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Hurricane Sarah

McCain's new partnership with a telegenic mother-of-five has dramatically shifted the dynamics and d

Hurricanes Gustav and Hanna may have brought hell to the people of America's Gulf Coast, but they came like manna from heaven for Senator John McCain, his brand-new running mate Sarah Palin, and the Republicans. First, McCain was quicker off the mark than Barack Obama by taking the decision to abandon political rallies, and he toured the affected areas instead - getting priceless footage on to the nation's television screens of a would-be president looking and acting just like a president should, receiving briefings and talking knowledgeably about the situation in press conferences and interviews. Obama, meanwhile, was stuck looking helpless in Lima, Ohio - 1,000km north.

Second, Hurricane Gustav made landfall in the early hours of 1 September, the day the Republican convention, destined to crown McCain and Palin, was due to begin in St Paul, Minnesota. You would have thought, four days after the Democratic convention in Denver reached a televised climax with Senator Obama's acceptance speech, fireworks and balloons at his $6m extravaganza in the Denver Broncos stad ium, that McCainites would have wanted every minute of live, coast-to-coast television they could get.

But a convention on Monday night would have been their nightmare: the scheduled speakers were none other than George W Bush and Dick Cheney - the last thing McCain would have wanted the nation to see was those two passing their mantle to him. Bush, mindful of his ineffable performance when Hurricane Katrina struck in 2005, stayed at the White House and immediately cancelled his appointment at the convention. So did Cheney, who was off - phew! - to Georgia, Ukraine and Azerbaijan the next day, making any appearance by him impossible.

Third, besides creating the illusion that he was taking charge of hurricane preparedness, McCain - emboldened, I suspect, by at last having a running mate of his own - seized the opportunity to make himself appear to be a thoroughly responsible decision-maker by selflessly cancelling the razzmatazz planned for Monday night. "This is a time when we have to do away with our party politics and we have to act as Americans," McCain said in an oh-so-respon sible broadcast that, had he been reading more fluently from an autocue and with the presidential seal in front of him, could have been coming from the White House itself. "We take off our Republican hats and put on our American hats," he went on. What a statesman!

Fourth, and in what may prove to be the most valuable of all the unlikely benefits Gustav and Hanna bring to the Republicans, the storms took much of the immediate public pressure off McCain's vice-presidential running-mate. I understand that the 44-year-old governor of Alaska, Sarah Palin - whose name McCain announced to a stunned world the day after Obama's fireworks - spent the hours closeted, out of the limelight, with party apparatchiks in St Paul, frantically trying to get up to speed on national and foreign policy issues for the hustings and, above all, for the much-awaited evening when she comes face-to-face with Senator Joe Biden at the vice-presidential debate in St Louis, Missouri, on 2 October.

At a stroke, McCain has seized much of the “change” territory

for himself

Inevitably, the dirt about Governor Palin was already flying. First came the national airing of "Troopergate," a saga that has already received wide publicity in Alaska: Palin has been accused of sacking the state's public safety commissioner because he refused to dismiss a policeman named Mike Wooten - Palin's former brother-in-law, who had divorced her sister and Tasered her 12-year-old nephew. Wooten has been reprimanded a dozen or so times since 2001, but because Palin herself has acquired a reputation for being incorruptible in a state that is notoriously corrupt, the story took off.

A calculated risk

Then, last Monday, came the "bombshell" that Palin's 17-year-old, unmarried daughter Bristol was five months pregnant - and was going to marry her high-school boyfriend, the baby's father. But in this peculiarly nasty campaign, the furore did not stop there. Blogs such as, as well as some in the mainstream media, starting putting out untrue allegations that Palin's own five-month-old son, Trig - who has Down's syndrome - is, in fact, the child of Bristol.

I wrote recently that Obama is taking a "colossal" risk in having Senator Joe Biden as his running mate, but it is nothing compared to that of McCain's risk when it comes to Palin. The two had never even met until February, when they had a 15-minute chat at a meeting of the National Governors Association in Washington.

But, despite the legions of Democratic and Republican operatives heading for Anchorage as I write, the McCain campaign insists that Palin's background had been carefully vetted, and that they already knew about Trooper- and Babygate; they say privately that they wanted both supposed scandals to come out early, so that manufactured furores in the final two months before polling day could be avoided.

The truth, though, is that McCain needed to do something dramatic to light fire to his campaign. Although he was holding his own against Obama to a degree many found surprising for a Republican in George W Bush's America of 2008, his campaign was not gaining traction. The problem facing him was that nearly all the obvious possible running mates were white men on the wrong side of middle age, such as former governors Mitt Romney (the choice until the last moment) or Tom Ridge - or even Senator Joe Lieberman, Al Gore's Democratic running mate in 2000 who has been drifting rightwards ever since and is now an Independent. The one remaining alternative was 47-year-old Tim Pawlenty, governor of Minnesota, but he is not especially telegenic.

So a woman it had to be. McCain seriously considered Meg Whitman, the 58-year-old founder and former chief executive of eBay, and Carly Fiorina, 53, the former boss of Hewlett-Packard, but neither had the necessary political instincts. He also needed somebody as young as possible to offset his own biggest liability - his age, now 72- and finally came up with Palin, 44, whose popularity ratings in Alaska have just soared to an unprecedented 80 per cent. By choosing her, the McCain ticket magically morphed into one that was, on average, only two years older than Obama.

McCain's announcement, which came the day after Obama's acceptance speech and stole much of his thunder, changed the entire dynamics of the race. The Obama team had prepared McCain-Romney, McCain-Lieberman, and McCain-Pawlenty attack ads, ready to be broadcasted across the nation the moment the Republican nominee made his announcement. But even they, the fastest-moving and most efficient campaign organisation since Bill Clinton's took President George Bush Sr by surprise in 1992, were not at all prepared for Governor Palin.

In one single strike, therefore, McCain had altered the thrust and direction meticulously planned by both sides. The Obama campaign had settled on a strategy of hammering away until election day on 4 November with the insistence that a McCain presidency would merely be a continuation of George W Bush's, constantly using the slogan "McCain the Same" in their two-month blitz of ads.

Suddenly, though, that argument weakened when Obama found himself facing an opponent whose running mate - rather than the stodgy old Romney or Ridge figure he had expected - was a self-described "hockey mom" and mother-of-five from Alaska, known to her basketball teammates in school as "Sarah Barracuda". The argument that the Obama-Biden ticket alone represented "change" also suddenly weakened; arguably, the McCain-Palin ticket now represented an even more seismic change.

For his part, McCain largely sacrificed his "experience" and "not ready to lead" arguments against the Democrats by choosing Palin. She, after all, did not even have a passport until she recently applied for one to visit Alaskan National Guard troops in Germany and Kuwait, so McCain could hardly continue to campaign against Obama by citing his foreign policy inexperience.

At a stroke, though, McCain had seized much of the "change" territory for himself: instead of two men in jackets and ties taking over the White House in 20 January as usual, he could argue that he is offering the prospect of a man and a mother-of-five in a skirt doing so instead. He had also positioned himself to steal a chunk of the non-ideological female supporters of Hillary Clinton, who are still chafing bitterly at the way Obama treated the Clintons; the database of Hillary donors would be like Alaskan gold-dust should it somehow mysteriously find its way into the McCain camp.

McCain's decision has also made life much more difficult for Biden, Obama's designated attack dog: at 65, he is from a generation still not comfortable with the notion of gender equality, and the possibility that he could bully and/or patronise Palin in the vice-presidential debate is a very real one. That alone would badly damage Obama, especially with female voters.

All of which is to say that we now have a new 2008 election on our hands, its dynamics and directions dramatically shifted. The supreme irony in the debate about Palin's lack of "experience" is that, compared with Hillary Clinton, McCain or Obama, she is the only one to have had actual executive experience of running anything: two years as governor of the nation's sixth most affluent state which is twice the size of Texas. This is the reason Americans have traditionally looked to governors, rather than senators or congressmen, to be their presidents; either McCain or Obama will be only the third president in history to have gone from the Senate to the White House (the others being Warren Harding in 1921 and JFK in 1961).

It is too early to say what Palin's arrival has done to the persistently close poll figures; Obama's extravaganza appeared to have given him little or no bounce until 1 September, when CBS found him five points up from before the Democratic convention. That gave him an overall lead of eight points, the largest so far.

Daily tracking polls, though, still showed Obama with statistically insignificant leads, ranging from one to six points. These polls mean little, in any case, until each party has had its convention enthroning its candidate and his running mate, and the real, post-Labor Day battle has commenced. Which means that next week we will have an altogether better idea of just how much the unexpected advent on the scene of Sarah Barracuda is affecting this most bizarre of US presidential elections.

Andrew Stephen was appointed US Editor of the New Statesman in 2001, having been its Washington correspondent and weekly columnist since 1998. He is a regular contributor to BBC news programs and to The Sunday Times Magazine. He has also written for a variety of US newspapers including The New York Times Op-Ed pages. He came to the US in 1989 to be Washington Bureau Chief of The Observer and in 1992 was made Foreign Correspondent of the Year by the American Overseas Press Club for his coverage.
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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