KHALED IS grim-faced when we meet. At 6am on Wednesday, the army surrounded his village of Jdaidat Artous, 18km from Damascus, with tanks and armoured vehicles.
“The soldiers shot in the air to empty the streets and systematically searched most houses, beginning with what we call areas one and two.
“There were two tanks on my street. I don’t know how many took part in the operation. There were checkpoints everywhere.
“My wife was there with the children who were sleeping and everything was all right.
“The soldiers found nothing in the houses in areas one and two. They have a mixed population of Muslims, Christians and Druze and most people are educated and come from Damascus.”
However when the troops reached area three, where the poorer, less-educated, original inhabitants of the village live, gunmen shot at the troops and a firefight ensued. Outnumbered and outgunned by the army, the rebels fled into adjacent fields and olive orchards.
“The army pursued, captured some and executed 15 with their hands tied behind their backs,” Khaled says. “Fifty-four were killed. The preacher in the mosque was killed . . . I did not see them personally but I saw pictures on Facebook.
“The people who died were fighters. Forty were from Jdaidat Artous, the rest were from Mu’adamiya,” a restive suburb 15 minutes by car from the centre of the capital.
“We’ve had trouble for many months, since the Free Syrian Army came with guns and money. We were expecting this attack before. Those people [the rebels] killed many people over the last year, soldiers and officers who lived in the village. They also attacked army checkpoints on the main road.
“They burned down the police station,” he adds. “The police left and did not come back. Because there is no security, the bank and the office where we pay electricity bills closed. All we have is an ATM.”
“They killed two army officers and their driver at the weekend. Before that they put an explosive in the car of another officer who was killed when he was driving his children to school. The others were wounded. They hijacked cars.
“The army tolerated this for months and then took action . . . When they hit, they hit too hard.”
“Many families left as they are expecting more trouble . . . the electricity was off from eight in the morning until nine at night.”
Khaled is deeply shocked, the skin of his face tight over his cheekbones, his eyes distant. He has lost hope that his village will escape the conflict.
Some young men are likely to seek revenge, creating a cycle of violence between rebels and troops in this village of 12,000-15,000.
When I ring Muhammad, another friend, to fix a meeting at the weekend, he apologises. “I’m in Latakia. I had to attend a funeral.” Someone close to him had been killed, but he did not say who, how or why. “While driving here I saw so many funerals,” he says, his voice low.
Dr Abdul Rahman Attar, president of the Syrian Arab Red Crescent and member of the governing board of the International Federation of Red Cross societies, makes the point that the Red Crescent is also caught in the crossfire. Five volunteers have been killed, many have been wounded and ambulances fired upon and hijacked.
“Both sides do not respect the Geneva Convention,” he says.
Of the civilians who have fled fighting in their home cities, towns and villages, he says: “They are not refugees. They are displaced persons. Around Damascus there are 300,00-400,000.”
The estimate for Syria as a whole is 850,000 but the Red Crescent, the International Committee of the Red Cross and the World Food Programme are preparing to care for 1.5 million.
