Argument

When Assad Won

A bloody six-year civil war fought against Bashar al-Assad's father presents a cautionary tale for Syria's modern-day rebels.

It was a massacre. On June 16, 1979, Capt. Ibrahim Yusuf ordered some 200 cadets at the Aleppo Artillery School to attend an urgent meeting in the mess hall. Once they were assembled, he opened the door to a squad of gunmen who opened fire on the defenseless crowd. At least 32 cadets, most belonging to then President Hafez al-Assad's Alawite sect, were cut down in the hail of gunfire and grenades.

The civil war that raged in Syria from 1976 to 1982 was -- until the past 11 months of unrest -- the most severe threat to the Assads' grip on power. The uprising would be crushed, brutally and infamously, with the Hama massacre in 1982. But even before the bloody assault on Hama, the long guerilla war had claimed the lives of thousands of Syrians, and resulted in the imprisonment of at least 10,000 more. The events leading up to the final confrontation should provide the current generation of protesters with a blueprint for how not to overthrow the Assad regime.

The Aleppo attack was not only the bloodiest strike to date against the government, it raised disturbing questions for the Damascus political elite about the fundamental pillars of their power. Yusuf, a Sunni officer, was himself a member of the ruling Baath Party. Assad's enemies, it seemed, had not only risen through the ranks of the army -- they had penetrated into the political heart of the regime.

As the shadow war between the Alawite-dominated security forces and their Sunni opponents continued, Assad's opponents formed an umbrella organization called the Islamic Front in Syria. In November 1980, the front published a manifesto that noted the Alawite community "cannot [indefinitely] dominate the majority in Syria," and that "the [Alawite] minority has forgotten itself and is ignoring the facts of history." It ended with an appeal for the Alawites to abandon "the imposed scourge Hafez al-Assad and his butcher playboy brother [Rifaat] ... [in order to] participate in preventing the tragedy from reaching its sad end."

The campaign of assassinations against leading Syrian officials and Alawite personalities was also gaining steam -- in August 1979, Assad's personal doctor, Muhammed Shahada Khalil, was killed. Other victims included the head of the military's garrison in Hama, the rector of Damascus University, and the prosecutor of the Supreme State Security Court. "Assassination is the only language with which it is possible to communicate with the state," said one of Assad's opponents during his trial in September 1979, according to Nikolaos van Dam's The Struggle for Power in Syria.

The winter of 1979 might have been the most perilous time for the regime: Its leading lights were slowly being snuffed out, its support within key segments of the army and broader population was in doubt, and even its top officials were beginning to breaking away. On Dec. 27, Syrian ambassador to the United Nations Hammud al-Shufi abruptly resigned, due to what he termed "the anti-democratic and repressive methods and corruption of the Assad regime." (No Syrian ambassadors have yet defected during the present unrest.)

The chill of civil war even fell across cities that were not at the center of the violence. Samuel Pickering Jr. -- an acclaimed English professor who would later go on to serve as the model for Robin Williams's character in Dead Poets Society --  taught as a Fulbright scholar in the city of Latakia from the winter of 1979 until the summer of 1980. "The good are silent, and violence has spiraled as the government's secret police have viciously repressed dissent or potential dissent," he wrote in a memoir of his year in Syria. "At times during the year, Aleppo and Hama seemed foreign countries brought back under Damascus's rule only by tank law. ‘You don't know,' a student told me with tears in her eyes. ‘The people die like rain.'"

History is written by the victors, and the story of Syria's civil war is no exception. The Assad regime painted the revolt as a terror campaign waged by "the Muslim Brotherhood," a catch-all phrase that it would wield against its many opponents during the crisis. The story is more complicated than that -- not all opposition to Assad was expressed through violence, and the insurgents did appear to enjoy substantial latent support among segments of Syrian popular opinion. What does appear clear, however, is that the revolt was driven by a wide array of groups that resented the Alawites' rise to preeminence and believed that the Sunnis, which account for roughly 75 percent of the population, were Syria's natural rulers.

Drawing on interviews from Baathist officials in Aleppo, Patrick Seale's Asad: The Struggle for the Middle East estimates that more than 300 leading supporters of the Syrian regime were killed in the city from 1979 to 1981. The violence soon prompted Assad to take a more radical course: In the Seventh Regional Congress, held in December 1979 and January 1980, Assad's younger brother Rifaat won Baathist support for a war to exterminate the Sunni terrorists once and for all. To end the insurgency, he promised to fight "a hundred wars, demolish a million strongholds, and sacrifice a million martyrs."

Rifaat made good on his promise. In March, 30,000 troops of the Third Army Division, under the command of Gen. Shafiq Fayadh, moved from Damascus and Lebanon to seal off Aleppo. They were soon joined by Rifaat's Defense Brigades, a paramilitary force of Assad loyalists that echoes today's shabbiha. According to the Human Rights Watch (HRW) report "Syria Unmasked," which surveyed human rights abuses under the Assad regime, Fayadh stood on a tank turret in the early days of the operation to proclaim that he was "prepared to kill a thousand people a day to rid the city of the Muslim Brother vermin."

The violence wielded by the Syrian military far exceeded anything that the Sunni insurgents could muster. In the year-long occupation of Aleppo, HRW estimates that Assad's security forces killed between 1,000 and 2,000 people -- "some at random, many in summary executions" -- and arrested 8,000 more.

Resistance to the Assad regime was not expressed solely through military means. In March 1980, the same month the military moved on Aleppo, the opposition convinced the markets in Aleppo to strike for two weeks -- a tactic that soon spread to centers of unrest such as Hama, Homs, and Idlib, threatening to destroy Syria's already battered economy.

Trade unions and professional associations also represented a thorn in Assad's side. In early March, they organized street demonstrations in which thousands of people took part across the country, with the striking exception of Damascus. On March 31, the Syrian Bar Association led a number of other professional groups -- such as the Medical Association, the Association of Engineers, and the merchant class -- in a nationwide strike.

Assad's response was as cunning as it was ruthless. He retaliated by dissolving the associations and arresting their leaders. By mid-April, according to HRW, the regime had imprisoned hundreds of doctors, engineers, and lawyers -- many of whom were tortured, and some of whom were summarily executed. Meanwhile, he found allies in the Damascene merchant class and was able to weather the economic storm. According to Seale, the merchants' support for Assad at this critical juncture cemented the regime's relationship with the Damascus businessmen -- an alliance that has persisted through the present day.

Having cut off all avenues of dissent but violence, the Assad regime then moved to ensure that its enemies had no hope of winning through armed revolt. After a failed assassination attempt against Assad on June 26, 1980, the regime's strongmen determined to make the Muslim Brotherhood pay. Less than 24 hours after the attack, Rifaat's Defense Brigades were helicoptered to the desert city of Palmyra, where they were joined by members of the army. In the early morning hours of July 27, they were let loose in Tadmor Prison, one of the primary detention centers for Islamists at the time. They gunned down an estimated 500 prisoners in cold blood.  "The operation lasted about half an hour," an Alawite soldier who took part in the operation told HRW. "During it, there was a terrible tumult, with exploding grenades and cries of ‘Allah Akbar!'"

The Sunni insurgents responded by escalating their campaign of terror in Damascus. In 1981, they bombed the prime minister's office in August, the Air Force headquarters in September, and a military recruitment center in November. In February 1982, the "Islamic Revolution Command in Syria" claimed credit for bombing the Damascus offices of the regime's al-Baath newspaper, killing at least 76 people. "It was a great accomplishment to be added to the series of tremendous explosions carried out by the mujahidin," the statement read. "We draw attention to the fact that all the Syrian information media are nationalized and that the explosion was timed for all the authority's hirelings to be present."

For all the stresses put on the Syrian regime, the sharp and unbridgeable sectarian rifts that the conflict had opened made it virtually impossible for the Alawite ruling class to do anything but fight to the death. "[The Muslim Brotherhood] has succeeded in widening the distance between the government and the majority of the people, but not in destabilizing the regime," wrote the historian Hanna Batatu in December 1982. "Instead of splitting the ‘Alawis and thus weakening their foothold in the army, they have, by their anti-‘Alawi practical line, frightened the ‘Alawi community into rallying behind Asad."

With the military remaining largely loyal, nothing could stop Assad from crushing the opposition's strongholds. By the time the city of Hama rose in open revolt in February 1982, the stage was set for a final confrontation between Assad's opponents and more than 10,000 well-equipped Syrian security forces -- a battle the Sunni insurgents could not hope to win. The Hama massacre, which claimed the lives of anywhere from 10,000 to 25,000 Syrians, according to an Amnesty International report from the period, may have permanently stained the reputation of the Assad dynasty in the eyes of the world, but it also crushed the organized Islamist insurgency in Syria and paved the way for three more decades of relatively unchallenged rule by the Assads. In the end, the Sunni insurgency of the late 1970s and early 1980s was too focused on Sunni revivalism, too shadowy -- simultaneously too violent to attract widespread support and not violent enough to pose an existential threat to the regime.

Could the modern-day opponents of Bashar al-Assad, Hafez's son, suffer the same fate as the insurgents of years past? Luckily for today's opposition, it is no carbon copy of the movement in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Most notably, popular nonviolent protests have been a mainstay of the effort to topple Assad. In major cities such as Hama, Homs, and recently Damascus, Syrians have taken to the streets to call for the end of the regime -- lending the opposition a degree of popular legitimacy it never achieved in the 1980s. Defections from the Syrian military are also higher than they ever were under Hafez al-Assad's watch, and by all accounts are growing more numerous and effective. And the opposition's political representatives, such as the Syrian National Council, may have myriad problems -- but they are still savvier than the underground "Islamic Front" that guided the opposition to Hafez.

But at the same time, Syria's revolutionaries have not been able to make a complete break with the past. After months of largely peaceful protest, the effort to topple Assad is increasingly defined as a struggle between Syria's security forces and an armed insurgency. According to activists' own figures, the past two months have seen a higher proportion of Syrian soldiers killed than at any other point in the revolt -- totaling roughly 25 percent of the total deaths. This surge in violence has also been marked, in the past two weeks, by devastating car bombings in Aleppo and the first assassination of a Syrian general -- tactics that carry an echo of the dark days of civil war.

This new generation of Syrian revolutionaries has brought the Assad regime closer to collapse than it has ever been in its four-decade history. But if they are to push it over the edge, they would do well to learn from the cautionary tale of their elders.

RAMZI HAIDAR/AFP/Getty Images

Argument

Dealing with the Kims

North Korean negotiators are a tough, wily bunch. But Americans have outfoxed them before.

This week's meeting between U.S. Special Envoy Glyn Davies and North Korean First Vice Foreign Minister Kim Gye Gwan will be the first official encounter between the United States and North Korea since the death of Kim Jong Il two months ago. After endless speculation by the press and experts about the future of North Korea, this meeting will be an important reality check: an opportunity to take the pulse of the new management in Pyongyang, and particularly to discern changes or continuity in its efforts to build weapons of mass destruction.

Even on a good day, of course, we underestimate the difficulties of dealing with North Korea at our peril. Korea specialists are fond of calling it the "land of no good options" (although that is probably true for many foreign-policy challenges facing the United States today). The North remains the poster child for rogue states because of 60 years of bad behavior, including its more recent nuclear and missile tests in 2006 and 2009 and conventional military attacks on South Korea in 2010. If there is anyone who knows that, it's those of us who have had direct experience dealing with North Koreans at the negotiating table, on the ground, or conducting any other business face-to-face with them.

(I will never forget one of my first visits as a U.S. government official to the Yongbyon nuclear facility in 1996, when I was harangued by a senior North Korean engineer who complained bitterly about the United States and its treatment of his country for what felt like hours. I let him speak his peace, though I considered an equally nasty response that would have made my friends from New York proud. In the end, I responded in true State Department fashion that I would tell my superiors about his concerns and suggested we get down to business. He rapidly shifted gears and our talks were successful.)

At the same time, what is striking about the discourse in Washington these days is that we seem to have bought into myths that make Pyongyang appear 10 feet tall. The most egregious has to do with negotiating with North Korea. For the past three years, the Obama administration has harped on the dangers of talking to the North Koreans, emitting a steady stream of platitudes such as not "buying the same horse twice," or "talking for talk's sake" that make it sound like they have taken us to the cleaners more than once in the past.

When I was in the State Department, we use to joke that the North Koreans and the Israelis would be quite a matchup in the "World Series" of negotiators. The North Koreans are tough customers. But a myth-free examination of the past two decades reveals a reality Americans for some reason refuse to recognize -- the United States has done very well negotiating with Pyongyang.

Take the 1994 U.S.-North Korea Agreed Framework that provided for the eventual dismantlement of North Korea's nuclear program. In return, the North was to receive two new light-water reactors as well as heavy fuel oil. Moreover, because of the better political relationships that followed with the United States, Japan, and South Korea, food and other forms of assistance were provided to the North that might not have been forthcoming under more difficult circumstances.

The 1994 agreement has been subjected to a lot of criticism as appeasement of North Korea. But for the people who worked on it, there was one stark reality that almost all the pundits neglect. In 1993, secret American intelligence estimates projected that North Korea could have enough fissile material -- plutonium -- for a stockpile approaching anywhere from 60-100 nuclear weapons by the year 2000. Unlike the later case of Iraq, those estimates were largely based on satellite photography of Pyongyang's nuclear facilities, not on information provided by some top-secret source like the infamous "Curveball." A North Korea armed to the teeth with so many nuclear weapons was viewed, to put it mildly, as a serious threat.

The heart of Pyongyang's program was three nuclear reactors, along with a football field-long plant intended to separate the plutonium produced from other waste products. The smallest, the five megawatt reactor, was completed in 1986 and could produce enough plutonium for approximately one nuclear bomb every year.  The two much larger facilities were slated for completion during the 1990s -- a 50 MW reactor by mid-decade that could produce enough plutonium for 8-10 bombs per year and a 200 MW facility by the end of the decade that seemed intended to produce electricity but might also have churned out bomb-making material.

Fast forward to 2002, when the Agreed Framework collapsed. North Korea was left with enough fissile material for only a handful of nuclear weapons, far short of the original estimates in 1993. Moreover, the North Koreans had not even bothered to maintain some of these important facilities over the lifetime of the agreement. For example, when Siegfried Hecker, the former head of the Los Alamos National Laboratory, visited the 50 MW reactor in 2004, he found the building in a "terrible state of repair" resembling a "deserted structure." As a result, when the framework collapsed, the North Koreans were left with piles of unsalvageable junk -- not the best return on a decades-long effort to build nuclear weapons that cost them billions if not tens of billions of dollars they could scarcely afford.

The North Koreans, of course, did get something in return. They received 500,000 metric tons of heavy fuel oil per year for almost eight years as well as other types of indirect assistance provided outside of the framework agreement. But today, their only lasting monuments to that deal are two concrete-filled holes in the ground where the light-water reactors promised them were never completed. That’s no accident: American negotiators were smart enough to structure a step-by-step arrangement. If the North Koreans didn’t perform in meeting our denuclearization demands -- and they didn’t -- the project would halt. Moreover, almost all of the $2 billion spent on those reactors went to overseas companies, not to the North Koreans.


Which country ended up with the better deal? It’s pretty clear -- the United States. Since 2002, the North Koreans have been playing catch-up ball. They have conducted two nuclear tests, produced what little plutonium they could from remaining facilities, and tried to get a uranium enrichment program off the ground. They now have a small arsenal estimated at up to 8 weapons that may gradually grow over the rest of the decade if their program to produce highly enriched uranium progresses. But that’s a far cry from what U.S. intelligence projected for the beginning of this decade and the almost 200 weapons they would have today without the Agreed Framework.

Of course, there are other reasons why the Obama administration has shied away from negotiations with Pyongyang. Aside from North Korea’s bad behavior, Washington has felt a strong need to stick very close to a conservative South Korean ally that, rather than talking to the North, believed pressure and isolation was the best course of action to extract concessions from Pyongyang. That view has proved wrong; Pyongyang has continued down the WMD path and even launched conventional military strikes against the South in 2010. Shying away from negotiations has also protected the administration from the inevitable Republican criticism but has denied us a valuable tool in stopping the North Korean threat.

Nobody is under the illusion that negotiating with Pyongyang is easy. But with the resumption of U.S.-North Korean talks in Beijing, hopefully leading to new sessions of the six-party denuclearization negotiations, Washington needs to put aside its myths. Yes, the United States has to be very careful when it talks to Pyongyang. And yes, there have been instances when our negotiators were not careful enough. But the reality is that diplomacy with North Korea has served American interests well in the past and can do so again in the future.

AFP/Getty Images