islamic history including Abi Righal, ‘who offered his services to the Ethiopian King Abraha when Abraha was endeavoring to conquer Mecca. He also cited Ibn al-Alqami and the religious scholar Sadr al-Din al-Tusi, who served the Mongol invader Hulagu after he had killed “The Caliph and the statesmen, and destroyed Baghdad while exterminating from 800,000 to a million, or maybe two million people  in what is known as the worse massacre in the history of humanity.’ History repeats itself, with its share of “defeats and disasters,” because ‘this umma never encounters a single foreign enemy without someone appearing to assist them, to io them favors, to justify their crimes, to defend their policy, to spread their ideas and to show them their weakness, as did Abu Righal, Ibn al-Alqami and Sadr al Din al Tusi,” During the 200-3 Iraq war, “Abu Righal became king and under his authority, religious sheikhs gave legitimacy to the Crusaders and Zionists.”

 In Weberian terms, Fatah al-Islam leaders and other jihadi sought to induce Sunnis to trade their ethics of responsibility for the ethics of conviction, in order to extract them from their communitarian frameworks, yet these frameworks are important resources for their terror schemes. Life in the neighborhoods offered many opportunities for  interaction. In a context where preachers readily brandish believers’ faith  to lambast the state for neglecting its religious duties, either internationally or towards its own society, and charismatic leaders could infuse jihadism into deeply anchored musical and poetic traditions, refusing to do a favor for a friend, or even an acquaintance, led to crippling moral censure in in communities where everyone knows everybody else. Slowly, jihadist interactions in neighborhoods  facilitated reciprocity of exchanges and building of trust. They could also evoke memories of allegiances and debts owned one faction or the other in the wake of past conflicts, sacralizing past victories or defeats to build loyalty, or fuel resentment.


The Saydnaya military prison in Syria  was of great importance. It functioned as a uniquely convenient place where various individuals’ paths crossed, consolidating past ties and creating new commitments. Likewise, the prison pooled individuals among whom Syrian  intelligence services could identify new recruits, and from which they could gather information about Islamist networks. The Syrian regime acquiesced in part to the opposition’s desire to wage jihad, but only so long as this took place outside Syria or in accordance with their policy objectives. Likewise, the Roumieh prison in Beirut- overcrowded with appalling conditions where riots and break-outs occur- is a place where solidarities and new jihadi networks are created for the future.