No-man's land is the kilometre or so between the Lebanese and Syrian borders. You exit one dry, barren landscape, and enter another. On the surface, differences are few. But there's an un-mistakeable omnipresence on the "Syrian side." Images of the war-ravaged nation's president Bashar al-Assad adorn just about every building, check-point and structure within the first few minutes of arriving.
I'd travelled to Syria a few months earlier and paid scant attention to the images. But this time they had far more relevance. President Assad was the reason I made the trip after being granted a rare opportunity to interview him one-on-one. That process itself took the best part of two years, but after several meetings, countless phone calls, letters and emails the call came from the Syrian Press Office notifying me that the request had been approved.
Upon arriving at our hotel in central Damascus it was clear the purpose of the visit was no secret. I had no Arabic beyond "hello" and "thank you" but while checking-in at the Four Seasons, I clearly hear the words "journalist" and "president" muttered between hotel staff as they went about their business.
“He tells me that I am the first Australian he can recall ever meeting, and says in his opinion Australia is eastern in location but western in policy - and warns that despite our geographic isolation, terror will one day come, unless it is eradicated elsewhere in the world.”
After 24-hours of travel I think over the upcoming interview whilst enjoying a meal in the hotel's al fresco precinct. The mercury tipped the 40's earlier in the day, patrons smoke shisha as the odd explosion can be heard in the distance - diners barely raise an eyebrow. Welcome to Syria.
Part of the "process" is to meet with the press office representatives at the palace in Damascus the next morning - the day before the interview. A government driver arrives at the hotel and I make the 10-or so minute journey to the expansive, somewhat bland building. Armed guards patrol the exterior, but it seems mostly empty and soulless. Once inside, I meet with the senior Press Office staff responsible for arranging the interview. After Arabic coffee and small-talk, logistics for the next day's interview are discussed. It’s made clear that the interview must not be edited in any fashion. The department head, a former news anchor herself, explains that hard questions are welcome but rudeness and interruptions are not.
I’m then taken to the interview venue for an inspection. It’s another 10-minute drive from the palace in a seemingly up-market but far-from-opulent suburb of Damascus. The office looks more like a grand European home than the business-place of an alleged dictator. It’s quaint with tended gardens and a paved entrance. Surprisingly, and unlike much of Damascus, there are no regular soldiers near the building. But there are a handful of para-military guards wandering the street - some with overt weapons, others with hands in pockets watching intently.
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Whether by design or accident, I arrive at the office at a time of high activity. Camera crews set up, production staff asses the control room and a handful of security guards scrutinise the action. At one point 29 people are busily preparing the room - a basic lounge room with two arm-chairs in the centre facing one-another. But as I head back to the hotel with the government driver, I receive a phone call requesting the interview be delayed a few hours or even a day. Unsure why this request has come, I have few choices but to comply - a time is set for mid-day the next day.
Punctual as always, on the morning of the interview the government driver waits outside the hotel. I’m again taken to the palace for a final briefing. I’m introduced to the President's chief translator who I’m told will sit in. I’m driven to the office venue in Damascus and meet the President's aide. She tells me there will be a 5-10 minute private pre-interview discussion between only President Assad, and myself. I’m directed toward a lift and taken to the first floor of the building. The door opens and Assad is standing there to greet me. He ushers me to a room where we sit and talk. Sipping water with him it is difficult to reconcile the mild mannered man in front of me with the one who is accused of committing such atrocities.
He tells me that I am the first Australian he can recall ever meeting, and says in his opinion Australia is eastern in location but western in policy - and warns that despite our geographic isolation, terror will one day come, unless it is eradicated elsewhere in the world. I tell him we have already had our share - not on the same scale as others - but that it's something Australia understands all-too well.
After a brief chat, I take the stairs down to the interview room. I'm directed to the chair in the centre of the make-shift studio. Make-up is hastily applied in the seconds before we begin. An electronic clock is set up in my eye-line. The agreement is for a 25-minute interview and I am advised to keep to time. During the interview, President al-Assad is unable to understand my broad Australian accent and politely blames the acoustics of the room. The translator helps out and I am forced to repeat 4-or-5 questions. The 25-minutes evaporates in what seems like a heartbeat and I am left frustrated with a dozen or so questions still to ask - but there is no beating the clock. He shakes hands and disappears - I return to the hotel to reflect on a truly bizarre experience.
As I prepare to leave Syria for no-man's-land and Lebanon, I decide to count just how many images of Assad I see. I begin counting but as I arrive at the border crossing I lose count as the car pulls away. It was more than forty at least - an indication if nothing else of how this man's rule dominates life and death in Syria.
The special half hour interview airs 7.30pm on Friday on SBS. The full interview will be available at SBS On Demand directly after broadcast.
