Part One: A Coup in Syria
25 January 1969
Hafez al-Assad, Minister of Defense of the Syrian Arab Republic, checked his watch. It was 10:31. He had been waiting for a meeting with his ally and friend Mustafa Tlass, the Army Chief of Staff. Tlass, as per usual, was late.
“The idiot can barely lace his boots himself, of course he’s fucking late,” grumbled Hafez to himself. Hafez shifted in his leather armchair. While protocol normally demanded that meetings be held at the Ministry of Defense or the army’s headquarters, he preferred to meet in his home; as one of the most powerful men in Syria, he did as he pleased, protocol be damned. The only one who could make him stand at attention still, at least in public, was Jadid; the bastard had a stare that could melt glass, and having the Soviet ambassador in his pocket couldn’t hurt.
“Well, not for long,” murmured Hafez. He then chuckled to himself. He met at his home for another reason. The Ministry of Defense was undoubtedly bugged as far as Jadid and his Soviet patrons could manage, while his home was discreetly swept for the tiny microphones every other day. Any sensitive topics needed to be discussed away from prying eyes and ears.
Hafez checked his watch again. It was 10:34 now. Tlass was almost half an hour late. Hafez stretched and rose from his seat, feeling a small sense of regret. Maybe Tlass wasn’t the man for the job. Hafez wandered from his office, with its library of books, beaten leather armchairs and smell of tobacco. Entering his den, he was greeting with screaming.
“Abbi!!” cried a pair of small voices. Hafez al-Assad felt the impact of his two sons, like hurtling shells, crash into his legs. Bending down, Hafez scooped them up, one in each arm. Pulling them tightly, he asked, “Bassel, Bashar, how are you?”
“Good!!” they screeched in unison. Putting his two sons down, Hafez looked at them. Already, Bashar was nearing his brother’s height, even though Bassel was more than a full two years older. Bassel made up for it in presence though. Bashar was as thin as a string bean with ears that stuck out. He was quite shy, except with his close family, where he was as rambunctious as anyone. Bassel, on the other hand, already had a fire in him; as much fire as a six year old could show, but fire nonetheless. He had been a difficult child as a boy, made doubly difficult as he was the Assads’ first.
“What are you doing today, my suns?” asked Hafez, standing up, careful to avoid the train set scattered the floor.
“Ummu says we have to go to mosque with her, and then to grandmother’s house,” said Bassel, tugging at his tiny engineer’s hat. “I don’t want to go though, abbi. Can we spend the day with you?”
“I’m sorry, my suns. I have to meet with General Tlass. He and I have some very important things to discuss. I’ll tell you what though. If you go with your mother, and you finish all your homework, Bassel, I will take both of you and Bushra for ice cream.”
Bashar’s face lit up. He loved ice cream. “Yay abbi!! Thank you!! Will you come play with us now?”
“I’m sorry Bashar, I’m busy.” Hafez patted his two boys on the head, and, despite their loud protestations, sauntered down the stairs into the kitchen. He was a bit hungry. Grabbing some fresh hummus and pita, he nodded to Fatima, one of the house’s maids. Striding out of the kitchen, he heard several loud raps from the front door. Fatima scurried past him to open up. Hearing the great wooden door swing open, followed by yelling by a few loud, rough voices, Hafez hurried towards the entrance. He then stopped dead in his tracks. A young, bearded soldier was pointing a rifle barrel straight at his midsection. The man in charge of the group, a captain by the badge on his chest, turned to him, a wide smile on his face.
“General Hafez al-Assad. You are under arrest, in the name of the Syrian Arab Republic. Now, we can do this peacefully, and no one, not even you, will be hurt. Or, the paper tomorrow can read that the traitor Hafez al-Assad was shot while resisting arrest, along with his two young sons, who he used as human shields to protect himself. Now, what is it going to be?” The grinning captain twitched his head forward, and two soldiers moved to grab him.
Hafez squirmed in their beefy arms as they cuffed his hands. He turned to Fatima, who leaned against the wall with shock on her face. He said, quietly, “Tell Aniseh where I’ve gone, and tell no one else. She will know what to do.” A black bag was pulled over his head, and a punch delivered to the back of his skull. Then, Hafez saw darkness.
“In Syria, the alliance of military officers and their Ba’ath Party allies soon fell apart over disagreements over state policy and the division of the spoils of power. By the end of 1966, intra-Ba’ath politics in Syria settled into a contest between two powerful factions. The first faction, led by Salah Jadid, espoused an authoritarian socialist system domestically, a close alliance with the Soviet Union, and intense financial and military support for a Palestinian war of national liberation against Israel. Jadid had resigned his position as army chief of staff in 1965, moving on to direct the Ba’ath regional party bureaucracy from his position as assistant general secretary of the Syrian Ba'ath with the aid of many like-minded civilians. The second faction was led by Defence Minister Hafez al-Assad, who was more concerned with results than with doctrine in domestic affairs. Al-Assad, worried by the complete rout of Syrian forces by Israel in June 1967, pushed primarily for a pragmatic foreign policy, internal economic reforms and a degree of political liberalization, plus a non-confrontational attitude towards Israel.
Having almost been removed from his position following the Syrian defeat, Hafez al-Assad believed that if he were to bear responsibility for such matters, he should have corresponding authority within the military. Through subsequent control of military postings and promotions, he moved into an almost impregnable position. Almost. Hafez al-Assad, through rigorous selection of officers for loyalty to him as opposed to competence, had alienated members of the military establishment, mainly those who had been shunted aside in favour of his cronies. Salah Jadid exploited this to his advantage. On the 25 of January, 1969, Hafez al-Assad, along with army chief of staff General Mustafa Tlass and a dozen of his closest confederates, were arrested and taken to the notorious Mezzeh Prison in western Damascus…”
James J. Devlin. The Ba’ath Party in Syria: Ascent, Transformation and Decline. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2009. Print
***
This is a TL I have been contemplating writing for a long time. While I am not the most learned scholar on the modern Middle East, it it one of the areas of history I am most fascinated by. With today's events in the Arab Spring, the politics of the modern Middle East are something that might interest everyone.Please criticize as ruthlessly as you like, and point me in a better direction if you can. I hope you all like it!
PS: Updates will be quite infrequent; as a university student at the only school in Canada with substantial grade deflation, plus an undying wish to both go to law school and have a social life, this TL will unfortunately take the back seat at times.
Last edited:
