MEC-S C E N E (XVI) 

S C E N E (XVI) 

روج آفا 

Wastelands, Deir Ez-Zor  

Rojava, Syria, 2018ce 

*** 

The music blares away, and we huddled in the back of the long gun pick-up trucks bound for the river. The mop up operations of the several dozen Daesh hold out villages on the way to Hajin. 

Music has always been an important tool in mobilizing the masses, particularly during times of war, with the Syrian conflict no exception. This piece looks at the musical propaganda of three of the Syrian Civil War’s major non-state actors, namely the Partiya Yekîtiya Demokrat‎ (‘Democratic Union Party’, usually referred to by its Kurdish acronym, PYD), Hezbollah, and Daesh. I share a few observations about the role music has played in the political sphere of conflict. 

The Kurds do not have a nation-state, and one important element in the continuity of Kurdish identity is music. Since its inception, the PYD and its predecessor, the PKK, have been aware of the role of music as a tool to disseminate ideology. Both followers and militants themselves engage in musical production. Since the 1980s, PKK-linked radio and TV channels have broadcast the ideological discourse of the organization, usually through the medium of songs. Although folk music has historically been the dominant form, Western genres such as rap or rock are now also employed. These songs are also broadcast in Western media, often accompanied by images of female Kurdish militants holding weapons while singing. The organization consciously promotes this combination of imagery and music to differentiate itself from (male-dominated) Islamist groups. 

In general, the songs employ a set of recognizable themes. The most common theme is praise for notions of Kurdishness. Lyrics are often derived from poems that emphasize Kurdish identity, written by traditional Kurdish poets. This theme is unique to the PYD among the groups fighting in the Syrian Civil War, with frequent reference made to the Kurdish homeland, which the PYD attests is under colonial occupation. Other themes crop up repeatedly, such as songs commemorating and celebrating the war’s individual battles. The PYD/PKK have many songs about their successful resistance in Kobanî/Ayn al-Arab, against Daesh’s assault on the town. Finally, Kurdish songs are also written in praise of the group’s ‘martyrs’, as well as the organization’s imprisoned spiritual leader, Abdullah Öcalan. 

The Shi’a community in the Arab Middle East, which Hezbollah claims to represent, is another of the region’s ethno-religious groups without its own nation-state. In some respects, the use of music by Hezbollah resembles that of the PYD/PKK. A similar condition of ‘statelessness’ has put music at the forefront of identity formation for Hezbollah, yet there are also differences. First, a long-lasting ban on the Kurdish language in Turkey made singing in Kurdish highly political in itself for Kurds, but for Arab Shi’a, it is not the singing itself but the content that matters. Secondly, as a religious movement with important links to the Iranian regime, any music created by Hezbollah must fall within the limitations imposed by orthodox readings of Shi’a Islam and specifically the Iranian government’s understanding of it. These limitations include a ban on female voices in music and an opposition to Western musical forms. 

In the context of the Syrian Civil War, the themes of Hezbollah’s music mirror those of the PYD. The battles and victories of war are common themes. The most famous such song is ‘A’lan Nasrek be Yabroud’ (‘Announce the Victory of Yabroud’) by Ali Bereket. Similar to the Kobanî/Ayn al-Arab songs of the PYD, Bereket’s song is focused on militaristic success, praising Hezbollah’s previous victories in Syria in the battles of Al-Qusayr, Al-Nabek, and most importantly Yabroud. 

Hezbollah songs emphasizing the bravery and courage of militants are also abundant. While this theme is shared between Hezbollah and the PYD, the heroic figure of Öcalan is replaced by Hassan Nasrallah in Hezbollah songs. Themes also differ between these two camps. Hezbollah composes more songs on the theme of martyrdom, a tradition with a long history in Shi’a Islam. Another important theme in Hezbollah songs is Palestine. Employing this theme, Hezbollah salutes its greatest victory, the 2006 war, and by comparing its enemies in the Syrian Civil War to an ‘army of Jews’, it increases its popularity in the Middle East, where anti-Israel rhetoric is widespread. 

For Daesh, the most important type of music is the nasheed. In this musical form, a tambourine is the only instrument used, many references are made to the Qur’an, and solely male voices are allowed. Nasheeds are so common among both Shia and Sunni Islamist groups engaged in the war that they can be thought of as the soundtrack to the Syrian Civil War. One trait that separates nasheeds from the music of Hezbollah and the Kurdish movement is the plurality of the languages in which their lyrics are written: these include Arabic, Pashto, Bosnian, Kurdish, Flemish, German, and English. There are also various combinations of nasheeds with different musical genres. For example, Deso Dogg, a famous rapper from Germany who later joined Daesh and was killed in Syria, combined the classic nasheed form with hip hop. 

The nasheeds of Daesh share themes with the previous examples, such as bravery, mourning, and eulogy. Like Hezbollah, Daesh also has songs directed against Israel; however, they focus more on the religious content of the lyrics and quote directly from the Qur’an. Almost all nasheeds makes reference to an Islamic golden age. Like the PYD songs that declare their goal of saving Kurdistan from colonialists, the nasheeds of Daesh declare their aim as restoring the ‘glorious past of Islam’. To overcome the faith-related limitations that define the musical forms, producers of Daesh songs have used various tactics, such as adding sounds of swords and guns to the music. Special attention is paid to the online circulation of music videos. As of 2019, Daesh has lost most of its physical presence in Syria, but before that, while both Hezbollah and the PYD had more representatives and institutions outside of Syria, Daesh’s network was relatively narrow. Thus, they used the Internet to reach and attract masses and disseminate their political views. Many platforms, including YouTube, where music videos are shared and open for comment, acted as forums for them. 

Not all the musical battles of the Syrian Civil War are being fought by these three camps alone. Ibrahim Qashoush must be remembered in any discussion of the role of music in Syria. He was not bound to any political organization. Three days after he led crowds in Hama in singing ‘Yalla Erhal Ya Bashar’ (‘Get Out, Bashar’, addressed to the president of Syria) in July 2011, his body was found in the Asi River, his throat having been cut. His murder represents the first bullet fired in the battle of the music of the Syrian Civil War, but it was not to be the last.¹⁰⁸ 

The once-bustling village lay in ruins, its streets empty and silent save for the echoes of distant gunfire. It was here, amidst the crumbling buildings and deserted homes, that Ciya, a Scottish fighter with the YPG, and his men prepared for an intense close-quarters battle. The village, strategically important for both the YPG and ISIS, had become a focal point in the ongoing conflict. 

Ciya and his tabor, seasoned fighters who had seen their share of brutal engagements, had established a defensive position in a two-story building at the edge of the village. The structure, though dilapidated, offered a commanding view of the surrounding area and provided a relatively secure spot for their stand. The second-floor landing became their last line of defense. The building was surrounded by debris—collapsed walls, shattered windows, and overturned vehicles. The silence of the village was deceptive, as the calm was frequently broken by the distant sounds of ISIS movements and sporadic gunfire. The village’s eerie quiet only heightened the tension as Ciya and his men awaited the inevitable assault. 

As dusk fell, the quiet was shattered by the thunderous roar of ISIS fighters storming the village. Ciya, standing on the second-floor landing, peered through a shattered window, his eyes scanning the darkening landscape. The ISIS forces, numbering in the dozens, approached with a coordinated push, their shouts and commands piercing the silence. 

“Hold your positions!” Ciya barked to his men, who were already in position, their weapons trained on the advancing enemy. “We need to make every shot count.” 

The first wave of ISIS fighters surged forward, their rifles blazing as they attempted to breach the building. The YPG defenders, entrenched and resolute, returned fire with deadly precision. The close-quarters nature of the fight meant that every corner, every narrow passageway, became a potential battleground. Ciya’s experience and leadership shone through in the chaos. He moved swiftly between his men, offering encouragement and tactical guidance. The defenders on the second floor engaged the enemy with a mix of assault rifles, grenades, and improvised weapons. The close confines of the building, combined with the fighters’ skill, allowed them to inflict heavy casualties on the advancing ISIS forces. 

For hours, the battle raged on. The ISIS fighters, determined to take the building, pressed their attack with relentless ferocity. They attempted to breach the building using explosives and heavy machine guns, but Ciya and his men were prepared. They fought tenaciously, using the building’s layout to their advantage and engaging in brutal, close-quarters combat. 

Ciya’s leadership was evident as he coordinated his team’s efforts. He directed fire to key entry points, organized counterattacks, and provided covering fire as his men repositioned. The defenders’ discipline and teamwork allowed them to hold off numerous assaults, but the fight was far from easy. 

The building’s interior was a maze of narrow hallways and rooms, each one turning into a battleground. The second-floor landing, though still relatively secure, was under constant threat. The walls were pockmarked with bullet holes, and the floor was littered with spent shells and fragments of shattered glass. 

Despite the relentless assault, Ciya and his team managed to repel each wave of attackers. They utilized every bit of cover available, making use of the building’s structural weaknesses to create defensive advantages. Each member of the team performed with remarkable skill, turning the abandoned village into a fortress of resistance. 

As night deepened, the battle showed no signs of abating. The ISIS fighters, having taken heavy losses, seemed to grow more desperate. Ciya’s men, though exhausted, remained determined. Their unity and resolve were their greatest assets! Realizing the need for decisive action, Ciya ordered a series of well-coordinated counterattacks. They used the remaining grenades and explosive devices to create choke points and disrupt the enemy’s advances. The close-quarters nature of the battle meant that every move was critical, and Ciya’s tactical acumen played a crucial role in the defenders’ ability to hold their ground. After eight grueling hours of intense combat, the tide began to turn. The ISIS fighters, their ranks severely depleted and their morale waning, started to pull back. The defenders, though battered and weary, pressed their advantage, launching a final, aggressive push that forced the remaining attackers to retreat. 

As dawn broke over the abandoned village, Ciya and his men emerged from the building, their faces etched with exhaustion but also with a profound sense of achievement. The village, now eerily silent, bore the scars of the night’s fierce battle. The defenders had successfully held their position, repelling a determined and numerically superior enemy. 

Ciya surveyed the battlefield with a mixture of relief and pride. The cost of the battle had been high, but the determination and bravery of his team had turned the tide. The abandoned village, once a potential stronghold for ISIS, had been reclaimed through the courage and resilience of the YPG fighters. 

As the sun rose over the battered landscape, Ciya and his men began to assess the damage and tend to their wounded. The battle had been a testament to their skill and endurance, a fierce struggle that had tested their limits but ultimately reaffirmed their commitment to their cause. In the aftermath of the battle, the abandoned village stood as a stark reminder of the harsh realities of war and the unwavering resolve of those who fought to protect their land and their people.