Palmyra
Palmyra
Stone Witnesses
Fought over for millennia, devastated by the Islamic State, controlled by Russian troops: no place in the Middle East is as symbolic as the ancient city of Palmyra. A reporter and a photographer from the SZ-Magazin travelled to Syria to file a war report, told as a graphic novel. Text
GUILLERMO ABRIL
Photos
CA R L OS S P O T T O R N O
Like a plague, they invaded with their black flags and drove their pickup trucks amongst the ruins. They blew up temples, arches, pillars, and executed the innocent. IS fanatics wanted to send a message: we will put an end to the Empire‘s presence in this area. To them, Palmyra was a symbol of oppression by Rome and thus by the West; for the rest of the world, the city was a monument to civilisation. In Palmyra, the East and the West, the two sides of the world, met. Palmyra united them.
Our feeling is that perhaps we can find answers there, and understand how people see things, if you leave Europe and enter the other side. Since 2011, an increasingly complex war has been raging in Syria. At least 400,000 people have died; refugees and displaced persons number more than eleven million. The Western press does not easily gain access. But we have found a loophole. As I leave the Syrian consulate in Madrid I immediately call my colleague, photographer Carlos Spottorno: “We’ve got the visas!”
Turkey
Palmyra lies in the middle of the desert, halfway between the Mediterranean Sea and the Euphrates. This oasis city has been a strategically important place since the time of King Solomon in the tenth century BCE. The troops of the great kings of the East and West – from Nebuchadnezzar to Alexander the Great – are said to have passed through here.
Tigris Khabur Euphrates
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Orontes
Homs
Mediterranean Sea
Palmyra/Tadmor
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Damascus
Israel West-Bank
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Jordan
The city came under Roman rule in the first century AD, its heyday coinciding with the height of the Roman Empire. It was a mandatory stop for merchants on the Silk Road and a military base in the border region, not far away from the Persian enemies.
The central buildings were constructed following the model of Rome.
The West has always had an eye on the area. With the Sykes-Picot agreement after the First World War, a country under French mandate came into existence.
Then came the visitors. Great archaeological excavations began – and the journeys to this dream place. Palmyra became the jewel of Syrian tourism. Later, it became the friendly face of a regime that was hard on its people. With the current war raging, this business has come to a standstill.
In the meantime, the city has been reconquered by Assad’s army. We learn that a Syrian delegation visited the Tourism Fair in Madrid, one of the largest in the industry. Under the motto “We are back,” they conveyed an image of normality. We contact the consulate. The word “tourism” opens the gates of Damascus to us in just two weeks.
In May 2018 we arrive in Damascus, one of the historic capitals of the Islamic world. The view from the minaret of the Umayyad Mosque is breathtaking. A strange, prison- like atmosphere prevails.
People seem to lead a normal life. The streets are crowded and the traffic is typical of a large Arab city. Ramadan will soon begin.
And yet just a week ago Israel bombed the country. As did the international coalition led by Trump, a month ago.
There are military men everywhere, and posters of dead soldiers hang on the historic walls. They are called “martyrs� here. The front line is about five kilometres away. From time to time, we hear the echo of a bomb attack.
We marvel at how historical layers interlock in the city: the ruins of the Roman Jupiter temple are located between the souk and the mosque. Practically at their feet is a checkpoint. From there the prayer call of the mosque crier resonates.
We have no time to wander. We must report our arrival to the Ministry of Information immediately.
Our journey must first be approved. We will return to this room several times. There will be hours of waiting with cardamom coffee. The minister’s office is behind the room divider.
Mr. Alaa gives us four days in the country, possibly eight if we behave ourselves. Weknow that the IS Hunters, a special unit in the Syrian army, were key to liberating Palmyra. “We want to meet them,” we request. He replies that they are far away, where there are still terrorists. “Orange overalls definitely won’t suit you.” We force a laugh.
He wants us to stick to the topic of archaeology. That seems to interest his government a lot. According to the official line, they are winning the war. “But unfortunately we are losing the media battle.”
The papers are in order, and we get an appointment at the National Museum in Damascus. It is a desolate place. It was evacuated to protect the collection from mortar shells. We walk through dark corridors, rooms with empty display cabinets.
Hundreds of sculptures were brought from Palmyra. They are stored in a room reminiscent of the Indiana Jones films. The man in charge, Nazir Awad, opens one box after another as if they were graves.
The IS, he says, has taken Palmyra twice. Between the two occupations, his people managed to get almost all of the art treasures out of there – with what they had to hand at the time.
Indeed, the treasures were even packed into ammunition boxes. But the jihadists had already left their mark. The busts have disfigured faces or have been beheaded. “Toujours la tête”, Awad says in French – always the head. The Islamists are obsessed with it.
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A small team has started the restoration. They do not have a lot of resources or support from abroad. When the war began and Assad transformed from a reasonable interlocutor into a tyrant, all cooperation agreements with the West evaporated in an instant.
In order to be able to work there together with Awad’s people, despite the embargoes against Syria, UNESCO must show itself to be resourceful.
Syria is confronted with the gigantic task of putting all the fragments together again.
It will take years to repair the damage. Presumably, the consequences of barbarism can never be completely eradicated.
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After visiting the restored lion of the pre-Islamic goddess Al-Iat, we meet Khalil al Hariri, director of the museum in Damascus. He was shot by IS during the evacuation. His father-in-law, the famous archaeologist Khaled Asaad, refused to flee and was beheaded.
“They are monsters, those who were sent by the US and Israel to undermine Islam and coexistence in Syria,” says Al Hariri about IS. We are hearing this sentiment for the first time. In the house of a Christian family in Damascus, we hear it again. Ramia Almansour, once a teacher in Palestine, adds, “They want to divide the resources, and the Syrians.”
Some of her children live in Paris. We ask her what she thinks about Europe’s role in the war. She takes a deep breath. Far away, an explosion can be heard. “We have already been separated by the Sykes-Picot agreement, but the French don’t even remember it.”
After every interview comes the same farewell: “Tell the truth.” But the facts are entangled in a knot of half-truths and propaganda. As in all wars.
Tourism minister Beshr Yazji welcomes us into a magnificent visiting room.
He is optimistic. The industry has grown by more than 25 percent in the past two years. Companies want to invest in Syria, they trust in the security of the country. Archaeological tourism will continue into 2019, and religious tourism has never lapsed. “In all these years, not a single tourist has been hurt.”
BOOM
A bomb blast echoes through the room.
The minister continues as if nothing has happened. He says Palmyra is already open for tourism. “It was badly damaged, as you will see. The ruins were destroyed by terrorists who were supported by countries that claim to be democratic.” Which countries, he does not say, and he ends the conversation with his very own slogan:
The situation could not be more paradoxical.
“Syria for tourists, not terrorists.“
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As we leave Damascus, we see traces of the war. In Ghouta, a column of smoke indicates that the fighting is not long past. We are on our way to Homs, our last stop before crossing the desert to Palmyra.
It is still unclear whether we will reach our destination, but nothing is impossible for our knowledgeable assistant. “I have a flying carpet.“
For the first time we see the Russians. They arrived in Syria at the invitation of the Syrian government in September 2015, when the Assad regime already seemed to be a write-off. Putin‘s experienced troops have changed the course of the war.
The way their convoys race around displays a certain arrogance. We are given a piece of advice, one we are used to: „Do not photograph the Russians.“ Then we will reach Homs.
We have barely entered the city when we are introduced to Vicky. At the age of eleven, she fled to the countryside with her family.
Now that she‘s back, she‘s about to take her college entrance exam. “We won the war,“ she says proudly. Her notes cover the walls of her room. She can still remember how they were spattered with the blood of dead soldiers.
The return of displaced persons means one job is in particular demand: the carpenter. We are told this by a carpenter who got lucky. His workshop has remained intact under a pile of rubble.
Homs was a cradle of democratic uprisings. The government quickly imposed their own language and branded the demonstrators terrorists. Assad tested the first bombardments on them, on his own people. He had whole neighbourhoods reduced to rubble and ashes.
But nobody in this city tells us about this. There seems to be only one side here. There is silence in the rebel neighbourhoods. You only hear birds.
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We go to the Museum of Homs, where many of the works salvaged from Palmyra are kept. There we come to understand that, on this side of the East-West border, history is different. And it has a lot to do with the current war.
Under a huge portrait of Assad Senior, we are welcomed by the museum director. Until recently, he worked as a security chief. His first remark baffles us:
“The ruins of Palmyra are not actually Roman.“
For him, Palmyra is a symbol of resistance against foreign aggressors. He recounts the epic of Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, who rebelled against the Roman Empire in the 3rd century AD. She lost to the troops of Emperor Aurelian, and the city was razed to the ground. “History repeats itself,“ he concludes.
In his fable, Zenobia, Assad and Rome are the Western powers: “The West still dreams of an empire.“
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In the museum we meet two sons of Khaled Asaad, the famous archaeologist from Palmyra, who was murdered by IS.
The only thing left of him is his glasses, one of his speeches and old photos. He was a very respected man. He had worked in the ruins since the 1960s, directed the museum and excavations, and fought for their designation as a World Heritage Site.
When IS began to surround the city in 2015, his sons tried to persuade him to flee. “He said: I‘m 82 years old. If I‘m to die, it will be in Palmyra, like the palm trees.” The fanatics tortured him first, then beheaded him in the street and hung his head from a pole. There were also good people among them, his sons tell us. One took the head and hid it in his house, another took the corpse and buried it under the palm trees. His glasses were sent to them. Soon, they hope to unite his remains and to be able to give him a dignified burial.
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We leave for Palmyra and cross almost alone a hard mud drilling. It is a desert without ‘glamour‘. With us travels a colonel to guarantee our protection.
In this area the IS takes advantage of sandstorms to attack. “They are like zombies“, the colonel frightens us. “They are drugged and do not feel the bullets, you have to shoot them in the head to kill them“.
We take the real danger behind the wheel. Abu Raed is able to comb his hair at 120 per hour.
A gas plant reminds us of a controversial version of the conflict: the gas pipeline that will bring energy to Europe. Before the war, the Syrian government received two proposals. One from Qatar, endorsed by the United States, Turkey and the Gulf monarchies; and another from Iran, backed by Russia. This narrative, defended by some international media, is also the most widespread on the side of El ASad. In the West many consider it pure propaganda.
In a technical stop at the edge of the road, we find clues of who has placed more boots on the ground at the moment.
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In the store they sell remarkable amounts of vodka.
We pass the T4, the air base bombed by the Israelis a month before we arrived. Several Iranian soldiers died.
Our journey is a lesson in geopolitics.
Our thoughts are accompanied by the car radio, when suddenly a line from Adele’s song “Hello from the other side” rings out.
We arrive at a checkpoint and notice that we really are on the other side. The official weapon here is the Kalashnikov, and the usual suspects are, from the West’s point of view, the local allies.
A poster shows them in front of the ruins of Palmyra. It is signed by a section of the Muchabarat, the dreaded Syrian secret service. Our assistant is reluctant to translate, and we feel uncomfortable because we are here with the permission of a government that is going to be charged with war crimes; but we also know it‘s the only way to reach our destination.
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In Palmyra we stay in a private house with a beautiful view; it is in an alley that ends with a barricade of rubble and rubbish.
Right behind, a flag flies over the Russian base, and in the background towers the castle of Mamluk, a severe Islamic edifice from the Crusader era.
We are told that the museum in Palmyra was destroyed. The terrorists came with sledgehammers to destroy everything.
There are no longer any visitors, only military personnel. As expected, we see no tourists in Palmyra.
We learn that the fanatics used the castle as an Islamic court.
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A bleak sight.
We are told this a few days later in Beirut, by Cristina Menegazzi, the UNESCO representative for the preservation of Syrian cultural heritage.
She was in Palmyra after the first liberation in 2016. “It still smelled like IS,” she recalls.
She maintains good relations with the Syrian government and distinguishes between technical and political aspects. “There is no such thing as black and white.” For her, Palmyra is “a place of cultural encounter and exchange.”
When the Romans arrived, the area resembled Nazareth, home of Jesus Christ. Aramaic was also spoken here. With the blossoming of commerce between East and West, a rich, diverse culture emerged.
The statues are witnesses to that heyday – defeated by ignorance.
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Life in the modern city of Palmyra revolves around this corner shop.
We are led by Jumma, a clever 15-year-old who is rock-hard. He speaks fluent Russian and is also our landlord. Most of his customers are military men.
There are many Russians. But we also see oriental faces. “Afghans,“ one of our guides tells us.
Another shop sells military items and Palmyra souvenirs alongside portraits of Assad and Putin. It is very full. It seems that the whole city is a single Russian base.
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We have climbed the Mamluk castle to watch the sun rise over the ruins. We want to experience a magical moment, but from above we are surprised by a large contingent of military; the setting is reminiscent of a “Risk” board. What is this war actually about? Throughout our journey we have received different answers to this question:
In Damascus, the chief archaeologist of the classical period at the National Museum, Qasem AlMohammad, says: “Today, Washington is Rome. Russia, Iran and China are the East. Every empire will eventually go under and the US is already stumbling. When I consider the history, I believe that China will win.” He also sees the West as divided, as Byzantium once was.
Europe and America are no longer pulling in the same direction.
Russian General Yury Yevtushenko puts it in a nutshell:
“Every war has its benefits.“
In this region, some see only the markings for gas pipelines.
And then there is the view of the Bedouins: empires come and go, the Bedouins remain. This family from Palmyra fled into the desert when IS arrived. They know every stone, every well, nature’s secrets.
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The jihadists invaded Palmyra in May 2015. They killed hundreds of people and destroyed the grim government prison of Palmyra, where the dissidents were wasting away. Many soldiers of the caliphate come from such prisons.
In this war, all sides seem to only agree on one thing: the IS terrorists must be exterminated.
We are taken to one of their hideouts, a stinking cellar. We catch sight of their sparse food.
The Islamic State managed to create an effective bureaucratic apparatus. It issued charters and certificates and reorganized the streets. Our guides show us every tiny detail.
They realise that the fight against terror can also help them in the media struggle.
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Their trump card against Islamism is the ostensibly modern secular state that Bashar al Assad wanted to establish, when he succeeded his father Hafiz.
We visit the only functioning hospital in the area. It is heavily guarded; the hallways are bustling with activity.
Passing through, we see wounded members of the Syrian army coming from the front. They were attacked a few hours ago by jihadists in Deir ez-Zor, about 180 kilometres away. US troops are also nearby.
But, as we are told right away, “Nobody invited them.”
The medical team hardly slept that night. The hospital director, Dr. Walid Mohamed Ode, explains to us that they are continuing to work at full speed.
“We are still at war.”
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Eventually we reach the ruins of Palmyra. Behind them lie the oasis and the desert, the borders of Rome. On the other side, the Parthians lived. The two empires shared the then-known world.
In actual fact, there has been no peace here for millennia.
The officer explains the IS’s blasting technique. He is an unusual travel guide, and the place makes him melancholy.
“These stones will last forever. However, nothing will remain of us,” he says pensively. “Neither can extinguish the other. We should have faith in dialogue.”
Here two stories run parallel, and we jump from the past into the present. The ancient rows of columns are covered in graffiti from the jihadists, and the militias who liberated the place.
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In ancient Palmyra they worshipped their own Semitic gods. Perhaps the temple of Baalshamin, Lord of Heaven, can be restored. The ruins are quite large.
In the Roman theatre, the radical Islamists scaled the proscenium to perform a bloody game of execution. After the liberation, Putin organized a classical concert; he brought in an orchestra from St. Petersburg.
The bullet cases seem to tell us something. We have a sinking feeling in our stomachs. The symbols are difficult to interpret.
The pillars stand there like mute witnesses. The ropes, from which the corpses dangled, are still hanging.
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It’s getting dark, and there is silence in the Baal temple. You want to sink to your knees. Our companions grant us the uncertain privilege of walking across the debris. We touch the stones with our hands, centuries-old history that has been reduced to rubble and ashes. It is hard to believe that the gate is still standing. We go through it as if driven by an ancient power. Here, on the other side, the spirit of ancient gods and civilisations is at work, and also that of a fanatical madness that, since the beginning of time, has driven humans to kill one another.
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The scattered debris seems like a warning that is difficult to put into words. We return to our accommodation in thoughtful silence. Drinking an evening beer with the officer, we watch as flares are shot from the Russian base into the sky. “Fireworks,” joke the locals. It does not seem very inviting to tourists. But they say that the door is open.
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