Where Do Antiquities Belong?

10 Sep

From Andrew Sullivan’s Daily Dish:

A variety of Bronze Age earrings from Penn’s “Trojan Gold.” (Courtesy of Penn Museum)

Blake Gopnik looks at how two American museums dealt with objects in their collections originally obtained under questionable circumstances. One, the Cleveland Museum of Art, decided the benefit of displaying a historical piece of art to the masses outweighed any ethical questions about its origins. The other, the University of Pennsylvania, worked out an arrangement to return 24 gold objects to Turkey, the country from where they believe the works had been originally looted:

There’s [a] downside to repatriations like the one Penn has announced. They play into the notion that the countries in today’s U.N. have a unique claim to every object ever made within their modern borders, as part of their trademark “cultural heritage.” [My emphasis]

[Cleveland Museum of Art Director David] Franklin points out that with his head of Drusus [Minor, a portrait discussed in the article as having a questionable paper trail], “you have an object where the marble seems to be Turkish and the artist was probably Roman, working in Algeria … The whole concept of ownership by a country goes against the way art was made.” Does the Drusus head really belong to Turkey, where it was born and the Roman empire ended its days, or to Algeria, where Drusus would have been worshipped, or maybe even to the Italians of modern Rome? Or maybe it belongs just as much to some little girl in Cleveland, who has read about the Romans from the time of Christ, and wants to see what one of them looked like and what kind of artworks they would have treasured. Franklin points out that, uniquely in a museum like his, she can compare that marble head to a long history of Christian art that either rejected a Roman model or tried to match it.

“They play into the notion that the countries in today’s U.N. have a unique claim to every object ever made within their modern borders, as part of their trademark “cultural heritage.””  Of course, the ludicrous idea that culture, past or present, corresponds with political borders could only be brought to you by the stupidity of the nation-state ideological model.

Read Gopnik’s article.

 

Comment: nikobakos@gmail.com

Still the Man

10 Sep

For as Borges said: “…there is a dignity in defeat that hardly belongs to victory.”  Especially when you’ve fought like a fucking hero till the final game.

 

Comment: nikobakos@gmail.com

See…

10 Sep

This is what he does.  “Oh, it’s a nice day today.  I think I’ll play.”  And then takes a brute like Ferrer in a good match, but hardly an epic battle: 2-6 (yesterday’s set), 6-1, 6-4, 6-2 — and goes to the final tomorrow against Murray.

I gotta say one thing about my man Nole though, as petulant as he can be.  He’s the most gracious winner-or-loser, no matter what.  There’s always a sincere smile, an acknowledgement full of respect, and a warmth to his response to any match — the mark of a true athelete.  What he said about Ferrer today, before or after with the commentators, was such a (rightful) praise of Ferrer as a player that it left a lump in my throat.

Tomorrow is Murray, man.  I’ve made a solemn tama that I’ll have to fulfill if Djok wins.  Let’s see.

Comment: nikobakos@gmail.com

Nole, man…

8 Sep

I commented yesterday about Janko Tipsarevic (SRB), in his beautiful, beautiful match against David Ferrer (ESP) that: “Janko may actually have a steadier, more perseverant grit than Nole — with his unpredictable, emotional ups and downs — does.”

Janko (click)

And sure enough, there Djokovic was today, against a monster like David “The Wall” Ferrer — Ferrer, one of the fittest, strongest players in the game, banging away in a never-say-die style that first blew me away just the other day, and Novak in one of his his pissy-little-prince moods because of the weather, visibly daydreaming on the court, letting himself get creamed. 

Ferrer (click)

And the Prestolonaslednik

Luckily for him, the game was suspended in mid-first set due to weather (5-2 Ferrer and not looking like it was gonna get any better).  The U.S. Open is the only Slam event that stupidly doesn’t have any indoor courts or provisions for shelter and the match will be resumed tomorrow morning; Final moved to Monday.

This is the Semi-Final of the U.S. Open, Mr. Djokovic, a Grand Slam event, of which you haven’t won any since Australia, in case you don’t remember.  You’re up against FERRER again tomorrow and, if you’re lucky, Murray on Monday.  Get it the fuck together.  No champagne tonight.  And for the tenth time, get out of Monaco!  It’s BAD for you.

*****************************************************************************************************************************

And Nole’s parents, Dijana and Srdjan Djokovic:

Good genes.  But nobody ever doubted the quality of that gene pool.  Here, for instance, is Tipsarevic (click), when not locked in the mortal agony of a death match:

 

Comment: nikobakos@gmail.com

Tipsarevic vs. Ferrer (and an apology from me)

7 Sep

Yesterday’s Tipsarevic-Ferrer match was, I think, some of the best tennis I’ve ever seen.  Janko Tipsarevic (SRB) played like a man possessed — like, 1915 Retreat, Kajmakcalan possessed — the best of Serbian inat, a desperate (in the most soldierly sense), heroic attempt to beat a higher-ranking and very dangerous player.  He was like a manic Djokovic, if that’s possible, without losing his focus, taking all of Nole’s extreme acrobatic risks and flying across the court like lightning — even fighting on after a brutal fall.  Janko may actually have a steadier, more perseverant grit than Nole — with his unpredictable, emotional ups and downs — does.  He’s one of my new heroes.

Janko Tipsarevic

Especially moving was the repeated cry: “Haydi Janko-o-o-o-o!!!” from people in the stands.

David Ferrer (ESP — below), a man who’s career I now regret I haven’t followed very carefully, is just a total stud, monster of a player; big, strong, and fast, keeps coming back and back again with seemingly no loss of concentration or power — an absolute and nimble bulldozer.

They played for four-and-a-half hours and went into a fifth set tie-break.  Both of their feet were bleeding and had to be bandaged.  Janko played on injured after his fall.  It was epic.  Janko didn’t make it into the semi-finals — it would’ve been his first time — and it would’ve pitted him against Djokovic!  But nobody really loses a battle like this, and the crowd and the victorious Ferrer readily acknowledged the heart Janko put out.

Here’s the Times:  “A Lack of Name Power, but Tipsarevic and Ferrer Have Staying Power.”

Janko Tipsarevic, left, fell to David Ferrer in a match that lasted 4 hours 31 minutes. “It was a really emotional match,’’ Ferrer said.  (Ben Solomon for The New York Times).

Meanwhile, Nole beat Juan Martin del Potro (ARG) handily in straight sets and made up for London.  All sorts of commentary about what a challenging match it was: Djokovic “standing in a pool of his own sweat,” etc.; I didn’t even see him break a sweat.

I don’t get this del Potro guy.  He’s big (6’6″), but it seems like instead of his size giving him strength or span advantage, it just seems to slow him down.  He seems almost amateurishly clumsy sometimes — mas burro que potro — and always looks like he’s about to have a panic attack or start crying.  But he’s made it up to fourth rank in his day and won the Open in 2009, so I guess the guy can play.

Juan Martin del Potro (ARG)

Meanwhile, Nole, smelling blood, engaged in none of his antics and only mild versions of his rebel-yell victory howl; instead he just had that calm, concentrated look he gets when he knows where things are going.

But tomorrow he’s up against Ferrer in the semis, which might be a tiny bit more nerve-wracking.

1915 Retreat?  Kajmakcalan?  Yes.  I’m a total and unapologetic believer in The Serbian Myth.  All of it.  But I will have to explain myself further some day soon, because I’ve always taken a lot of flack for it.  For now, let’s just say that I believe it in such a profound, deep-in-the-heart way, that the destructive, homicidal uses it’s been put to disgust me all the more.  Ok?

That wasn’t the apology.  The apology I owe readers here is that for several days I’ve given you nothing but tennis.  I’m sorry.  I’m busy and pre-occupied with lots of things and all the rest of my energy is absorbed by the Open.  It’ll be over soon.

 

Comment: nikobakos@gmail.com

“Such a beautiful sense of his own body…”

5 Sep

…says former tennis champ and commentator Jim Courier today, in an unusually aesthete-minded observation of Nole’s physicality during his match with Swiss Stanislas Wawarinka, as he continues to breeze through the U.S. Open and advances to the quarterfinals.  I’m now ashamed I ever doubted him.

Roger got closed out of quarterfinals by Berdych, which kinda sucks because I wanted the world to see Nole beat Federer.  So no clue who it’ll be in the end.

The Los Angeles Times‘ Adam Weinberger has four reasons why Djokovic will successfully defend his Open title: “4 Reasons Why Djokovic Will Repeat as Champ,” though the condensing of the Open’s schedule into daily matches with no days off in between, due to the rain delays of typical New York summer swamp weather, has me a little worried about the physical toll it’ll take on the athletes.  Nole goes up against Juan Martin del Potro tomorrow and hopefully will get some satisyfing compensation for the humiliating loss of the Bronze to del Potro in London.  All in all looks good.

Meanwhile, fellow Serb Janko Tipsarevic, who I never knew was was as highly ranked as no. 8 seed, isn’t doing so badly himself, also advancing today to the quarterfinals.  Though he goes up against Ferrer tomorrow, which is kind of scary.

Janko Tipsarevic

And an undated photo of the two paesani, below, that I love:

On another Balkan tennis front, Andy Murray turns around initial losses (“Andy Murray Asserts Himself After Poor Start“) and defeats Croat Marin Cilic (below).  Oh, well.  Them’s the breaks…

And then there was a hard-core, great match between Maria Sharapova and Marion Bartoli,  from which the Russian powerhouse emerged victorious, but not without being given a serious run for her money.

 

Comment: nikobakos@gmail.com

Photo: Istanbul

2 Sep

I don’t know if this photo is Tarlabasi or some other vandalized Istanbul neighborhoood.  (See: Tarlabasi ITarlabasi II and Tarlabasi III).  I don’t know — if it is Tarlabasi — whether it’s Tarlabasi now or in some then-time.  I just know it’s a priceless photograph.  (click)

From my buddy Aykut:

“Yes indeed,it is sadly Tarlabaşı. Between 1984 and 1987, the Mayor of Istanbul Bedrettin Dalan ( Nero of Istanbul ) went through some major demolishment in the neighbourhoods as part of a wide ranging program. More than 350 18th century neo classical stone buildings were demolished with bulldozers. He was such a waste of sperm he also did demolish numbers of historical buildings including last civil architectural sample of Byzantion those were barely remained “in situ” for ages along Golden Horn. Now,he is a fugitive for 5 years seeking shelter to protect himself from imprisonment due to his proven support to junta for their coup d’etat attempt in 2003,4. Btw see who will demolish next what is left from Tarlabaşı after Bedrettin Dalan storm in 80s.”    http://www.gapinsaat.com/en/URTarlabasi.aspx

 

Comment: nikobakos@gmail.com

Vocabulary: “Frangoi”

2 Sep

I’ve used this term several times without giving a more specific definition of it and that was a mistake because some of those posts would have made more sense if I had.

Like: “Little Rock, Greece”  (May 26th, 2012):

“But an equal object of my bashing here is the European Union, which aside from proving itself to be a neo-colonialist endeavour masquerading as the Highest Achievement of Western Humanism Project, has also revealed itself to be a half-assed, thrown together mess on so many institutional and bureaucratic levels.  (Yes, neo-colonialist: the Frangoi** gave up their colonies after the war and then discovered the exploitable potential of Europe’s own periphery again.)”

And: “Russia and Syrian Christians, ctd”  (June 5th, 2012):

“Tying your survival to extra-regional players or regimes like Assad’s that are destined to soon make their exit is a losing strategy for the region’s Christians.  The threat of Islamist violence is probably real.  Iraq and even Egypt certainly seem to indicate that.  But their only choice is probably the tricky dance of fostering, or just going with, the flow of democratic change while keeping themselves as least vulnerable as possible.  Forget Russia.  And, as Constantine XI had to heroically face in the end, there’s certainly no help coming from the Frangoi.*  If you want to live in peace and security, look to your neighbor because, ultimately, he’s the only one who can provide it for you.”

And: “Un Verano en Nueva York” (July 13th, 2012):

“In Astoria I catch the end of vespers at Hagia Eirene.  This is a church that used to be the territory of fundamentalist, Old Calendar, separatist crazies but has rejoined the flock on the condition that it was granted monastic status (and I have no idea what that means).  But it has somehow got its hands on a great bunch of cantors and priests who really know what they’re doing.  I’m impressed.  I brought friends here for the Resurrection this year and for the first time I wasn’t embarrassed.  If I hadn’t invited them back home afterwards I would have stayed for the Canon.  Only one cantor now at vespers but he’s marvelous and the lighting is right and the priest’s bearing appropriately imperial.  It’s incredibly heartening to see our civilization’s greatest achievement — which is not what the Frangoi taught us about Sophocles or Pericles or some half-baked knowledge of Plato or a dumb hard-on about the Elgin marbles or the word “Macedonia,” but this, the rite and music and poetry and theatre of the Church – performed with the elegance and dignity that it deserves.”                  

So…when the Byzantines first encountered the West and the conglomeration of Germanic kingdoms that had sprung up on the territories of the western Roman Empire, or rather, when they first felt challenged by it and not just irritated, was when Charlemagne, previously just King of the Franks, was crowned Emperor of the Romans in the year 800 by Pope Leo III, whose skin he had saved after Leo had been deposed and almost lynched by the mobs of Rome.  This, of course, was intolerable to us, because we were the Romans and we had an Emperor, with an unbroken line back to Constantine, if not Augustus.  This is close to impossible an idea for anyone today to understand; it’s even hard for modern Greeks to articulate and it’s at the core of our completely mangled identity.  It’s nearly impossible to speak definitively about consciousness or identity in the present tense, much less more than a millennium past.  But this is the simplest way I can put it: by the late first millennium, the Greek-speaking Christians of the eastern Mediterranean had a stronger sense of Imperial Roman continuity than the inhabitants of even the Italian peninsula.  Till well into the twentieth century our most common term of self-designation was “Romios” – “Roman.”  If you had asked any of my grandparents, all born Ottoman subjects, what they “were” — if they even understood the question — or even my father very often, they would’ve all answered “Roman.”  For the inhabitants of my father’s village in Albania, especially the older ones, who never had “Hellenes” imposed on them by the Neo-Greek statelet, the world is still divided into Muslim “Turks” and Orthodox “Romans,” and whether they speak Greek or Albanian is irrelevant.  The Greeks of Istanbul still call themselves “Romioi” for the most part; Turks still call them “Rum” too, out of simple historical continuity, while the Turkish state is still faithful to the appellation for partly more cynical and manipulative reasons.  I’m writing a piece with the appropriately pompous working title of “A Roman Manifesto” or “A Manifesto of Romanness” that will deal with this whole theme further.

The Frankish West (click)

So Charlemagne was a Frank, a Latinized Germanic ethnic group, and though the Pope’s primacy “inter pares” was recognized, he had no right to unilaterally crown this Frank emperor in an Italy that had become a ravaged provincial backwater from the Constantinopolitan point of view.  This didn’t end relations between the Empire and the various western European kingdoms.  They continued to trade and even contract dynastic marriages and all the rest.  But the tension, which had already been planted for quite a while before that, only went from bad to worse: power tensions; trade concessions to the Italian city-states that fatally mirror the ones the Ottomans had to make to the Western powers a millennium later; massacres of Italians in C-town that are equally mirror-like.

The West grew in confidence.  The Empire shrank.  They started bickering about theological issues, and eventually, in 1054, Rome and Constantinople excommunicated each other over some nonsense about the division of labor among the Trinity that I’ve never bothered to try and understand.  Then came the Crusades — more growing Western confidence — which the Byzantines weren’t ever really enthusiastic about because I reckon on many levels they felt less animosity for and greater cultural affinity to their the Muslim/Arab neighbors than they did to the “Franks.”  Runciman, I think writes somewhere that a ninth-century Greek felt more at home in Arab Palermo or Baghdad and Cairo that he would’ve in Paris or even Rome.

Sometimes Wiki’s gets it perfect:

“The experiences of the first two Crusades had thrown into stark relief the vast cultural differences between the two Christian civilizations. The Latins (as the Byzantines called them because of their adherence to the Latin Rite) viewed the Byzantine preference for diplomacy and trade over war, as duplicitous and degenerate, and their policy of tolerance and assimilation towards Muslims as a corrupt betrayal of the faith. For their part, the educated and wealthy Byzantines saw the Latins as lawless, impious, covetous, blood-thirsty, undisciplined, and (quite literally) unwashed.”

Then came the Fourth Crusade, led by the Venetian Doge Enrico Dandolo.  The Crusaders fell into the internecine machinations of the some Angeloi  Emperors and I think ended up feeling betrayed on some promise made to them by one party in the Byzantine political scene, and they probably were, because our latter Emperors compensated for the diminishment of their real geopolitical power and the sapped strength of their once massive military machine by becoming major manipulative sleazebags and liars, initiating a long Greek tradition that persists to our day.  In retaliation, and, or, because that had been their real object all along, the Crusaders of the Fourth Crusade, in 1204, captured the City – the first time Constantinople had ever fallen to anybody and destroyed it.

They destroyed her.  They massacred thousands, desecrated churches, including Hagia Sophia herself, and carried away what, in today’s terms, I’m sure amounted to billions in loot.  The Venetians got off with enough of a lump sum of capital to fund and run their mercantile empire for another five centuries.  But aside from the loot, which on some level is comprehensible, it’s the sheer mindless destruction of 1204 that betrays the sack as the action of thuggish, resentful provincials and their envy towards what had been the civilizational center of the Mediterranean and western Asian world for almost a millennium; it’s what an army of Tea-Partiers, NRA members or armed Texan Evangelicals would do to New York if they could.  Though pregnant already with the great traditions of this supposed thing called Western Humanism, this bunch destroyed more Classical texts and melted down or smashed more Classical sculpture into gravel than had been done at any other one time in history – far more than any fanatical Christians in any pagan city or any Arabs or Muslims in any conquered Christian city before them had.  More of the ancient world was lost to us in those few days than in any other comparable time span before that.  Just sheer idiotic vandalism.  There’s probably no more epic manifestation of Killing-the-Father in human history.

Speros Vryonis, a great historian but a seriously unpleasant man, Theos’choreston, made a career out of catalogueing the injustices done to Byzantine and post-Byzantine Greeks.  He was the great modern preacher of whining Greek victimology and one often felt that all his personal bile and biterness was poured into his work in that way; his book on the anti-Greek riots of Istanbul in 1955 is one thousand pages long; you’d think it was the most important event in twentieth-century history.  In any event, in Byzantium and Europe, he wrote:

“The Latin soldiery subjected the greatest city in Europe to an indescribable sack. For three days they murdered, raped, looted and destroyed on a scale which even the ancient Vandals and Goths would have found unbelievable. Constantinople had become a veritable museum of ancient and Byzantine art, an emporium of such incredible wealth that the Latins were astounded at the riches they found. Though the Venetians had an appreciation for the art which they discovered (they were themselves semi-Byzantines) and saved much of it, the French and others destroyed indiscriminately, halting to refresh themselves with wine, violation of nuns, and murder of Orthodox clerics. The Crusaders vented their hatred for the Greeks most spectacularly in the desecration of the greatest Church in Christendom. They smashed the silver iconostasis, the icons and the holy books of Hagia Sophia, and seated upon the patriarchal throne a whore who sang coarse songs as they drank wine from the Church’s holy vessels. The estrangement of East and West, which had proceeded over the centuries, culminated in the horrible massacre that accompanied the conquest of Constantinople. The Greeks were convinced that even the Turks, had they taken the city, would not have been as cruel as the Latin Christians. The defeat of Byzantium, already in a state of decline, accelerated political degeneration so that the Byzantines eventually became an easy prey to the Turks. The Crusading movement thus resulted, ultimately, in the victory of Islam, a result which was of course the exact opposite of its original intention.”

The Fall of Constantinople, Palma Le Jeune — 16th-17th century (click)

The Entry of the Crusaders into Constantinople –Eugene Delacroix, 1840 (click)

And, in fact, the Turks — fast-forward two-and-a-half centuries – weren’t as bad.  Maybe ’cause there wasn’t much left.  Aside from a sizeable amount of slaves, most of the loot Mehmet had promised his suicidally brave Janissaries when they finally made it into the City in 1453 consisted of cheap silver frames pried off of personal or parish-sized icons — Cavafy’s “bits of coloured glass.”  The Emperor’s tombs in the dilapidated Hagioi Apostoloi — the Byzantines’ Westminster — had already been desecrated and robbed by the Franks.  They may as well have sacked Astoria.  The rest was in Venice.  (Even the crown jewels had been pawned off to Venice a century before by Anne of Savoy, one of the most meddling Frangissa bitches in Byzantine history, to fund her episode of the Palaiologan civil wars; that’s the actual historical reference for Cavafy’s “coloured glass.”  Christouli mou, can you imagine what the Byzantine crown jewels were like?)  But one good thing happened for Greeks on Tuesday, May Twenty-Ninth, Fourteen-Fifty-Three: when the Turks finally broke into Hagia Sophia, they smashed Dandolo’s sepulcher — because, after all of the above, he had had the shamelessness to have himself interred there – and finding nothing of worth, they threw his bones out into the street and let the dogs gnaw on them.  I don’t care what else the conquering Turks did at that  point or that Menderes’ thugs did the same to the Patriarchs’ graves at Balikli in 1955; I sleep better at night because they did it to Dandolo.  I’m as close to a chaneller of the Byzantine mind and soul as you’ll find (aside from Vryonis) and I can tell you that the sweet Balkan hard-on of vengeance that image gives me even now is indescribable.

The Greeks got Constantinople back in 1261, but the City never really recovered, as the Empire itself didn’t.  Like the South Bronx in the eighties, whole parts of the City were eventually given over to orchards and bostania or just wilderness.  Yet even after that, the Byzantines managed to plant further seeds in the womb of friggin’ Western Humanism in the form of an artistic wave of unprecedented dimensions and creativity. 

The “Franks,” thereafter, were the unforgivable villains.  But even before, when Byzantine writers felt like being professional, they referred to Westerners as “Latins.”  When not, and eventually in most cases, they were “Frangoi.”  Frangoi stuck as the word for Westerners, or for Catholics at least, because Protestantism was only a minor blip on the East’s screen.   But generally it came to mean the Western Others and the Eastern Muslim world between which Byzantine and post-Byzantine Christians came to feel themselves stuck between.

“Fereng,” “Ferengi,” “Ferenj” and other variations is also a word that eventually came to be used as far east as India, but I can’t be sure whether in Iran or India it means/meant Westerner or just foreigner.  For Arabs and Turks, “Frank” came to mean those Christians over there, as opposed to “Romans,” our Christians over here.  So if you were Roman Catholic, either back home in Europe or in the Near East, you were a “Frank;” if you were an Orthodox Christian, you were a “Roman.”*  It’s confusing.  And I hope I haven’t made it worse.

For Greeks, Frangoi continued to mean Westerner both in a negative sense and not, until the nation-sate convinced us into thinking we ourselves were Westerners.  When Greek peasant men, for example, started wearing Western clothes, whereas their women wore traditional dress well into the twentieth century in many regions, those clothes were “Frangika.”  Frangoi also meant, with no negative connotation, the small communities of Catholics in the Aegean islands that were leftovers of the Crusader principalities that had been founded there after the Fourth Crusade.

It’s not used any more in common Greek parlance, but most Greeks know what you mean when you say it – though this generation is so profoundly ignorant historically that I’m not so sure.  I, of course, use it in a spirit of historical irony, though that spirit is entirely hostile.  The worst enemy of our part of the world is the European West, and not because of imperialist interventions or the usual gripes, but because of the ideological and cultural chaos we allowed it to throw us into.

Yes, Frangoi are the enemy.  I like to say that.  But it’s not true.  We think we’re Frangoi.  Unlike the Byzantines described above, who understood that their natural civilizational context was and always had been the eastern Mediterranean, we are either ignorant of the peoples to our East or despise them.  We disfigured our own identity in an attempt to remake it in the Westerners’ image.  We threw acid into our own face and now still look longingly into Europe’s eyes, and pathetically expect to see our Classical glory reflected back at us.

*One of the most graphic examples is Lebanon/Syria, where Orthodox Christians, who have long and poignantly tried to bridge the above gap, were still “Romans” into the nineteenth century and were among the founders and then long among the most loyal adherents of Arab nationalism, whereas Maronite Christians were the locals with the most exemplary Frangika delusions, always looking to the Western outsider to bolster their interests, first their “sweet mother France” and then Israel, and bringing disaster down upon their heads and that of all around them in the process.  That’s why in many previous posts my humble outsider’s advice to and hope for Syrian Christians in the current crisis has been that they think and act like Romans and not Franks.

Comment: nikobakos@gmail.com

 

Question: Lebanon

31 Aug

What are the differences between a Hezbollah and an Amal supporter?

One response: “Other than having different names and different figureheads, I am not sure about any ideological differences between Hezb and Amal. If I ask anyone back home, all I will get is a healthy dose of Lebanese cynicism and sarcasm.”

 

Comment: nikobakos@gmail.com

Can Hezbollah Survive the Fall of Assad?

31 Aug

Did this opinion piece in The New York Times, Hezzbollah Survive the Fall of Assad?“make sense to anybody?  Does Ghaddar really think that a phenomenon like Hezbollah is going to be mortally wounded in some way soon or that it will go away some time very soon?  And do we want it too?

“Something fundamental has changed: the Shiite militant group Hezbollah, long Syria’s powerful proxy in Lebanon [a sweeping simplification of the Hezb phenomenon], has become a wounded beast. And it is walking a very thin line between protecting its assets and aiding a crumbling regime next door.”

A “wounded beast” ?  Really?

 

 

Comment: nikobakos@gmail.com