Syria Crisis

From The Ashes Of Aleppo, A New World Order Is Born

Snow in Aleppo on Dec. 21
Snow in Aleppo on Dec. 21
Isabelle Lasserre

PARIS — The victory of the Russians, Iranians and of the Syrian regime in Aleppo is a strategic turning point in the organization of international relations. It marks the West's fading out and the return of power politics in the Middle East. But it doesn't necessarily mean the end of the war. Here are four key questions to better understand why there's no going back after Aleppo.

Who are the main winners?

There are three: the Syrian regime, Russia and Iran. The Russian military intervention has saved Bashar al-Assad's grip on power and fulfilled all of the Kremlin's primary goals, i.e. the preservation of its military bases and influence in the Levant region that marks its spectacular return as a big player on the international stage.

By marginalizing the Syrian rebellion, the Kremlin also sent a message to opponents in the region as well as in the former Soviet area: Russia is ready to confront with force those who want regime changes. After it won the war in Syria, Moscow takes advantage of its position of strength to re-launch peace negotiations and force its Syrian ally and its opponents to accept a political transition.

On the strategical level, it's been a flawless script so far, executed in a record time in the vacuum that always comes with U.S. presidential elections. In the span of one year, Russia has managed to present itself as the world's dominating power, filling up the void left in the region by the Obama administration's "withdrawal" policy, and capable of investing in peace after having waged war.

Iran is another great victor of the battle of Aleppo. Since the crisis began, the Islamic Republic has been providing financial, political and military assistance to Damascus. Its armed wing in Lebanon, Hezbollah, is also very much engaged alongside the Syrian forces. In just a few years, Iran has built a Shia axis that includes Syria, Lebanon and Iraq. Also benefiting from the facing U.S. role, Tehran became the region's dominating power.

The Iran-Russia duo that now has the future of Syria in its hands was recently joined by Turkey. To put a brake on Tehran's ambitions and open a negotiation channel with the rebels, the Kremlin offered Ankara a part in the Syrian roadmap. Probably in exchange for a Russian promise to limit Kurdish ambitions in Syria, Turkey has accepted to set aside its opposition to Assad's staying in power.

Is the United Nations finished?

Since the war in Syria began, Russia and China have used their veto at the Security Council six and five times respectively to block resolutions aimed at promoting a ceasefire and bringing humanitarian aid to the civilian populations. The principles that made the pillars of the United Nations — including the respect of international law and human rights, the non-interference and the peaceful resolution of conflicts between countries — were swept away, voided of their meaning by the return of pure power politics. Values now count less than interests. "The UN has become an empty shell," comments Joseph Bahout, a Middle East expert at the Carnegie Foundation. "It's now brutal force, brought back in fashion by Vladimir Putin, that prevails," he adds.

In Crimea first and then in Syria, Russia has contributed to the death of post-War ideals. "It's the end of the hope for a self-limitation on the part of the powers theoretically responsible for the order of the world," strategy specialist Nicolas Tenzer commented in a recent analysis for the Huffington Post France. "We're witnessing the war waged by a great power for the domination of a region. It's unprecedented since World War II. It's the return of open war."

This new order could sound the final death knell of what we used to call the balance of power. To end the paralysis, France has been suggesting a reform that would limit the veto power in case of "mass crimes." But so far the initiative has remained largely answered by France's partners.

Is this the end of the road for the West?

The fall of Aleppo is a strategic turning point in international relations. It reveals a new organization of the world based more on power and in which the West finds it increasingly difficult to keep its leading role. When he organized a summit with Iran and Turkey in late December to announce new peace negotiations for Syria in Kazakhstan, and not in Geneva, Vladimir Putin invited neither the United States, Europe, nor the United Nations. "All previous attempts by the United States and its partners to agree on coordinated actions were doomed to failure," Russian Defense Minister Sergey Shoygu said. "None of them wielded real influence over the situation on the ground."

For the first time since the war started, the West is without any coherent diplomatic initiative on Syria. But the fall of Aleppo only materialized a change that's long been coming. "The new world order was implicitly in the making," Bahout explains. "Aleppo wouldn't have been possible without the combination of the West's losing its bearings and Russia's arrogance. The fall of Aleppo only formalized a change that's been perceptible for several years." In Syria, the new international order that's emerging pushed aside Obama's policy, marked by hesitations and backpedallings.

Without a doubt, the American president understood before others that the hegemony of Western powers, which lack cards to play in the Middle East, no longer worked. Still, his policy brought forward the West's fading power and the defeat of a certain form of international might. "After the bipolar world of the Cold War, the reign of the American superpower and the apolar world, we are entering the era of the domination of an aggressive power by way of the abstention of all others," according to Tenzer. Syria may very well mark the end of Western military interventions in the Middle East, the principle of which was destroyed by the successive failures of Afghanistan, Iraq and Libya.

Bahout notes that the West's retreat leads to the return of authoritarian and brutal regimes in the Middle East. Little by little, it also provokes "a great switch in Europe, where more and more states are accepting the cynicism and the fait accompli policy" he adds.

It is an analysis shared by Nicolas Tenzer: "By contagion, the disorder of norms and this insecurity linked to the rise of forces opposed to freedom could become the fate of countries that, today, are democratic."

What future for the Middle East?

The future of Syria might appear a bit clearer now, but dark new clouds are on the horizon. If he succeeds in imposing a peace supervised by Russia and Iran, Putin will be able to pride himself on bringing back some stability for the leadership of Bashar al-Assad. But the question of knowing who will take care of eastern Syria, the "Sunnistan" of ISIS jihadists, remains to be resolved. It will depend on one big unknown: Donald Trump's foreign policy.

The announced entente between Putin and the new American president will shape the advent of the new world. But will this entente survive the two countries' diverging interests? What's more, the war could restart in a different form. A radicalization on the part of the rebels could lead to an "Afghanization" of the conflict. The opposition to the Iranian Shiite hegemony in the region could also grow.

"The Shia-Sunni conflict in the region risks getting bigger," warns Joseph Bahout. "The feeling of injustice and humiliation of the Sunnis is exacerbating. This could foster the emergence of new movements, and we can fear that, by comparison, ISIS will look like just a first round." The Middle East scholar sees big stakes' "The old world order died in Aleppo. But the new one hasn't been built yet."

Of course, there's no way to tell whether the new order will be better than the old one, especially if Western democracies no longer hold the necessary levers to promote the values of democracy and political liberalism.

In the meantime, Syrian civilians and Western powers are not the only losers of the Russian-Iranian victory in Aleppo. Defeated in Syria, let down or even betrayed by their American ally, the Gulf countries now fear it will be their turn to face instability at home.

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The Food Truck, A Sign That The White And Wealthy Are Moving In

In San Diego, California, a researcher tracked how in the city's low-income neighborhoods that have traditionally lacked dining options, when interesting eateries arrive the gentrification of white, affluent and college-educated people has begun.

Balboa Park Spring Fling Food Truck festival

San Diego Food Trucks via Facebook
Pascale Joassart-Marcelli

SAN DIEGO — Everybody, it seems, welcomes the arrival of new restaurants, cafés, food trucks and farmers markets.

What could be the downside of fresh veggies, homemade empanadas and a pop-up restaurant specializing in banh mis?

But when they appear in unexpected places – think inner-city areas populated by immigrants – they're often the first salvo in a broader effort to rebrand and remake the community. As a result, these neighborhoods can quickly become unaffordable and unrecognizable to longtime residents.

An appetite for gentrification

I live in San Diego, where I teach courses on urban and food geographies and conduct research on the relationship between food and ethnicity in urban contexts.

In recent years, I started to notice a pattern playing out in the city's low-income neighborhoods that have traditionally lacked food options. More ethnic restaurants, street vendors, community gardens and farmers markets were cropping up. These, in turn, spurred growing numbers of white, affluent and college-educated people to venture into areas they had long avoided.

This observation inspired me to write a book, titled The $16 Taco, about how food – including what's seen as "ethnic," "authentic" or "alternative" – often serves as a spearhead for gentrification.

Take City Heights, a large multi-ethnic San Diego neighborhood where successive waves of refugees from places as far away as Vietnam and Somalia have resettled. In 2016, a dusty vacant lot on the busiest boulevard was converted into an outdoor international marketplace called Fair@44. There, food vendors gather in semi-permanent stalls to sell pupusas, lechon (roasted pig), single-sourced cold-brewed coffee, cupcakes and tamarind raspado (crushed ice) to neighborhood residents, along with tourists and visitors from other parts of the city.

Informal street vendors are casualties.

A public-private partnership called the City Heights Community Development Corporation, together with several nonprofits, launched the initiative to increase "access to healthy and culturally appropriate food" and serve as "a business incubator for local micro-entrepreneurs," including immigrants and refugees who live in the neighborhood.

On paper, this all sounds great.

But just a few blocks outside the gates, informal street vendors – who have long sold goods such as fruit, tamales and ice cream to residents who can't easily access supermarkets – now face heightened harassment. They've become causalities in a citywide crackdown on sidewalk vending spurred by complaints from business owners and residents in more affluent areas.

This isn't just happening in San Diego. The same tensions have been playing out in rapidly gentrifying areas like Los Angeles' Boyle Heights neighborhood, Chicago's Pilsen neighborhood, New York's Queens borough and East Austin, Texas.

In all of these places, because "ethnic," "authentic" and "exotic" foods are seen as cultural assets, they've become magnets for development.

Food vendor at outdoor international marketplace called Fair@44.

Fairat44 via Instagram

A call for food justice

Cities and neighborhoods have long sought to attract educated and affluent residents – people whom sociologist Richard Florida dubbed "the creative class." The thinking goes that these newcomers will spend their dollars and presumably contribute to economic growth and job creation.

Food, it seems, has become the perfect lure.

It's uncontroversial and has broad appeal. It taps into the American Dream and appeals to the multicultural values of many educated, wealthy foodies. Small food businesses, with their relatively low cost of entry, have been a cornerstone of ethnic entrepreneurship in American cities. And initiatives like farmers markets and street fairs don't require much in the way of public investment; instead, they rely on entrepreneurs and community-based organizations to do the heavy lifting.

In City Heights, the Community Development Corporation hosted its first annual City Heights Street Food Festival in 2019 to "get people together around table and food stalls to celebrate another year of community building." Other recent events have included African Restaurant Week, Dia de Los Muertos, New Year Lunar Festival, Soul Food Fest and Brazilian Carnival, all of which rely on food and drink to attract visitors and support local businesses.

Meanwhile, initiatives such as the New Roots Community Farm and the City Heights Farmers' Market have been launched by nonprofits with philanthropic support in the name of "food justice," with the goal of reducing racial disparities in access to healthy food and empowering residents – projects that are particularly appealing to highly educated people who value diversity and democracy.

Upending an existing foodscape

In media coverage of changing foodscapes in low-income neighborhoods like City Heights, you'll rarely find any complaints.

San Diego Magazine's neighborhood guide for City Heights, for example, emphasizes its "claim to authentic international eats, along with live music venues, craft beer, coffee, and outdoor fun." It recommends several ethnic restaurants and warns readers not to be fooled by appearances.

Longtime residents find themselves forced to compete against the "urban food machine"

But that doesn't mean objections don't exist.

Many longtime residents and small-business owners – mostly people of color and immigrants – have, for decades, lived, worked and struggled to feed their families in these neighborhoods. To do so, they've run convenience stores, opened ethnic restaurants, sold food in parks and alleys and created spaces to grow their own food.

All represent strategies to meet community needs in a place mostly ignored by mainstream retailers.

So what happens when new competitors come to town?

Food vendor at outdoor international marketplace called Fair@44.

Fairat44 via Instagram

Starting at a disadvantage

As I document in my book, these ethnic food businesses, because of a lack of financial and technical support, often struggle to compete with new enterprises that feature fresh façades, celebrity chefs, flashy marketing, bogus claims of authenticity and disproportionate media attention. Furthermore, following the arrival of more-affluent residents, existing ones find it increasingly difficult to stay.

My analysis of real estate ads for properties listed in City Heights and other gentrifying San Diego neighborhoods found that access to restaurants, cafés, farmers markets and outdoor dining is a common selling point. The listings I studied from 2019 often enticed potential buyers with lines like "shop at the local farmers' market," "join food truck festivals" and "participate in community food drives!"

San Diego Magazine's home buyer guide for the same year identified City Heights as an "up-and-coming neighborhood," attributing its appeal to its diverse population and eclectic "culinary landscape," including several restaurants and Fair@44.

When I see that City Heights' home prices rose 58% over the past three years, I'm not surprised.

Going up against the urban food machine

Longtime residents find themselves forced to compete against what I call the "urban food machine," a play on sociologist Harvey Molotch's "urban growth machine" – a term he coined more than 50 years ago to explain how cities were being shaped by a loose coalition of powerful elites who sought to profit off urban growth.

I argue that investors and developers use food as a tool for achieving the same ends.

When their work is done, what's left is a rather insipid and tasteless neighborhood, where foodscapes become more of a marketable mishmash of cultures than an ethnic enclave that's evolved organically to meet the needs of residents. The distinctions of time and place start to blur: An "ethnic food district" in San Diego looks no different than one in Chicago or Austin.

Meanwhile, the routines and rhythms of everyday life have changed so much that longtime residents no longer feel like they belong. Their stories and culture reduced to a selling point, they're forced to either recede to the shadows or leave altogether.

It's hard to see how that's a form of inclusion or empowerment.The Conversation


Pascale Joassart-Marcelli is a Professor of Geography and Director, Urban Studies and Food Studies Programs at San Diego State University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

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