Show Hide image

The mom supremacy

America’s “mama grizzlies” – homely, conservative women with their hearts set on power – are easy to

In Douglas County, Colorado, lives Lu Busse - mother, grandmother, activist and the original "mama grizzly". Long before Sarah Palin conjured up the image of a mother bear "that rises up on its hind legs when somebody's coming to attack their cubs", Busse had been calling herself "Grizzly Granny Lu" on her blog. "I always said that if we give up on the Republican Party and start a new party, we're going to be the Grizzly Bears," she tells me. "These donkeys and elephants, that's ridiculous. In America, if you're not a grizzly bear, you're not really American."

Busse founded her local 9.12 Project group in April last year, just a month after the Fox News presenter Glenn Beck launched the national project based on nine principles and 12 values (numbers one and two: "America is good" and "I believe in God and He is the centre of my life"). Busse now chairs the statewide coalition of 9.12 groups, and works closely with the Tea Party movement. Locally, female membership is dominant; Busse says that around 60 per cent of the activists she works with are women. It mirrors the national picture. A poll conducted by Quinnipiac University in March this year suggested that 55 per cent of Tea Party sup­porters are female. And they are growing in power. In the past few months, a string of ultra-conservative female candidates, such as Christine O'Donnell in Delaware and Kristi Noem in South Dakota, have won in the Republican primary elections.

Palin calls it a "mom awakening", a movement of newly empowered conservative women who are anti-government, anti-establishment and seeking to destabilise a political system they perceive as elitist and remote. The appeal of candidates such as O'Donnell is their lack of political experience: they are traditional, homely mothers. Yet the ambition of activists such as Busse is huge. She wants to change "the whole direction of the way the country's moving" - and believes she can.

When I ask her if she feels part of a women's movement, Busse reflects for a moment, and then says: "It's not a women's movement in a way that the movement that generated feminism is. This is a movement that wants our country to be the country we grew up in - we want that for our children and our grandchildren. So it gets to our motherly instincts. It's not about women's issues."

It is a telling distinction. For Busse and others like her, feminism is a word laden with alien liberal values, wedded to a time of sexual liberation and immorality. Instead, their bond is motherhood, as reflected in an expanding behind-the-scenes network of activist organisations: As a Mom; Concerned Women for America; Moms for Ohio; Homemakers for America; American Mothers.

Palin gave her "mama grizzly" speech at a breakfast meeting of the Susan B Anthony List in May this year. Founded in 1992 and named after the 19th-century civil rights leader who campaigned for women's suffrage, the List works like an engine room behind conservative female candidates, providing financial backing and mobilising supporters. With 280,000 members, it has funded and campaigned for O'Donnell, Noem and about 25 other candidates across the US. It also has one specific aim, says the group's chair, Marjorie Dannenfelser, which is to "help elect and involve pro-life women in the political project": to end the practice of abortion.

“What we're seeing," Dannenfelser tells me, "is a correction of the term feminist, an editing - women who feel very strongly about the talents and skills and power of women, but who don't feel that abortion is an avenue to that." For Kathleen Blee, a professor of sociology at Pittsburgh University, the idea that women such as Dannenfelser describe themselves as feminists is extraordinary. "It's a terrible distortion," she says. "It strips most of the meaning away from feminism . . . They don't support equal rights, they don't support abortion - you name the feminist issues, they are on the other side." Dannenfelser says that the election races she gets most excited about are those featuring "women running against women where there's a clear contrast between the type of feminism the two candidates represent"; as in, one is pro-life, the other pro-choice. It's
a strange kind of sisterhood.

Conservative feminism in the US is hardly new. One of its early incarnations was the Women's Christian Temperance Union, established in 1880 as part of the temperance movement campaigning for the prohibition of alcohol (a movement in which Susan B Anthony was heavily involved). According to Blee, early rightist women's activism often had a racist tendency. Those involved in the pro-suffrage movement, for example, were galvanised to ensure that white female voters could out­number black men. A number of those women, Blee says, became an influential presence in the Ku Klux Klan, whose membership included at least half a million women at its peak in the 1920s.

Women were also involved in the pro-fascist movements in the Second World War, and in anti-desegregation campaigning during the civil rights movement. But rightist women's movements "exploded", Blee says, with the emergence of an organised Christian right in 1979, the year the pastor Jerry Falwell founded the Moral Majority.

As an evangelical movement that coalesces around issues such as abortion and gay marriage, the Christian right has played a significant role in US politics ever since. The Republican strategist Karl Rove's direct appeal to its base was seen as a deciding factor in George W Bush's re-election in 2004.

The Tea Party has proved to be a magnet to the Christian right, and has been infused by the movement's socially conservative values, even though its original objectives were ex­clusively fiscal. (Busse is typical in citing the bailout of the banks after the 2008 financial crisis as the trigger for her activism.) For Tea Party purists, the infiltration by Christian groups is not necessarily welcome. One activist I spoke to felt their preoccupation with moral issues was potentially divisive, and diluted the Tea Party's central messages around tax and spending. But Dannenfelser sees it differently. "There is so much overlap in the Tea Party movement between economic and social issues that there is really no discontent," she says. "It is simply a matter of emphasis."

For activists such as Dannenfelser, who have been fighting abortion for decades, the events of the past two years have been a perfect storm: the financial crisis, the election of Barack Obama and the consequential birth of the Tea Party have given social and Christian conser­vatives a wave to ride and, in the form of Palin, a ready-made, pro-life, "hockey mom" leader with a direct line to Fox News and, some seem to think, God.

Mum's the word

There is, as yet, no Concerned Women for Britain, or Mums for Basingstoke. Perhaps the closest thing we have to a mass women's movement is Mumsnet. But while the social networking website has political influence - all three party leaders raced to interact with its 1.1 million users before the last election - it is resolutely non-partisan. Its co-founder Justine Roberts tells me she can't imagine the site ever aligning itself with a party or ideology, given the diverse political views held by the mothers who contribute to its discussion forums.

Yet Britain, like America, has a history of conservative women's activism. The British Women's Temperance Association was formed at almost exactly the same time as its US counterpart. With campaigns for sexual purity and chastity, it played a central role in the women's suffrage movement. And Margaret Thatcher (a "heroine" to Palin) is a role model of sorts for British conservative women - although the feminist writer Natasha Walter argues that Thatcher was an anomaly, and one of her own making: "She didn't put in place any policies to encourage equality or to encourage women."

Today, Theresa May is conspicuous as the only woman in a senior cabinet position in the new government. Lower down the ranks, however, there has been a shift. A raft of new female Tory MPs entered parliament at the last election - up from 17 to 49. One, Louise Bag­shawe, chick-lit author and MP for Corby, says this is partly a result of May's efforts to alter the gender balance of the party by starting the Women2Win campaign in 2005. Bagshawe defines herself as a feminist and describes May as the "godmother of a movement".

Like some of her American sisters, Bagshawe is also anti-abortion. "I've never had a problem with being pro-life and a feminist," she says.
“I don't consider them to be at all incompatible." She reveals that she is a member of a prominent US pro-life lobby group, Feminists For Life, and that she admires Sarah Palin. "I watched her acceptance speech at the Republican party conference and it seemed to me that it was a glorious moment, a birth of a new political star." Bagshawe acknowledges that the campaign exposed "various problems" (such as a glaring lack of policy knowledge), but is impressed by the comeback Palin has achieved since the 2008 election, and the power she now wields. "She's a remarkable figure."

Bagshawe's adulation is echoed by one of her colleagues in parliament, the MP for Mid Bedfordshire, Nadine Dorries (who is also pro-life and has campaigned vocally for a reduction in abortion term limits). "I think Sarah Palin is amazing," Dorries says. "I totally admire her." She particularly likes how Palin has spoken up for a certain type of woman - the same women, she believes, who are ignored in Britain today. "Do you know the people who have no voice in this country? Who are never written about, who journalists never talk about? The mums. Mums who decide that they will give up their careers and stay at home and look after their children."

She directs me to a blog post she has just written, "The Invisible Woman", which contains a link to a video of a motivational speech given by an American woman, Nicole Johnson. The central message is one from God to mothers: "You are not invisible to me. No sacrifice is too small for me to notice. I see every cupcake baked, every sequin sewn."

Dorries says she has been inspired by recent events in the US - the primary victories of O'Donnell and others. With a new government in place, she senses a "wind of change" in the political atmosphere in Britain. In the last parliament, she says, it was "very difficult to talk about the family unit, and to talk about mothers and children . . . as the foundation of society, because it was seen as a very unsexy, untrendy thing to do and the opposite of what a woman should be doing". Now, she feels these issues can be discussed.

Her assessment is borne out by Walter, who tells me of a recent meeting she attended with coalition ministers in which they discussed the sexualisation of children. The ministers said they felt it was their duty to provide moral leadership to the country. "That's something I am not comfortable with," Walter says. "But I can see that a Conservative government would think that's where they have to lead."

It is certainly what Dorries thinks. And not only that. Given the sympathetic political climate, she sees an opportunity to mobilise a perceived constituency of ignored, stay-at-home mothers. "I think it's time somebody started to represent those mums," she says.

Not to be dismissed

Since the Tea Party rose up across the US in 2009, a common response to its more extreme factions and candidates has been amusement. Conservative female politicians such as O'Donnell are routinely dismissed, even by leading figures within the Republican Party. Karl Rove recently described O'Donnell's rhetoric as "nutty". Yet the mass appeal of these women is already translating into votes and victories. To discount them is to underestimate their growing power, and also makes for ineffective opposition. As Blee says: "People here do not take women very seriously, they do not take the Tea Party as a whole very seriously, and I think it's clear that's a mistake."

The point on which all the women I spoke to agreed, whatever their shade of politics or feminism, was how often female politicians of all parties and ideologies are patronised. "I wouldn't want to claim Sarah Palin as a sister," Walter says, "but I don't like it when she is despised and trivialised simply for being a woman." And it's not just the Americans. Parliamentarians such as Dorries (nicknamed "Mad Nad") are derided and disregarded as a matter of course.

The "mama grizzlies" are undeterred as they gear up for the midterm elections in November. Dannenfelser is optimistic, pointing out that she has "four strong viable pro-life women who are running [for the Senate] and could win, and three governorships in the same situation". Blee, however, is doubtful about the Tea Party's political longevity. She suggests that the range of views and motivations within the wider movement will make it hard to sustain. Electoral success in the midterms, she believes, might precipitate a collapse by exposing factions and splits.

Nonetheless, uniting all these women and issues is one woman, a de facto leader who appears to be on her way to the very top. "The prospect of Sarah Palin as a presidential candidate is not worth discounting," Blee says.

But could she win the presidency? "Yes, as crazy as that is." As Lu Busse says, laughing, just before she hangs up the phone: "The folks in Washington ought to know that they're in real trouble . . . They've got the women after them now."

Sophie Elmhirst is assistant editor of the New Statesman.

Sophie Elmhirst is features editor of the New Statesman

This article first appeared in the 04 October 2010 issue of the New Statesman, Licence to cut

Show Hide image

Brothers in blood: how Putin has helped Assad tear Syria apart

The Syrian catastrophe has created the worst humanitarian crisis since the end of the Second World War. And the world watches helplessly as Putin and Assad commit war crimes.

Sometimes we know the names. We know Omran Daqneesh, the five-year-old boy who, covered in mud and dust, was pictured on the back seat of an ambulance in the aftermath of an air attack. We know his name because pictures and a video of him were released on social media and travelled around the world. The outrage that followed was widespread and sincere, the image of the dazed little boy seeming to symbolise the greater plight of the beleaguered residents of Aleppo. But then the moment passed. Few will know that a few days later doctors announced that Omran’s elder brother Ali, who was injured in the same air strike, had died from his injuries. He was ten.

Sometimes we know the names of the babies pulled from the rubble of collapsed buildings – occasionally alive, but often dead; or the names of the children weeping over lost parents; or the women grieving over lost husbands and children; or the elderly simply waiting (and sometimes wanting) to die.

We know Bana Alabed, the seven-year-old girl trapped inside Aleppo whose Twitter account has gone viral in recent weeks. “Hi I’m Bana I’m 7 years old girl in Aleppo [sic],” reads the on-page description. “I & my mom want to tell about the bombing here. Thank you.”

A series of pictures depicts Alabed and her mother, Fatemah, struggling to live as normal a life as possible, one showing the little girl sitting at an MDF desk with a book. Behind her, in the corner, is a doll. “Good afternoon from #Aleppo,” says the caption in English. “I’m reading to forget the war.”

The conflict, however, is never far away. Alabed, whose mother taught her English, has repeatedly tweeted her own fears about dying, followed by stoic messages of defiance whenever the immediate threat of an impending air strike passes. On the morning of 3 October, her words were simply: “Hello world we are still alive.” On 17 October, Fatemah tweeted: “The airstrikes ended in the morning, all the last night was raining bombs.”

But in most cases we never know the names of the victims of air assaults led by Presidents Bashar al-Assad and Vladimir Putin. One of the most haunting images to emerge in recent weeks was that of a mother and child, killed while sleeping in the same bed. The scene had an eerily preserved-in-amber feel to it: a snapshot of snatched lives, frozen in the act of dying. Pictures of ruined buildings and distraught civilians have become routine now, holding our attention briefly – if at all.

As many as 500,000 people are believed to have been killed since the beginning of the Syrian uprising in early 2011. According to a report released in February this year by the Syrian Centre for Policy Research, a further 1.9 million have been wounded. Taken together, those figures alone account for 11.5 per cent of Syria’s pre-revolutionary population. Combine that with the number of Syrians who have been displaced – more than ten million (almost 50 per cent of the population) – and the sheer scale of the disaster becomes apparent.

The conflict has become the worst humanitarian crisis since the Second World War. Today it centres on Aleppo, in north-west Syria, one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world, and a cradle of human civilisation. Various conquerors from the Mongols to the French have fought battles there but none, so it would seem, has been quite as ruthless or committed to the city’s annihilation as Bashar al-Assad.

Aleppo remains the most significant urban centre to have been captured by the anti-Assad rebels, most of whom will (by now) be strongly influenced by an Islamist world-view. Indeed, the most prominent fighting groups on the rebel side are overwhelmingly Islamist in their troop composition and beliefs, a sad marker of Western failures to support secular forces that led the anti-regime resistance in the incipient phases of the uprising.

Yet Aleppo remains too important to fail. Although rebel forces succeeded in capturing only half of the city – the western side remained firmly in the control of the regime – the symbolism of anti-Assad forces holding ground in Syria’s second city (which also served as the country’s economic hub) has buoyed the rebel movement.

Assad is more brazen and bullish than at any other point since eastern Aleppo fell into rebel hands in July 2012. That optimism is born of a strategy that has already worked in other parts of the country where the regime’s troops have slowly encircled rebel-held areas and then sealed them off. Nothing can leave, and nothing can enter. Once the ground forces seal off an area, an aerial campaign of barrel bombs and missile attacks from both Syrian and Russian fighter jets inevitably follows.

To get a sense of just how terrible the aerial campaign has been, consider that the United States accused the Russian air force of potential war crimes when a UN aid convoy was bombed just west of Aleppo last month. It was carrying food and medicines when it was hit. Since then, the UK and France have said that Russia’s bombardment of Aleppo amounts to a war crime.

Putin’s support has come as a boon to Assad ever since Russia formally entered the conflict in September 2015. Despite his administration already using Iranian forces and aligned groups such as the Lebanese Shia militia Hezbollah, rebels had continued to make significant gains throughout the early months of 2015. The most important of these was the capture of Idlib city, 40 miles from Aleppo, which presented Assad with two problems. The first was that it dented the official narrative of revanchist military successes by his forces. The ­second was that it handed the rebels power in a province adjoining Latakia Governorate in the west, where Syria’s Alawites are largely concentrated (Russia has an airbase in an area south-east of the city of Latakia). The Alawites are a heterodox Shia sect to which the Assad family belongs, and which forms the core of their support base.

Keen to reverse these gains – and others made elsewhere – Assad enlisted Putin, given Russia’s long-standing interests in, and ties to, Syria. The Kremlin has long regarded Syria as an important ally, and has served as the country’s main arms supplier for the past decade. There are important assets to preserve, too, such as the Russian naval base in the port city of Tartus on the Mediterranean, which was first established during the Soviet era.

For his part, Putin has felt emboldened by events. The world is changing – not just in the Middle East and North Africa, where the
contours of power continue to be recast, but also closer to home in Ukraine, where the pro-Russian president Viktor Yanukovych was overthrown in 2014.

The West is still haunted by the 2003 invasion of Iraq and has been reluctant to be drawn too deeply into the Syrian War. In 2013, the Assad regime used chemical weapons against its own people. This was a violation of President Barack Obama’s so-called red line against the use of chemical weapons, but no retaliatory action came and there was nothing to prevent the Kremlin from using force to shape events in Syria – as it had done in Ukraine.

All of this has marked a new phase of brutality in a conflict already noted for its barbarism. Civilians who avoid death from combined Russo-Syrian air assaults suffer under Assad’s strategy of “starve or submit”, in which supplies are withheld from besieged areas, slowly choking off those ­inside. It has been used to devastating effect against civilians in towns such as Madaya and in Daraya, on the outskirts of Damascus, both of which fell to government control after being sealed off from the outside world for several years. Such a strategy is not designed to deliver quick victories, however. Consider how the residents of Daraya defied Assad’s forces for four years before capitulating in August 2016.

Assad and his allies (Putin, Iran, Hezbollah) have decided to punish and brutalise, deliberately, civilian populations in rebel-held areas. To invert the famous aphorism attributed to Chairman Mao, they hope to dredge the sea in which the revolutionaries swim. And so, it is the 300,000 residents of eastern Aleppo who must suffer now.




It’s easy to lose track of precisely what is happening in the Syrian War as parcels of land swap hands between rebels and the regime. Assad’s forces first began encircling Aleppo at the start of July this year and succeeded in imposing a siege by the middle of that month, after cutting off the last of two rebel-controlled supply routes into the city. The first was the Castello Road, which leads from the town of Handarat into the north-western part of ­rebel-controlled territory. The second route, via the Ramouseh district (which led into the south-western end of the city), had already been sealed off.

The closure lasted for roughly four to five weeks before the rebels re-established access. Aleppo is too important for them, and the siege has forced various groups to work together in breaking it. The effort was led by Jaish al-Fateh (JaF, the “Army of Conquest”), an umbrella group and command structure for several of the most prominent jihadist and Islamist groups operating in northern Syria. JaF also co-ordinated the Idlib military campaigns. One of its key members is Jabhat Fateh al-Sham (JFS, “the Syrian Conquest Front”), which was previously known as Jabhat al-Nusra (JaN or “the Supporters’ Front”) and was recognised as al-Qaeda’s official chapter in Syria.

Several months before the regime began its assault on Aleppo, rebel groups in the north recognised the deteriorating situation there, stemming principally from Russian air strikes. As a result, al-Qaeda urged the various factions to merge and work together to counteract not just Assad, but also Putin. Even the global leader of al-Qaeda, Ayman al-Zawahiri, issued a speech last May titled “Go Forth to Syria”, in which he called on all fighting groups to unite in order to consolidate their control across the north. This opened the way at the end of July for Jabhat al-Nusra to declare that it was formally severing its links with al-Qaeda. It “rebranded” as Jabhat Fateh al-Sham.

There are two reasons for doing this. The first is to erode partisanship among the Islamist groups, forcing them to set aside differences and narrow their ambitions in favour of the greater goal – in this case, the breaking of the siege of Aleppo, while also deepening rebel control across the north. The second aim of rebranding is to win popular support by portraying themselves as fighting in the service of ordinary civilians.

Groups such as JFS and others are succeeding in both of these goals. Responding to the abandoned and assaulted residents of Aleppo, they have repeatedly demonstrated their commitment to alleviating the humanitarian crisis. Much of their messaging echoes this theme. The group’s English-language spokesman is Mostafa Mahamed, an Egyptian who previously lived in Australia. “[JFS] is deeply embedded in society, made up from the average Syrian people,” he explained on Twitter, after the group decoupled from al-Qaeda. “We will gladly lay down our lives before being forced into a situation that does not serve the people we are fighting for . . . jihad today is bigger than us, bigger than our differences.”

It is indisputable that this ethos of “fighting for the people” has endeared the group to civilians living in besieged areas – even when those civilians don’t necessarily agree with the full spectrum of its religious beliefs or political positions. That goodwill was only reinforced when the group helped break the siege of Aleppo (in which approximately 500 rebels were killed) in August, if only for a few days. Assad reasserted control within a week, and entrapped the residents again in the middle of that month. The rebels are now planning how to break the siege decisively, but have not yet launched a major counteroffensive.




A freelance American journalist and film-maker, Bilal Abdul Kareem, who has reported on rebel movements inside Syria more intimately than most, has found himself among those trapped inside eastern Aleppo since the siege was restored seven weeks ago. “We came here expecting a two- or three-day trip,” he told me during an interview over Skype.

Life inside is becoming insufferable for civilians, Abdul Kareem said; every building is potted and scarred by shrapnel damage. Those whose homes remain standing are the lucky ones. “Your day consists of nothing,” he said. “There’s no work, there’s no fuel, no industrial zone, no food to sell. ­People sit around and chit-chat, drink tea, and that’s all they do.”

Food supplies are already running low, with most people limiting themselves to basics of chickpeas and groats – crushed grains such as oats or wheat. Sealed off from the rest of the world, those inside preoccupy themselves with survival and wait for the next wave of attacks.

It is tempting to ask why the inhabitants of Aleppo did not flee when they had the chance. Indeed, the Assad regime routinely accuses the rebels of preventing civilians from leaving besieged areas, though there is no evidence to support this view. On 17 October Russia and the Syrian regime said they would halt their bombardment for eight hours on 20 October to allow rebels and civilians to evacuate the city.

In truth, what choice do the civilians have? Most do not trust Assad and they are therefore unwilling to move into regime-administered areas. The alternative is to become refugees, with all the uncertainties and trials associated with that. For instance, refugees have found themselves subject to sectarian violence in Lebanon, and they have few opportunities to find employment in Lebanon, Turkey or Jordan, the three countries where most of the fleeing Syrians have found shelter.

For them, merely to exist in rebel territory is an act of defiance, which is precisely why Assad’s forces make no effort to distinguish between combatants and civilians in rebel areas. To be present is a crime.

The effects of this have been devastating. A spokesman for the Syrian American Medical Society told Middle East Eye, an online news portal, that in July, Syrian and Russian jets had hit medical facilities in rebel-held territory every 17 hours.

Only a few hospitals and medical staff remain. The physical conditions are primitive and perilous. Doctors work in makeshift facilities – a former flat, a commercial garage – which makes them unable to provide anything beyond basic emergency care. In-patient facilities are non-existent, not just because of high demand from those newly injured in fresh attacks, but also from fear that the facility itself will be targeted. “People are literally shuffled out of the hospital with IV [intravenous drips] in their arms,” Abdul Kareem says.

The West’s indifference to all this – coupled with its occasional pious pronouncements and diplomatic dithering – has squandered any goodwill Washington might once have had among Syria’s beleaguered civilians. When Sergey Lavrov, Russia’s foreign minister, and John Kerry, the US secretary of state, agreed a ceasefire in September it lasted barely two days because they overlooked the fears of those trapped inside eastern Aleppo.

The deal had stated that no party would try to capture any new territory. That might seem reasonable enough but given that the ceasefire came into effect just days after Assad re-established the siege of Aleppo, those on the inside were being asked, in effect, to acquiesce to their own starvation.

Deprived of food and medication, no one trusted Assad to negotiate access in good faith, especially after he thwarted UN efforts to deliver aid. “People saw it as a conspiracy,” Abdul Kareem told me. Moreover, there were no significant groups inside eastern Aleppo that claimed to have accepted the terms of the ceasefire in the first place. Kerry had negotiated on their behalf without approval and without securing any humanitarian concessions.

“What planet are these people on?” Abdul Kareem asked. “[Do] they think people will turn on their protectors, for people who didn’t do them any good? They look to JFS and Ahrar [Ahrar al-Sham is one of the Islamist groups fighting in JAF]. Western intervention is pie in the sky.”

The rise of these reactionary rebels is a direct result of liberal elements not being strongly supported at any stage in the conflict. Left to fend for themselves, many have deserted their cause. Those who have persisted not only risk the constant threat of being killed by Russo-Syrian bombs, but are also at threat from jihadist elements operating in rebel areas. That much was clear when remnants of the secular opposition protested against the leader of JFS, Abu Mohammed al-Golani, in the southern Idlib town of Maarat al-Nouman earlier this year. Many of those who did were arrested by jihadists and intimidated into silence.

Whereas liberals are fragmented and frayed, the Islamist rebels continue to coalesce into an ever more coherent unit. The overwhelming might of Russian airpower has convinced them of the need to form a united front in order to pool their resources and co-ordinate their efforts. That is one of the reasons why a jihadist group called Jund al-Aqsa (“Soldiers of al-Aqsa”) announced early this month that it was disbanding and being absorbed into JFS.

Herein lies the real story of how Aleppo – and, indeed, Syria itself – has been delivered to the jihadists. A conspiracy of all the external parties has forged a menacing millenarian movement that is embedded in civil society and communities across the north. Whether Aleppo falls or not, the jihadists will endure.

Shiraz Maher is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and a member of the war studies department at King’s College London

Shiraz Maher is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and a senior research fellow at King’s College London’s International Centre for the Study of Radicalisation.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood