Princess: Stepping Out of the Shadows, стр. 34
I took a moment to peer in the main sitting room, where we generally entertain guests not of our family. It was a hive of activity. Kareem had searched for and found some of the most talented Saudi artists, and these men and women were sketching various beautiful desert scenes which we had enjoyed during our years of travelling throughout our country. Later those artists would paint those sketches on vast framed canvases, which we would then hang throughout the palace. Although I had a huge interest in the undertaking, on that day I failed to appreciate the many hours of hard work and skill involved in such an important project. Truthfully, my mind had shifted, becoming fully engaged in thoughts of how I might convey to Maha the need to avoid more grisly narratives, at least for a few days. I felt anxious and was shrinking from a second meeting to hear the stories of the remaining two victims saved by my daughter and her friends. Despite my pride and pleasure in the fact that she had personally aided others to rescue three women whose lives would have most likely ended had they not been liberated from Syria, I knew that I must convince Maha that I had no further need of evidence to persuade me that the regime was so wicked that the entire world should come together and relieve Assad of his self-anointed power. I asked myself then why this had not already happened. I pondered the fact that Saddam Hussein was ultimately overthrown and executed for his deadly crimes against his own people, but for those in possession of the complete statistics it is clear that Assad is even more venomous, even more ruthless than the Iraqi dictator.
I felt some guilty relief when Maha’s cousins texted my daughter to report that they were departing Riyadh earlier than expected to return to their apartments in London. Later, they promised, they would connect with Maha’s group in Europe. That would be when they would hear further stories of successful rescues, they pledged.
I smiled to myself, knowing that the girls had been clever, taking flight, escaping Saudi Arabia for Europe. They, too, had no need for further stories in order to induce them to throw in their lot with Maha. They clearly recognized how useful their help would be to my daughter.
Maha was satisfied, as her goal to increase her group’s numbers from four to six had been accomplished. There would now be additional minds to manage requests from those desperate women who needed to flee the catastrophic remains of Syrian cities and villages.
It is not only the people of Syria who have suffered during the reign of the Assad family. While visiting London in 2012, I recall how I wept as I read an article in the Guardian newspaper, written by a reporter named Kevin Rushby. He wrote sorrowfully of the ‘cultural casualties’ in Syria, Iraq and Afghanistan.
The situation is even more grim in 2018.
History itself has been obliterated, as many of Syria’s historic relics have been lost to the missile and bombing attacks of a government that should be obliged to protect all its citizens.
Damascus and Aleppo, two of humankind’s earliest continuously settled cities, are in Syria. Famous worldwide for their ancient history, irreplaceable artefacts and haunting beauty, parts of Damascus are now annihilated, while much of Aleppo has been razed to the ground.
One of the first of the cultural fatalities was Aleppo’s Souk al-Madina. The souk was built during the Ottoman occupation of Syria, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and was a UNESCO world heritage site, but the souk’s cultural and historical importance failed to discourage Assad’s attacks. His military was ordered to use their artillery to shell the souk, which it did. It was completely destroyed, centuries of history becoming little more than rubble in a matter of hours.
There have been other cultural losses in these cities and many others, which now resemble the ruins of Afghanistan, a country also rich in history but now sadly devastated, the result of long years of violence, from the nine-year war with Russia and the violent civil war that followed that country’s withdrawal in 1989 right through to America’s bombing and occupation.
War? I loathe war with all the passion I have in my heart, as do most sensible people, but somehow discussions and discord between nations all too often lead to nothing more than destructive violence.
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When I learned that Maha had departed our palace for the day to visit with another group of cousins, I chose to enjoy a proper English tea prepared by our chef from London. Unsettled by my thoughts of war, I relaxed in a comfortable spot by the indoor pool, where I could sip tea and try to think positive thoughts. The rumblings of my stomach reminded me that I was ravenous. Yet I ate little after selecting from the tiers of goodies set out before me – my favourite little crustless sandwiches, which were chicken salad, and goat’s cheese on cinnamon raisin bread. I eyed the warm scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam, but despite my hunger could not enjoy the feast. I resolved to eat more later, when I felt calmer and less agitated by all I had heard from Maha.
In the quiet of my palace, I found myself reflecting further on the former glory of Syria, knowing that time relieves all agonies and that the season will come when the people of Syria will not be ruled by a despot without care or concern for the welfare of his citizens or