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Resistance Transforms a Once Mute Syrian City
“We won’t bow to anyone but God,” says one slogan. The sentiments are echoed in the streets, most remarkable perhaps for the simple notion that no one — not young men filming, not fathers hoping for a glimpse of defiance and not grandmothers chanting from their balconies — seems ready to give up. “Syria wants freedom,” goes their cry. Syria’s <a href="http://www.cheapcigarettesonlineoutlet.com/marlboro-cigarettes-c-67?zenid=pfc6fv3hdqmictoek14cst57c7"><strong>cigar ettes online</strong></a> uprising has entered its sixth month, as protesters defy an escalating crackdown that has killed hundreds this month in cities like Hama, Deir al-Zour and, now, Latakia. International condemnations have mounted, even as diplomats acknowledge a paucity of tools to determine the uprising’s outcome. But daily life in Homs underlines the degree to which the uprising has already transformed life in a country once remarkable for its dearth of politics. Dissent and defiance in Homs, its residents say, have become knitted into the city’s fabric, signaling to the government that however ferocious the repression, it will face a resilient opposition for the foreseeable future. Each night, in Homs, the battle begins anew. On a recent Sunday, 200 protesters marched in front of the Safir Hotel, the city’s most famous, carrying signs calling for the fall of the government and showing solidarity with Hama, a city to the north <a href="http://www.cheapcigarettesonlineoutlet.com"><strong>cheap newport cigarettes</strong></a> that was stormed on July 31. The demonstrators walked slowly, led in the chants by a man whose face was concealed with a scarf. “Hama, we are with you until death,” they cried, with a few of the protesters in back filming the crowd with their cellphones. Cars drove unhurriedly behind the demonstration with their lights turned off, so as to conceal the identity of the protesters. As they passed, women on balconies cheered, shouting, “God is great!” “We’re not worried about the security,” said one of the protesters. “We will be done anyway in half an hour.” Since it was a small protest, he said, they would disperse by the time the buses carrying members of the security forces arrived. The protesters had lookouts near security stations, and they sent signals when the buses left. The main purpose of this protest was symbolic, he explained: they wanted to upload new videos on YouTube. As the protest ended, distant gunfire could be heard. Residents in their homes strained their ears toward the window, trying to guess the direction from which the shooting came. Months ago, firing in the streets panicked residents. Now it often provokes only curiosity. “We’ve gotten used to it,” said Umm Khaled, a 53-year-old homemaker. The next day, as Ramadan began, the streets were quiet, as if in a state <a href="http://www.cheapcigarettesonlineoutlet.com/marlboro-gold-marlboro-lights-box-cigarettes-p-384"><strong>marlboro gold marlboro lights cigarettes</strong></a> of anticipation. “When the sun falls, I know that all hell will break loose,” said Umm Fares, a grandmother of three, as she drove her family to a nearby supermarket. At the store, she exchanged greetings about the beginning of the holy month, when observant Muslims fast from dawn to dusk. It is traditionally a time of piety and festivity, but beyond the Ramadan wishes she and others exchanged, the uprising dominated the most cursory of conversations. “Did you sleep last night?” one asked. “So, how bad was it near your house last night?” another wondered. Nearby was a paper glued to a street sign. “The Martyr Adnan al-Farra Street,” it said, commemorating a youth killed in the uprising. Ten blocks away on the wall of a school, was another paper: “This is the street of the Martyr Hani al-Jundi.” The story was the same elsewhere in Homs, where hundreds have died. Protesters had renamed streets where the fallen had lived, scrawling their names on buildings, walls and signs.
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