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Syria's Reforms

Too Much or Not Enough?

By Susanne Koelbl

Part 2: Next Page: But can Assad Live Up to his Promises?

But the honeymoon period is over for Bashar Assad. He'd have to make good on the things he promised when he assumed office: reform and change. And the quicker, the better.

"It is a long way to democracy, but we are going in the right direction," says the president, then dampening expectations by adding: "You want us to jump. But the danger is that by jumping you just end up on your head."

So what are the limits to this new freedom? Those who push the boundaries, quickly feel the strong hand of the regime. When the charismatic entrepreneur and parliamentary representative, Riad Seif, 58, openly criticized the corruption of the ruling clans, a state security court sentenced him to five-years imprisonment. Despite sickness, and contrary to the country's usual rules, he is still serving the sentence. A few weeks ago, Assad shut down one of the last independent discussion groups, the Atassi Forum. Before doing so, he had the leaders temporarily arrested.

The TV presenter Intisar Junis still has not met the president personally, even though she comes from the coastal area near Latakia, nearby his family's village. All of the people who live there are part of the Alawite sect, a minority which has become more powerful -- above all in military circles -- along with the rising fortunes of the Assad family. In Damascus, rumor has it that the Alawites pull the strings. And, of course, Junis herself also has influential relatives in the security services.

Not far from the television station, the TV presenter is sitting with girlfriends in her favorite café, "L'Odeon." She is talking to someone from Dubai TV on the telephone, while she sips her tea and takes a drag on a cigarette. She says that she doesn't want to rely on family and religious contacts to get ahead in her career, as if to say that nepotism is a relic from the past. "I'd rather depend on myself," she says, before quickly changing the subject. Power structures of religious groups -- such as Alawites, Sunnis, Christians, and Druze -- is one of the subjects of conversation which is taboo, one of the "red lines".

Care to Dance?

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, tonight's party is kicking off late. Syria's nouveau riche gather at the Platinum night club while large limousines wait outside. Cooled Lebanese white wine is being served and seven types of whiskey are on offer at the bar.

The presidential family's official portrait painter is there, along with the female director of Syrian television, a couple of corporate bosses and a top-level secret service agent. A close friend of the president, a general, is also expected to turn up later.

The women dance in rustling silk dresses to the sound of oriental pop songs. The men have their sleeves rolled up and try to keep up. The night is going just as it should be.

During the last decade, one group has become extremely rich in Damascus -- the sons and daughters of Syria's sultan. They've travelled the world, speak an array of languages and because they belong to the ruling class, they don't have any reason to leave the country. Nowadays they control the country's mobile telephone monopoly, its restaurant chains and its media organizations. Their influential fathers helped set them up.

It's like dancing on a volcano. Since Syria popped up on the US radar, charged with aiding resistance fighters in Iraq, the security of the Syrian regime has begun to falter. And as a result of the murder of former Libyan Prime Minister Rafik al Hariri, alliances, which were once the lifeblood of Damascus' ruling elite, have fractured.

The fellow Arabic states Saudi Arabia and Egypt have labelled Syria at least partly responsible for the murder, which occurred under the watchful eyes of Syrian security services. Even France, the country's former colonial masters, have pulled back. Syria is isolated, a situation which the elder Assad knew he had to avoid.

But who wants to talk about the whole thing on a night out. A top business man chats about his latest charity project while eating dessert. The country has been good to him. Now he wants to give something back, namely the 150 kilometer beach between Lebanon and Turkey. It is dirty and run down and he wants to have it cleaned up, he says. Then he is dragged onto the dance floor.

Everyone here is hoping the party somehow never ends. Or that, if it does ever draw to close, the hangover isn't too painful.

On some of the streets of Damascus it actually sometimes looks like the future has already arrived: Internet cafes are open late into the night while private banks and chic branches of Benneton and Armani line the boulevards. Even ATMs arrived in the capital not long ago, creating a small sensation.

The government is hoping people's hunger for a consumerist society outweighs their desire for democracy and freedom. In fact, this desire is something which the regime, since it has started focusing on the free market, would like to see disappear altogether.

Ten thousand visitors crowd every day into the "Motor Show," an exhibition of cars for sale near the airport. Some of the women wear the veil, some are completely covered from head to toe, while others are decked out in cropped tops. They gaze at the latest models of exotic brands, such as the Malaysian Perodua or the Chinese Chery - owning your own car is the dream of every Syrian. The state has even sunk import duties for cars from over 200 percent to one third.

Major investors in the Gulf States are showing interest in building streets, pipelines, luxury apartments and exclusive tourist resorts along the coast, naturally under the precondition that the government is serious about the new capitalism friendly laws. Even a new Syrian stock market is planned to open soon.

Your Country Needs You!

The man behind the ambitious economic plan has also returned to Syria. Abdullah al-Dardari, 42, studied in Frankfurt and Britain and worked for the United Nations. He is a slick professional, non-ideological and focused. Al-Dardari is Assad's go-to man for economic miracles, a one-man show because he still lacks competent staff. For a long time now those surrounding the president have been telling ex-patriate Syrians around the world: "Your country needs you!"

Those benefiting from the present system -- the old families that have so far supported the young president's regime -- have been unsettled by the new ideas. These influential clans fear the loss of their monopolies, and see nothing to take their place. The ignominious withdrawal from Lebanon is considered to be their greatest loss, one they hold Assad personally responsible for.

The small but economically fruitful neighbor was virtually a lung for Syria, through which the poor and politically narrow country was able to breathe: sinful amusement park and free-trade zone rolled into one.

Syrian businesses plundered the "Casino of Lebanon" and used it for money-laundering; tolls collected at Beirut ports found their way into the pockets of Syrian secret service agents; Syrian straw-men embezzled the money of international investors. A system of mutual corruption flourished.

But above all by losing Lebanon, Syria lost its last pawn in the war of negotiations over the Golan Heights. Syria sees peace with Israel as a precondition for a true new beginning, a bid for international investment and prosperity. Syria is no longer a little superpower in the Middle East, and the legacy of the old Assad is dying out. According to the clans, young Assad's regime may soon be over as well. This is also how the Bush administration in Washington sees the situation -- and not without a certain degree of satisfaction.

But what comes after Assad? The world's leaders warn of chaos and Islamic extremism -- and they're probably not far wrong. In Syria, as in Iraq, there are too few political parties and civil institutions in place for an orderly transfer of power. Instead the coercive regime of one minority forces the country into unity.

Meanwhile, Professor Kabalan walks up and down his three-room apartment and steps out onto the terrace. The evening sun falls on the slopes of Mount Kassioun, and soon it will grow quiet in the city, which is how he loves it. He's just received a letter from Columbia University in New York. He wants to leave again, for a year. By then things will be better in Syria, he believes -- or the situation will at least be in some way different.

Round the corner, in Masa Villas, the TV presenter Intisar Junis is packing her suitcase. She's going to Dubai, though only for a week. The station there pays her $4,000, 20 times as much as Syrian state television. Her plane leaves in the morning.