Some days I picked up Samar Yazbek’s A Woman in the Crossfire, to read only two pages, and set it aside.
Other days I picked it up and forced myself to read a certain number of sections (being that it’s a diary).
Afterwards, whether a couple of pages or a couple of sections, I would adopt some simple task – chopping vegetables or washing the dishes, ironing or carting the compost to the bin –tasks requiring little concentration, while the images from the diary loosened and dissipated.
Unsurprisingly, these Diaries of the Syrian Revolution are grim reading.
In translation by Max Weiss, the prose is clear, even perfunctory. That’s just what I needed. A year ago, I could not have located Syria on an unlabelled map. Samar Yazbek’s name was not one I recognized, nor did I understand how unusual it was for someone in her family (which supports the regime) to have broken with tradition to expose what she witnesses of the revolutionary activity in her homeland. This book might not be intended as a beginning, but it offers me a way into the subject, a path towards understanding.
She writes: “I was a traitor to my sect for being on the side of the demonstrators. I wrote two pieces about the protest movement, in which I talked about the practices of violence and killing and arrest carried out by the security forces. They responded by posting articles on a mukhabarati website discussing my relationship with American agents, a ready-made excuse the security apparatus would always resort to in order to clamp down on people who have their own opinions.”
The role that social media plays in her story is fascinating. For instance, that’s how she learns of her family’s disavowal of ties to her. “I am the daughter of a well-known Alawite family, a family that supports the regime absolutely and that now considers me a traitor and a shame upon them, to the point that some members of the family announced on Facebook that in Jableh I am no longer consider one of them, publicly disowning me.”
All because she attempts to access parts of the region which have been restricted, in an effort to determine if she can witness the activities which are reported to be taking place there (usually what she observes is different from the reporting, sometimes the opposite of what the regime is reporting).
Interview with Samar Yazbek and Frontline Club in 2012 (1 hour, 21 minutes)
She also conducts interviews and records testimonies which are relayed in detail. Extracting a few lines from these feels disrespectful to the survivors, who relive these traumas to share their experiences. In turn, Samar Yazbek engages with that trauma as she transcribes their accounts.
Often she questions her ability to continue. “In that moment I also understood how important it is for a human being to be capable of regenerating herself and bringing her dead cells back to life; this may seem like a line out of a book but it’s a real feeling and not a metaphor I write down in words here.”
The blunt and deliberate summary statements are filled with horrors. “Things in al-Baida are becoming clearer. After enough time passes, history will record how human beings here were carted off to prison like cattle, how women came out to defend their husbands and their children, how children shouted even as they were being arrested, how blood was spilled in the streets, and how bodies were left out in the open air.” The personal accounts are shattering. But what is the alternative? To forget them, to ignore them?
She appreciates irony and she comments on how the wider world seems to be carrying on as though these terrors are not unfolding. “The Arab and non-Arab channels broadcast the wedding of William and Kate,” she writes, on a day when 62 peaceful protestors are killed, when her daughter weeps as Samar prepares to leave the house again, fearful that her mother will not return.
At times, she doesn’t feel as though she can continue with her writing. At times, the writing is all that keeps her going. She writes that “…these diaries were helping me to stay alive; they were my walking stick these days.” They are a sustaining force: “As I transcribed the stories about the uprising, I also draw strength from them.”
And this is essential. Because all the rest of it is brutal and bloody. “The murderers and I are from the same city. Some of their blood flows in mine. Some of my relatives are theirs, people who embrace murder and bloodshed. I am weighed down with a heavy burden in the face of all this death.”
In the face of all this death, reading seems like such a meaningless gesture. But I suppose writing felt like that for her sometimes too.
I know I would learn a tonne from this book. And that makes me want to read it. Good choice for #ReadtheChange! What a horrifying and sad thought that we were all watching the royal wedding (well, not me, but I’m sure I was doing something else similarly useless) while people were being killed. I think we are so used to “things” going on “over there” that we, for the most part, just ignore it and feel glad that it’s not us. But those of us here in NS have recently had a little wake up call – it can happen anywhere! 🙁
That’s true! Another reason that I was determined to read this book, also, is it’s having been written by a woman. (Women also having been the primary targets of the mass shooting you’ve referred to.) So often, when we do read about war, it’s from the perspective of soldiers or men involved with the process of waging war. But here we have an actual account by a woman who lived through these events. There are many instances in the story when she is simply sitting in a vehicle, which is driven by a man, either trying to determine what direction she needs to travel in order to learn whether something reported is actually true, or trying to convince the driver to go further into an area which he is reluctant to enter (or thinks she should be reluctant to enter): she’s always negotiating to move beyond the idea of what she is expected to do.
Interesting!!
A difficult book. Reading Lolita in Tehran comes to mind. Not as grim, I would say, but it had a strong impact on me. Last month I read Davis’ The Meaning of Freedom and it was fascinating to learn about all the intricacies concerning the private prison business in USA.
I spent a bit of time reading Iranian women last year and rereading Azar Nafisi’s classic: did you know that she’s written a few since then? I really enjoyed rereading RLIT but I actually enjoyed a couple of the others even more (including a memoir of her parents which was quite interesting). If you haven’t seen 13th, I bet that would add another layer to the Davis reading; it’s an amazing film (and the making-of video is also fascinating).
Yes! I’ve read ”The Republic of Imagination: America in Three Books” and I’m intending to reread it one day. After I’ve read a bit more Mark Twain, maybe. Her ”Things I’ve Been Silent About” is also on my list..
13th I haven’t seen. Thank you for the recommendation! I’ll make time for it by the end of the week.
Oh, what Twain are you reading? I thought you were into Calvino and Levi — what did I miss? Oh, maybe your blog is only for your reading the world project, but you’re reading other stuff too? I ask because I have Tom Sawyer on my list for this year and have been looking for a reason to nudge it up the stack.
I have been reading other books besides the project (not so many), but not Twain. I referred to him because Nafisi talks a lot about Huckleberry Finn in the book. She is not the only reason I would like to explore his writing, though. Over the years I have read a lot of texts which quoted him, so I got an idea of what his philosophy is like. Finn and Sawyer are classics and the only other book I’ve read is Eve’s Diary, which is short and very interesting. I remember also that I had began reading What Is Man? but decided I should wait. I think I was too busy to give it proper time and reflection.
I am sorry for this very late reply. I’m just getting back to the blog after many months of neglect.
That makes sense, she does. In high school, we were assigned Huck (even though I think it’s more commonly an assigned text in the U.S. rather than here in Canada) and I loved it. Other things I’ve read since have, like you, made me curious indeed. Also, the publication of those massive autobiographical volumes piques my interest too.
It’s a pleasure to hear from you, whenever. I’m glad to hear you’re back to reading and writing again!
Wow, I can see how reading a book like this would be a burden, but how important it is as well. How amazing that she found hope and strength in writing it, I can only hope potential readers will be just as brave. The idea of living through tragedy while others celebrate a royal wedding is such a stark example of the crazy world we live in…
It certainly brought the point home to me, as I watched that wedding. (I’m not personally a royals-watcher but I have ancestors who were loyal royals watchers and I watched that broadcast with them in mind.) And I had no clue about these atrocities unfolding. No clue. There’s no shortage of #ReadTheChange books, that’s for sure.
The horror of this is unimaginable for those of us fortunate enough to be so far removed from it in the comfort of our own homes. It’s as if we’re in an entirely differnt universe even considering our current covid 19 predicament.
It does feel like that and, yet, we are also fortunate to be able to read about this subject, to have had her accounting survive and be translated. I can’t recall who originally recommended this book to me (when it was new) but I’m grateful for the suggestion.
I admire you being able to read this. I know that books like this are so important but I don’t have the emotional strength to take this on right now. Maybe when the world is more normal, because this kind of story needs to be told.
Paradoxically, I have found that the current global situation makes me more interested in reading this kind of volume than ever. But I do still find it difficult to watch documentaries on such subjects.