Father Dave here, and I’m still grieving the collapse of Syria, and the ascendency of one-time Al Qaeda leader, Ahmed Hussein al-Sharaa, to the country’s leadership.
I’ve been fearing for my many Syrian friends. I’ve been praying for their safety – perhaps most of all for my dear brother, Dr Hassoun, formerly the former Grand Mufti of Syria. I’ve also been feeling that someone should be paying tribute to the Syrian Arab Army – to all the young men and women who laid down their lives over a period of about 12 years, trying to prevent what eventually happened.
Yes, I’m talking about the ‘Assad regime forces’, which is how people on the other side of the world tended to talk about them, but through my nine trips to Syria between 2013 and 2019, I met a lot of Syrian soldiers, and I grew to have an enormous respect for the Syrian Arab Army.
I was given a full Syrian Army uniform on my last trip, and I still wear it with pride. It came from Douma, which was where then President Assad allegedly gassed his own people. Of course, if you talk to the people of Douma, they’ll tell you that nothing like that happened there, but that was the story we were sold, and that story became the rationale for a retaliatory strike that killed at least one pour soul. The story I remember best from Douma though was the one that came from the guy who gave me my uniform, and it’s a story I still find it hard to believe.
This guy lived with his family near the centre of Douma and, apparently, he heard noise in the street one morning, peeked out his front window, and saw the black SUV’s of Jabhat Al Nusra. These people drove black SUV’s, wore black hats, and had machine-guns mounted on the back of their vehicles. This guy says that he, like the other men in his street, locked their doors and fetched their guns.
He says that they’re not getting their guns in the hope of fighting these guys off. They know that they are completely outgunned. They will fight nonetheless, he says, and, if need be, they will shoot their own children before they let these people take them!
I still find that hard to believe, but these people had heard what these terrorists had done to children in neighbouring villages – the rape of babies, the sex-slavery of young girls. Maybe the reports were exaggerated, but I can appreciate that you’d rather give your children a quick and dignified exit from this world than allow things like that to happen to them.
Anyway, there’s more noise outside, they peek out and see the colours of the Syrian Arab Army. Everything is going to be OK. The kids will be at school tomorrow. And that’s what the colours of the Syrian Arab Army came to mean to me. They meant life
I remember the first Syrian soldier that I ever had a serious conversation with. That was back in 2013. He was a young man, in his late twenties, and he was bouncing his baby daughter on his knee. He’d been discharged from the army as he was carrying three bullet wounds.
He said to me, “the first time I killed someone I threw up. I didn’t know how to handle it, but then I realised that the only thing between my daughter and these people was me, and after that I killed hundreds of them.”
He said that foreigners like me were easy targets because we weren’t respected by the commanders. We’d be the first ones chosen to have bombs strapped to us. They’d say, “see you in Heaven” and tell you to go blow a hole through a wall. He said, “these people were easy targets”.
As I say, I did nine tours of Syria during the period of the fighting there. I saw some terrible things, but met a lot of wonderful people, many of whom were soldiers.
Indeed, while, on some of those trips we spent most of our time boxing with the Syrian Olympic Team, even then, after our training sessions finished, the Syrian boys would pick up their guns and go back to work. They were all soldiers, not because any of them had set out to have careers in the military, but because each of them had chosen to put their bodies between the terrorists and their families.
One other memory that sticks with me was when we visited the ancient Christian village of Sednaya in 2015. Sednaya is one of only two villages in the world where Aramaic is still spoken – the original language of Jesus. It’s a Christian village, and when we arrived, they were starting a church service that we attended. At the front of the church, there was a table covered with religious icons that looked like they were to be distributed as gifts. I remember thinking, “I hope these aren’t for us”.
I was part of an internation peace delegation on that trip, led by some well-known activists, and we were getting far too much credit just for showing up. As it turned out, the presents weren’t for us. They were presented by the Bishop and by the local Islamic Sheikh, standing side by side, to the families of those who had lost children in the fighting over the last month. There were around 20 of these gifts handed out!
The Christian villages in Syria were always uniformly committed to supporting the government and preserving their country from the terrorists. The number of young Christians who had laid down their lives for their families was horrifically high.
I have so many more stories I could tell but I’ll stop here for now, except to point out that the terrorists that these people died to protect their families from are the people who are now running the country.
Yes, I know they’ve changed their name twice since they were Al Qaeda, in an attempt to distance themselves from Osama Bin Laden, whom Americans are never going to think of as a friend. They’ve also changed the name of Ahmed Hussein al-Sharaa to the far more palatable, Al Jolani (‘Al’ for short). CNN has also published an interview with Al where he’s said that all those atrocities that he committed were when he was a younger man, and that we all do silly things when we are young. Those weren’t his exact words, perhaps, but that was the message.
So, what happens now? I don’t know. As I say, I fear for my many Syrian friends. Reports are filtering through of atrocities being committed against Christians and Alawites and other minority groups, and against former military people, of course. Perhaps those pulling Al Jolani’s strings are going to ensure that some level of human-rights is maintained in the new Syria, but as for Jolani and his team, I don’t think the leopard every really changes his spots.
I pray for the welfare of my many Syrian friends as I do not know what comes next, but regardless of what the future holds, I believe that it’s only right that we pay tribute to the many, many young men and women of the Syrian Arab Army who, over twelve long years, sacrificed their lives and their livelihoods – not to benefit any political party or to uphold any particular ideology – but to protect their families.
A Tribute to the Syrian Arab Army
Father Dave here, and I’m still grieving the collapse of Syria, and the ascendency of one-time Al Qaeda leader, Ahmed Hussein al-Sharaa, to the country’s leadership.
I’ve been fearing for my many Syrian friends. I’ve been praying for their safety – perhaps most of all for my dear brother, Dr Hassoun, formerly the former Grand Mufti of Syria. I’ve also been feeling that someone should be paying tribute to the Syrian Arab Army – to all the young men and women who laid down their lives over a period of about 12 years, trying to prevent what eventually happened.
Yes, I’m talking about the ‘Assad regime forces’, which is how people on the other side of the world tended to talk about them, but through my nine trips to Syria between 2013 and 2019, I met a lot of Syrian soldiers, and I grew to have an enormous respect for the Syrian Arab Army.
I was given a full Syrian Army uniform on my last trip, and I still wear it with pride. It came from Douma, which was where then President Assad allegedly gassed his own people. Of course, if you talk to the people of Douma, they’ll tell you that nothing like that happened there, but that was the story we were sold, and that story became the rationale for a retaliatory strike that killed at least one pour soul. The story I remember best from Douma though was the one that came from the guy who gave me my uniform, and it’s a story I still find it hard to believe.
This guy lived with his family near the centre of Douma and, apparently, he heard noise in the street one morning, peeked out his front window, and saw the black SUV’s of Jabhat Al Nusra. These people drove black SUV’s, wore black hats, and had machine-guns mounted on the back of their vehicles. This guy says that he, like the other men in his street, locked their doors and fetched their guns.
He says that they’re not getting their guns in the hope of fighting these guys off. They know that they are completely outgunned. They will fight nonetheless, he says, and, if need be, they will shoot their own children before they let these people take them!
I still find that hard to believe, but these people had heard what these terrorists had done to children in neighbouring villages – the rape of babies, the sex-slavery of young girls. Maybe the reports were exaggerated, but I can appreciate that you’d rather give your children a quick and dignified exit from this world than allow things like that to happen to them.
Anyway, there’s more noise outside, they peek out and see the colours of the Syrian Arab Army. Everything is going to be OK. The kids will be at school tomorrow. And that’s what the colours of the Syrian Arab Army came to mean to me. They meant life
I remember the first Syrian soldier that I ever had a serious conversation with. That was back in 2013. He was a young man, in his late twenties, and he was bouncing his baby daughter on his knee. He’d been discharged from the army as he was carrying three bullet wounds.
He said to me, “the first time I killed someone I threw up. I didn’t know how to handle it, but then I realised that the only thing between my daughter and these people was me, and after that I killed hundreds of them.”
He said that foreigners like me were easy targets because we weren’t respected by the commanders. We’d be the first ones chosen to have bombs strapped to us. They’d say, “see you in Heaven” and tell you to go blow a hole through a wall. He said, “these people were easy targets”.
As I say, I did nine tours of Syria during the period of the fighting there. I saw some terrible things, but met a lot of wonderful people, many of whom were soldiers.
Indeed, while, on some of those trips we spent most of our time boxing with the Syrian Olympic Team, even then, after our training sessions finished, the Syrian boys would pick up their guns and go back to work. They were all soldiers, not because any of them had set out to have careers in the military, but because each of them had chosen to put their bodies between the terrorists and their families.
One other memory that sticks with me was when we visited the ancient Christian village of Sednaya in 2015. Sednaya is one of only two villages in the world where Aramaic is still spoken – the original language of Jesus. It’s a Christian village, and when we arrived, they were starting a church service that we attended. At the front of the church, there was a table covered with religious icons that looked like they were to be distributed as gifts. I remember thinking, “I hope these aren’t for us”.
I was part of an internation peace delegation on that trip, led by some well-known activists, and we were getting far too much credit just for showing up. As it turned out, the presents weren’t for us. They were presented by the Bishop and by the local Islamic Sheikh, standing side by side, to the families of those who had lost children in the fighting over the last month. There were around 20 of these gifts handed out!
The Christian villages in Syria were always uniformly committed to supporting the government and preserving their country from the terrorists. The number of young Christians who had laid down their lives for their families was horrifically high.
I have so many more stories I could tell but I’ll stop here for now, except to point out that the terrorists that these people died to protect their families from are the people who are now running the country.
Yes, I know they’ve changed their name twice since they were Al Qaeda, in an attempt to distance themselves from Osama Bin Laden, whom Americans are never going to think of as a friend. They’ve also changed the name of Ahmed Hussein al-Sharaa to the far more palatable, Al Jolani (‘Al’ for short). CNN has also published an interview with Al where he’s said that all those atrocities that he committed were when he was a younger man, and that we all do silly things when we are young. Those weren’t his exact words, perhaps, but that was the message.
So, what happens now? I don’t know. As I say, I fear for my many Syrian friends. Reports are filtering through of atrocities being committed against Christians and Alawites and other minority groups, and against former military people, of course. Perhaps those pulling Al Jolani’s strings are going to ensure that some level of human-rights is maintained in the new Syria, but as for Jolani and his team, I don’t think the leopard every really changes his spots.
I pray for the welfare of my many Syrian friends as I do not know what comes next, but regardless of what the future holds, I believe that it’s only right that we pay tribute to the many, many young men and women of the Syrian Arab Army who, over twelve long years, sacrificed their lives and their livelihoods – not to benefit any political party or to uphold any particular ideology – but to protect their families.
To the Syrian Arab Army, Respect!
Father Dave, January 2025
About Father Dave
Preacher, Pugilist, Activist, Father of four