TARTOUS, Syria
(AP) -- In this picturesque coastal city fiercely loyal to President
Bashar Assad, beaches are dotted with swimmers, cafes are filled with
Syrians smoking water pipes, and restaurant bars are packed with late
night revelers, seemingly oblivious to the civil war raging in the rest
of the country.
The Mediterranean port has
emerged as an unusual example of coexistence in this country torn apart
by sectarian violence. It is populated mostly by members of Assad's
Alawite minority sect, the most diehard supporters of his regime. At the
same time, hundreds of thousands have flocked here to escape violence
in war-shattered cities such as Homs and Aleppo, many of them Sunnis,
some with relatives fighting alongside the rebellion.
Despite
a few small incidents of verbal arguments reported by residents,
sectarian tensions are minimal. Neither side wants to bring the war
here.
"I think we all realized that this is
the last safe place in Syria," said Fuad, a Sunni chef in one of the
city's restaurants, who arrived with his family from the Damascus suburb
of Daraya four months ago. Like others interviewed by The Associated
Press here, he spoke on condition he be identified by his first name
only, or not at all, for security reasons.
Even
now, with looming punitive military action by Western countries against
Assad's regime, residents of Tartous seem unfazed. Some have fled to
neighboring countries for a few days to wait out the strikes, but there
are no signs of widespread panic - though many are convinced military
installations in the city would be targeted.
"Right
outside of the city, there's a missile base and if they decide to hit,
that's one of the things to go first," said Rana, a resident university
student studying English literature. "However, we're sure they won't be
hitting civilians, so we're not worried."
Unlike
most other towns and cities across the country, Tartous has been
relatively untouched by the 2 1/2 years of violence that has killed
over 100,000 people, ravaged the economy, and leveled entire apartment
blocks.
The city, about an hour and a half
drive west of Homs, is ringed with 14 army checkpoints, covering the its
five entrances. Posters of Assad hang on walls, electricity posts and
windshields.
The Alawite sect, which makes up
about 13 percent of Syria's population of 23 million, has historically
been centered in towns and villages of Syria's mountainous coast that
make up the provinces of Tartous and Latakia. If the regime falls, that
heartland could become a refuge for the community - and even for Assad
himself - from which to fight for survival against a Sunni majority that
has long resented their domination.
The
rebels fighting to topple Assad are mostly Sunnis. They recently overran
a string of Alawite villages in Latakia, but the regime quickly
reversed those gains.
Tartous, also home to
the one of the country's two main seaports serving as Russia's only
naval outpost outside the former Soviet Union, is perhaps the only
Syrian city that has never seen a significant protest against Assad.
According to residents and aid workers, around 700,000 people, mostly
Alawites and Sunnis, have streamed from hotspots into the city, which
originally had a population of less than one million.
Most are women and their children, whose husbands or fathers stayed behind to keep their jobs or to join in the fighting.
"One
can easily say that Tartous is the only city that benefited from the
crisis," said a Christian restaurant owner who moved his family here
from Homs to Tartous two years ago, after his restaurant in that city
was seized by the rebels.
"Tartous is being
built on the ashes of other Syrian cities, it became alive as other
cities died," he added, while going through bills in his newly opened
restaurant by the sea.
Still, signs of war
creep in. Begging and prostitution among the displaced is spreading.
Every now and then, the siren of ambulances on their way to funerals for
fallen soldiers pierces the calm.
Hanadi, a
28-year-old woman from the district of al-Sukkari in Aleppo, arrived in
Tartous seven months ago with her two children and one bag of
belongings. Her husband stayed behind, joining a rebel battalion
fighting Assad's forces.
She roams the streets, selling flowers while she looks for work in the restaurants along the city's seaside corniche.
"He
wanted us to come here so that we'd be safe," she said of her husband.
"But he couldn't come himself, he could not leave his duty of jihad," or
holy struggle, she said, referring to the fight against Assad.
Ironically, many of the males among Tartous locals are fighting alongside Assad's forces.
"Most of our sons are fighting in the regular army," said Lamia, a local whose son and two nephews were deployed.
"It
was hard at first to grasp that I live in the same building with a
woman whose son or husband might be the one to kill my son in the
fighting. We have learned to live together while our sons fight each
other," she added with a sigh and a prayer: "Allah protects these young
men."
Residents of this city say the newcomers are welcome, as long as they play by the rules.
"As
long as our guests don't attack our political stance nor insult our
army or president, they are more than welcome to live and work among
us," said a local Alawite shop owner.
At
checkpoints, soldiers search cars meticulously and check people's IDs.
According to residents, plainclothes police agents regularly patrol the
streets for suspicious cars or signs of trouble.
"Because
Tartous is the only city that has not witnessed protests and therefore a
government crackdown, they have to be more careful than ever," said
Elias, a Christian local. "You never know when someone would decide to
mess with the calmness of the city."
The
streets are lined with hundreds of pictures of "martyrs" - local young
men who died fighting alongside the regular army. They mix with the
pictures of Assad, pro- regime slogans and Syrian flags.
"With you till death," reads one of the slogans written under an Assad portrait.
"They
say Tartous lost nothing to this crisis," said Samer, an Alawite
businessman. "We lost so many good young men, we lost a lot."
Like
in other Syrian cities, prices in Tartous have gone up, for everything
from food to apartment rentals - in some cases tripling.
Hundreds
of men, women and children as young as five years of age roam the
streets looking for jobs, selling gum and flowers, or asking for money.
With
no source of income, some female newcomers have turned to prostitution,
standing on street corners chatting up men. Basma, a young woman who
sells flowers to cafe goers, is one of them.
"She
has a phone full of pictures of girls," said Sami, a young man who had
been approached by Basma. "For 500 Syrian pounds ($2.5), she'll give you
the number of the girl whose picture you choose and you take it from
there."
Even as residents continue to invest
in small-scale projects such as shops and restaurants, fears are strong
that the peace here could end.
"We're scared
we'll wake up one morning and find the conflict has moved to Tartous.
But until then, we have families to provide for and can't keep living
off our savings," said an Alawite businessman who recently arrived from
Homs.
"It's not a choice to leave everything and start over, but sometimes you have to."
---
AP writer Zeina Karam contributed to this report from Beirut.
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