My dad never served in the Syrian Army; I have. Like countless young Syrians before and since, I joined the army to "serve the flag" right after graduating from Damascus University back in 1983. This national duty—in reality a tax—was, and still is, universally imposed on Syrian men with few exceptions. Unlike professional military men, those subject to this “national duty” receive no compensation worthy of the name. Instead, many have to pay in cash or kind to survive what practically amounts to two years (often more) of thinly disguised slavery.
For a professional school graduate like myself, life in the army was bearable, though not pretty. I got to meet interesting people from different religious, cultural, educational, and economic backgrounds. We all spoke the same language, of course, with wildly varied accents. The best way to classify those men, however, was simply on the basis of their military career, or the lack of it: were they professional soldiers or, like myself, serving their two years and counting the days and hours to put it all behind their back? Secondly, if they were professional soldiers, what was their rank?
Needless to say, rank was of utmost importance. At the very top, we had the colonel commanding the armored brigade where I served. Everyone feared and respected him. He was the ultimate bogeyman. No other person in the entire brigade had such an aura surrounding his person. For his subordinates, he was authority incarnate, and his word would send just about anyone to jail, where torture was not uncommon. Under this colonel came his deputy, also a colonel but with far less extensive powers; another colonel in charge of logistics; and several majors, captains, and lieutenants in charge of the different battalions and other departments. Quite a few of the professional officers, the very same ones brown-nosing to the colonel, were arrogant, condescending, and quite brutal in dealing with their subordinates, but what I found most interesting by far was that even the lowliest soldier somehow considered himself worthier than civilians. How could that be?
The colonel in charge of logistics was a kindly man in his fifties and about to retire. He once shared a dinner with a few young college graduates serving in the army, myself included. He was in a good mood and dealt with us almost as equals, referring to himself by his nickname, Abu Raymond. He told us about the many years he spent in the army and how he studied to upgrade his status from that of an NCO to an officer. He then proceeded, with no solicitation on our part whatsoever, to tell us that “absolutely no one” who could manage a trade or profession would opt for a military career. Those who join the army, he emphatically stressed, do so as a last resort when all other doors are practically shut.
Abu Raymond’s honesty was admirable, of course, but he did no more than say loud and clear what everybody knew. The army in Syria facilitates social mobility for poor young men. Some of those young men are very intelligent and genuinely want a military career—I happen to personally know one or two exceptions to Abu Raymond’s rule—but those are few and far between. The vast majority were average and below average and could therefore not realistically hope to apply for medical or engineering schools, traditionally the turf of the best and brightest. Add to that that they were economically disadvantaged, so they had no means with which to start a business.
The army offered an opportunity for formerly disenfranchised young Syrians. Is there anything wrong with this? one might reasonably ask. Who would decline a venture that promised money, prestige, a secure job, and other benefits well-nigh impossible to get elsewhere? The answer is, of course, not many. Who knows? I might have done the same thing if I were in their shoes. The issue here is not what made those young men join the military; it is rather what makes them feel superior to other mortals and where their mentality of entitlement came from. Do they really believe that a general is better than an engineer? Do they really believe that a military man is better than a civilian?
For, you see, their narrative is quite different than the one I outlined above. After all, how could one look at himself in the mirror knowing that he joined the military out of despair of other and likely brighter alternatives? No. The reason one chooses to soldier on has to do with totally altruistic, lofty, and noble motives. He is making THE ULTIMATE SACRIFICE. He is risking life and limb for the sake of his country. It is thanks to him, and only to him, that the rest of us civilians can sleep soundly at night. Without him, predators would devour the fatherland, kill its men, rape its women, and terrorize the helpless populace. He dies that we may live and prosper. We owe him our freedom, prosperity, and existence.
This refrain has been repeated so often and for so long that it convinced many people and, quite likely, even those who invented this twisted logic. The army has, after all, dominated Syrian politics since 1949, more often directly than indirectly. Armored vehicles roam Syrian cities driven by reckless drivers never held accountable for the accidents they provoke. The army sucks the economy dry and has lost a few major battles with tragic consequences (magically peddled as victories), and no one batted an eye. Power resides with the army and its minions. The civilians in Syria would simply have to put up or shut up.
But what does the army really do that is so praiseworthy? I guess one might argue that its sheer presence might dissuades potentially aggressive neighbors, though this is highly questionable. Another role would be to keep law and order, but shouldn’t that be the job of the police? The truth is perhaps less romantic. The army exists mainly to protect the regime, period. It is another version of Caesar’s Praetorian Guard, Napoleon’s Old Guard, or Saddam Hussein’s Republican Guard.
This applies to many armies, perhaps most armies, not just to those of banana republics. There exist many variations, of course, depending on when and where, but the general rule still applies. In most countries that have large standing forces, the army is to a lesser or greater extent a parasite. The larger the army, the more resources it usurps. Often for meager return. This is not the worst part, to be sure. Large and powerful armies have throughout history led their countries to disaster. The major dilemma remains that armies, like the rest of us, have to show that they’re worth the huge investment in treasure and sweat. In other words, they have to show that they work hard for their money, harder than anyone else since they are willing to immolate themselves in an ultimate sacrifice. Since the only “work” that they know how to do is warring and killing, one need not be a diviner to imagine the consequences. Mighty empires were brought to their knees following the reckless adventures of their generals. Modern warfare has, if anything, made the enterprise costlier than ever. Even when the military “wins,” average men almost always lose. Make no mistake about it: large militaries would fight ferociously to defend their privileges. When they run out of real foes, they invent imaginary ones. When they lose to external opponents, they often make up for this setback by oppressing their own people. Rather than defending the freedom of their countrymen, they become its worst enemy.
The ultimate sacrifice is an illusion and a fraud. The real heroes are not the ones with military garb. They are loving mothers, schoolteachers, factory workers, entertainers, lawmakers, health care providers, scientists, and many other “unknown soldiers.” The real glory lies not in bombing, invading, and killing. It lies in constructing, inventing, maintaining, and upbringing. Crafty Odysseus was a thug; mighty Achilles and his Myrmidons were cold-blooded murderers.
The great Victor Hugo loved France but was no fan of Bonaparte. Here is the introduction of his L'expiation (la retraite de Russie):
Il neigeait. On était vaincu par sa conquête.
Pour la première fois l'aigle baissait la tête.
Sombres jours ! l'empereur revenait lentement,
Laissant derrière lui brûler Moscou fumant.
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