Argument

Hezbollah's Fallen Soldiers

The self-proclaimed "Party of God" is throwing its fighters into Syria's bloody war. And according to its own media sources, it has already suffered significant losses.

Hezbollah is throwing its men into battle in the Syrian city of Qusayr, and many are returning to Lebanon in coffins. Through their funerals and commemorations posted on pro-Hezbollah Facebook pages, we are now getting a sense of the casualties that the self-proclaimed "Party of God" is suffering as it joins the Syrian conflict on the side of President Bashar al-Assad.

It's no secret why Qusayr is a vital piece of real estate for both the Syrian regime and the Lebanese paramilitary group. The city is a strategic link in the Syrian communications chain, connecting the capital of Damascus, Syria's Alawite-dominated coastal highlands, and Hezbollah's heartland in Lebanon's Beqaa Valley. The Lebanese border is only a few miles to the city's west, and the Damascus-Aleppo highway lies to its east.

Hezbollah maintains a tight lid on information about its fighters. The Lebanese paramilitary organization does not acknowledge that its fighters are being killed in Syria, and employs vague language to explain their deaths: All fighters who have been killed in Syria are said to have died performing their "Jihadist duties." Secretary of State John Kerry said on May 22 there were "several thousands" of Hezbollah fighters engaged in combat in Syria.

But Hezbollah can't conceal the reality of their fighters' deaths in Syria entirely. The group often announces a fighter's death on the day of the funeral, or a day before it. These funerals are carefully scripted, and access by non-Hezbollah media is severely restricted. New York Times reporter Anne Barnard was even thrown out of a funeral when she was covering the death of Hassan Faysal Shuker, one of 12 dead Hezbollah members named by the organization during the height of the fighting in Qusayr.

Utilizing a mixture of YouTube videos of funerals and of the fighters, Hezbollah's official announcements, webpages for Hezbollah-controlled towns and villages, quasi-official Facebook pages (including the personal pages of some Hezbollah members), and Hezbollah web forums, I have been able to compile figures tracking the party's dead in Syria. While this system primarily relies on Hezbollah sources, which tend to conceal total numbers of dead, it has so far provided roughly three to 10 hours of advance knowledge of a Hezbollah member's death before their passing is announced on Hezbollah's official al-Manar television station.

Facebook announcements of Hezbollah fighters' deaths are not just the work of overzealous activists or family members. The vast majority of posted photos and announcements appear to have been approved by Hezbollah's extensive media apparatus. Many Facebook announcements overlap with the party's official forum, Qawem.org. This suggests the same administrators at that forum also run many of the myriad pro-Hezbollah Facebook pages.

Based on these official Hezbollah and pro-Hezbollah sources, I counted a total of 20 Hezbollah members killed from the period starting on May 18 until mid-day on May 20. Due to the timing of the announcements, it stands to reason that a majority of these fighters died while engaged in the heavy fighting around Qusayr.

Despite Hezbollah's obscuring of facts surrounding their dead, it is clear their supporters know these men met their end in Syria. Chants of "Labayka ya Zaynab" ("We are here for you, O Zaynab") are ubiquitous at funerals for Hezbollah's martyrs. The highly sectarian and mantra-like chant references the Zaynab mosque in Damascus, an important Shia shrine near Damascus and a gathering point for pro-Iranian foreign fighters in Syria.

Qusayr isn't Hezbollah's first battle in Syria -- for months, its militiamen have also taken part in fighting around the Zaynab shrine. While in Damascus, Hezbollah members tend to operate under the moniker of a group called Liwa Abu Fadl al-Abbas (LAFA). The group is comprised of fighters from throughout the Shia world, the vast majority coming from Iranian proxy parties in Iraq and from Hezbollah. The group takes its name from a legendary Shiite fighter who was martyred during the Battle of Karbala, a central event in Shiism. Hezbollah's dead are often also claimed by LAFA on their wide network of Facebook pages.

When a Hezbollah fighter is killed, the party often releases a photograph of the militiaman when he was still living. Their posters sometimes feature the Zaynab shrine's golden dome in the background. Hezbollah's semi-official Facebook announcements tend to offer the best information of the circumstances of a fighter's death: Some photographs are posted with a caption reading "[Died while] defending Sayyida [Lady] Zaynab" or "martyred during the sacred defense."

Sometimes, there is enough publicly available information about a fallen Hezbollah militiaman to reach a conclusion about where he was fighting at the time of his death. The case of Hezbollah’s “Haidar” Ali Jamal Jishi presents the perfect case where cross-referencing on YouTube, Facebook, and official Hezbollah pages established, without a doubt, that he was operating in Damascus. In one video, Jishi is seen firing a recoilless rifle in Damascus's Midan neighborhood. Semi-official Facebook announcements of his death said he died "defending Sayda Zaynab." Jishi was also pictured fighting in an urban area, and some of his martyrdom posters feature the gold dome of the shrine. However, Jishi's case is a rarity -- in most cases, it is difficult to determine with any degree of certainty where a Hezbollah fighter died.

Other death notices suggest strongly that Hezbollah fighters were killed in Qusayr. One of the deceased fighters, Muhammed Fouad Raba', was pictured in an April 15 photo with what appears to be a Syrian military ZSU-23-4 anti-aircraft gun. The photo's date also coincides with the beginning of the joint Syrian military-Hezbollah assault on Qusayr.

Hezbollah Secretary General Hassan Nasrallah has explained his party's involvement in Syria by saying that it is an ad hoc effort by fighters from areas bordering the conflict zone to protect Shia villages within Syria. But the information coming to light about the dead belie that claim: Hezbollah's slain fighters come from a diverse set of locations within Lebanon, from towns in the central Beqaa to southern Lebanese towns on the Israel-Lebanon border. While burials of the Hezbollah fighters occur in these villages and towns, it is still hard to gauge where exactly they were living in Lebanon prior to the fighting in Syria, as funerals are generally held in those areas from where their families originated.

Another narrative, primarily one emerging from pro-rebel sources, was that Hezbollah was mainly losing young men. This too appears to be incorrect: While ages of those killed are very rarely posted by any Hezbollah-affiliated source, a number of older members have been killed in Syria. Ahmed Kamal Khurees, a Hezbollah fighter from the southern Lebanese town of Khiam, sports a white beard in his martyrdom photo. Fadi Muhammed Jazar, a Hezbollah member -- and possible commander -- who served time in Israeli prisons and was released during a 2004 Hezbollah-Israel prisoner exchange, was no youngster. Ibrahim Husayn, reportedly a Hezbollah commander, was also an older fighter. The presence of veteran fighters in Syria underlines the importance of this campaign for Hezbollah.

As fighting around Qusayr continues and announcements of new deaths flood in, one thing is certain: Hezbollah's involvement in Syria will only continue to grow. The group's slain fighters will now find graves in the soil of Lebanon, and on pages commemorating their life and death on Facebook.

STR/AFP/Getty Images

Democracy Lab

The Optimist's Case for Yemen

Her country is in turmoil. But Yemen’s Nobel Peace Prize Laureate believes that the revolution can still succeed.

Tawakkol Karman is a firecracker. Her eyes sparkle; her smile is warm and contagious. She wears a vibrant, colorful headscarf. This is a woman burning with intelligence, energy, and idealism. 

In Yemen they call her the "Iron Woman" and the "Mother of the Revolution." When she won the Nobel Peace Prize at age 32 in 2011, she was the youngest person ever to do so. (She was a co-recipient with Liberian President Ellen Johnson Sirleaf and Liberian peace activist Leymah Gbowee). Karman is only the second Muslim woman to have won the prestigious award. (Iranian human rights lawyer Shirin Ebadi was the first, in 2003.) 

And Tawakkol Karman now finds herself and her work in a very tight spot. 

I'm in Qatar, where I chaired an opening session of the Doha Forum that included the kinetic and inimitable Karman. The mood here hasn't exactly been cheerful. In one session, a Gulf participant sardonically challenges an E.U. ambassador to explain how Europe can help the people of Syria "when it has no fighters to send." In another, a pro-democracy Egyptian tells the assembled that "Egypt is in deep shit." 

Then there's Karman's Yemen. She has become the symbol, and the inspiration, of a country that is more than a little wobbly. Over a cup of tea in a quiet corner of our hotel lobby bar, Karman generously devotes part of her morning trying to peel for me at least a few of the layers. 

Start with very recent history. In 2011 Yemen saw massive protests against the regime of Ali Abdullah Saleh who had ruled Yemen since 1978 (a year longer than Hosni Mubarak reigned in Egypt). Karman played a key role in organizing the protest movement and quickly became the public face of the anti-regime demonstrations. 

Karman began her career as an activist around 2005. "I learned at home growing up," she tells me, "you don't wait for solutions, you go out and find them." As chair of the group Women Journalists Without Chains, she fought routinely to get dissidents out of prison -- that is, when the mother of three wasn't in jail herself. In 2006 Karman started an SMS campaign that reached 200,000 people across the country. "This was most dangerous," she recounts with a note of evident satisfaction, since all texting in the country had, until then, been under the exclusive control of the military. To pull all this off, Karman was assisted by two of her brothers, both programmers. 

Karman's entirely self-taught English is broken, but clear and colloquial. She's even picked up the expression "look" to begin sentences where she wants to push a point. When I ask Karman about her penchant for fashionable hijabs, she laughs and responds, "Look, I used to wear the full burqa until 2005 or so!" 

Karman is a journalist, an advocate of human rights (a labor of love shared by her husband), and a visionary. She states repeatedly in interviews that she wants democracy, rule of law, and western-style human rights for Yemen. Is she realistic about the future? As she described her goals for the planet in her Nobel acceptance speech, she asked at one point, "Am I dreaming?" (Imagination seems to run in the family; her brother Tariq is a poet.) 

But there is now at least a mechanism for reform and a concrete path forward for her country. 

When things in Yemen finally came to a head two years ago, then-President Saleh transferred power to his deputy, Abdu Rabbu Mansour Hadi. Hadi became president in a February 2012 election in which he ran unopposed. Since then, the country has embarked on a process of reconciliation. 

On March 18 Yemen launched its National Dialogue, a consultative process that encompasses more than 500 representatives from across the country. Among their ambitious aims: to amend the constitution; to reconcile groups in armed conflict; to tackle issues of governance; to re-work Yemen's social contract; and to prepare the country for general elections in 2014. 

One challenge for Yemen is the sheer enormity of the country's problems, including wide-spread poverty, illiteracy, crime, corruption, internal armed conflict, threat of civil war, and a growing al Qaeda presence. 

Another is that the National Dialogue is revealing just how deep the country's social and political fissures are. Most representatives from the southern separatist movement have refused to participate; two more withdrew earlier this month. Prime Minister Mohammed Basindwa, having fallen out with President Hadi, declined to join as well. Also absent is the influential tribal leader Hamid al-Ahmar as well as -- calamitously, one might think -- the most famous Yemeni of them all, Karman herself. 

Karman protests that too many culprits from the former regime are involved in the National Dialogue. She also laments the lack of women, young people, and civil society leaders around the table. Nevertheless, she's not at all pessimistic. She thinks the National Dialogue can succeed. I push her to explain her near pathological optimism for her country's future, the work of the National Dialogue included. Karman keeps reminding me that all progress is relative and that her country has already made truly unimaginable advances in just a few years. She has a point. 

Yet Yemen's predicament remains delicate. President Saleh once said, in fact, that politics in his country is "like dancing on the heads of snakes." There's simply no single person, party, or plan that can move things forward smoothly without serious conflict. In truth, Karman's homeland -- she beams with pride and patriotism when speaking of her nation's history and fellow countrymen -- is at real risk of becoming a failed state. 

Facing Yemen's future requires nothing less than herculean patience and faith. But Steven Spiegel, director of the UCLA Center for Middle East Development (CMED), argues that the country's turmoil offers opportunities: "Upheaval can be chaos, but it can also be opportunity for reform and development." Spiegel, who has been faithfully supporting democrats in the region for many years, cannot be dismissed out of hand. A few years ago, after all, no one could have possibly predicted that the country would be where it is now. 

Karman has faith. She says that her heroes are Mahatma Gandhi, Nelson Mandela, and Martin Luther King, Jr. (She adds that the American -- "Martin," as she affectionately refers to him -- is her favorite.) 

Of course, it took Americans decades to end segregation. Do Karman and her allies have the patience? She certainly has the vision.

MOHAMMED HUWAIS/AFP/Getty Images