DAMASCUS — After 15 years of exile for the unforgivable crime of supporting the 2011 uprising, Syrian singer Assala Nasri finally returned to her hometown, walked the streets she had missed, and sang the line that launched a thousand tears: “Tell my mother Assala has returned to Al-Sham.”
The mother, one assumes, had just enough time to put the kettle on. The very next day, according to the rapidly evolving folklore of post-Assad Syria, Assala was fled again.
Not because the old regime had returned, but because some of the new regime’s most enthusiastic fans decided that a woman singing in public was an emergency requiring threats. Salafists loyal to the man formerly known as Abu Mohammad al-Julani apparently concluded that “liberation” had been achieved a bit too thoroughly if people were still allowed to clap on the two and four.
The Ministry of Culture, which had spent weeks calling her “the daughter of Damascus” and posing for photos with her, discovered that welcoming a singer is a high-risk activity.
The minister reportedly required a small military escort to continue existing in public. In the new Syria, it seems, the job description for Minister of Culture now includes “professional hide-and-seek champion” and “man who must stand slightly behind someone carrying a rifle.”
This is the part of the revolution they don’t put on the souvenir T-shirts.For years Assala was banned because she opposed Assad. Now she is threatened because she opened her mouth and music came out. The ideological through-line is impressive in its consistency: the problem was never really Assad or Julani.
The problem was always a woman with a microphone and an audience that refused to look miserable.The concert itself was a masterpiece of timing. Heavy security, torn-down posters, Friday sermons denouncing both the singer and the minister who dared treat her like a citizen, and then the triumphant announcement that art would heal the nation.
Healing, it turns out, has a curfew.One can only admire the efficiency. Fifteen years to come home. Twenty-four hours to remember why she left. The new authorities get credit for letting her sing. The hardliners get credit for reminding everyone that permission can be revoked the moment the last encore ends. Everyone gets to claim victory.
Assala gets to pack.“Tell my mother Assala has returned to Al-Sham,” she sang.
A more accurate verse, updated for current events, might read: “Tell my mother Assala has returned to Al-Sham, seen the welcome committee, and would like to speak to the manager of history.”
In the meantime, the Culture Minister remains available for comment, provided you can find him. He is believed to be standing very close to the nearest army officer, practicing the official slogan of the transitional period: “We support the arts. From a safe distance. Preferably behind something solid.”Syria is free. The singer is gone.
The mother, presumably, has put the kettle away again.Some homecomings last longer than others. This one lasted just long enough to prove that changing the man in charge is easier than changing the men who decide what a woman is allowed to do with her voice.
