IN ORDER TO FULLY UNDERSTAND ANOTHER BEING, YOU HAVE TO WATCH IT DIE Damascus, November 2009: Syria’s a country in a hurry to slow down the future. It doesn’t even bother to pretend it likes foreigners. And when it does grudgingly allow them inside its borders, it keeps them at arm’s length. I’m not sure why I need another lesson in a truth so obvious, but apparently I do when I’m sent there by The Hague for the Hariri investigation. It’s a year and a half before the Arab Spring. I arrange through a friend to have a Syrian visa faxed to Syria’s only border crossing with Jordan, where I’ll cross by taxi. Having had my run-ins with Syrian officialdom, as I get ready to board the plane, I call my friend to make sure he’s indeed faxed the visa. He tells me not to worry: A valid Syrian visa will be at the crossing. As the Syrian border post looms into view, my taxi driver slows way down as if he’s caught a bad case of cold feet and is about to turn around.
