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Bring back hanging
Part 2
Isis enforcement
Isis installs “emirs” who monitor operations and negotiate with the
regime through mediators. There is an emir for the plant, a religious
emir and another from the Hisba, the group’s morality police. Workers
say the Hisba emir at Tuweinan, known as Sheikh Haseeb, patrolled the
plant to enforce strict Islamic practice. Anyone breaking the rules
would receive 75 lashes.
Sheikh Haseeb also allowed gunmen to threaten employees. They
particularly targeted the plant’s two dozen Christians, even though
workers say Hesco had already paid Isis a poll tax for them in gold.
“One guy pointed his knife at an engineer saying, ‘By God we will
slaughter you like a sheep,’” one Hesco employee recalled in an
interview via WhatsApp. “I never saw him or any of the other Christian
employees again.”
The director of operations at Tuweinan, Taha al-Ali, was known as the
Syrian Gas Company’s mediator with Isis. A pious man, he was popular
with his colleagues, but workers say Isis members suspected him of being
a regime collaborator.
When the emir discovered that gas was being diverted to Arak, a plant
then held by the regime but now under Isis control, he accused Mr Ali of
stealing for the Assad government. He was dragged away by guards.
Workers say he returned disheveled three months later, on the day they
were forced to witness his execution.
“He was accused of mocking Islam and being a loyalist of the regime,”
said one colleague who recounted the event in a telephone interview.
“The gunmen shot him in the head, one bullet each. Then Sheikh Haseeb
came up and shot him in the stomach. It was terrifying.”
Workers say Tuweinan has continued to function despite the violence. But
slowly the number of workers has dropped from 1,500 to about 300 as many
have fled.
Many regime supporters insist these dealings are necessary to preserve
infrastructure and keep the lights on, and some agreements are
extensions of pre-existing deals made with rebel groups that controlled
the areas before Isis took over last summer. “There’s no conspiracy, but
as the regime guys say, it’s necessary complicity,” said the Syrian
energy company owner.
Another oil company official who works with the Syrian regime, says
juggling these deals has become a preoccupation for the oil ministry.
“Before it was [rebel groups] Jabhat al-Nusra or the Islamic Front.
Nowadays it’s representatives for Isis,” he told the FT in Beirut.
Not all Isis-controlled plants are as miserable as Tuweinan. Employees
say treatment is better at the “Conoco” plant in eastern Deir Ezzor.
Syria’s biggest gas producer, the plant was named for the US company
that first developed it. Employees say its emir, Abu Abdulrahman
al-Jazrawi, is a Saudi Arabian with years of experience who holds
training sessions and gives workers a barrel of condensate each month in
addition to the state salary. A barrel can sell for about $100 — often
more than their wages.
Many workers also say that even finding work at regime-controlled
facilities is no guarantee of safety, because they are targeted by the
jihadis. Marwan worked at the Ebla plant in government-controlled
Faruqlus, near Homs, where Isis blew up pipelines and set off a car bomb
that killed his manager in April.
“Every day, we went over evacuation plans,” he said. “I’m Sunni — if I
fled too quickly, the Alawites would accuse me of being a conspirator.
If I waited too long, Isis could catch me.”
The nearby Shaer gasfield, which produces nearly half Syria’s
electricity, was taken over by Isis twice in 2014 before the regime
recaptured it. Everyone working there disappeared and is presumed dead,
according to Marwan and other employees.
When nearby Palmyra fell to Isis this summer, Marwan says many of his
friends working at Hayyan, near Shaer, wanted to flee. “The army wouldn’t
let them. They said who ever tried to run will be shot dead.”
Back at Tuweinan, Ahmed found events like Mr Ali’s killing too much to
bear. “He was one of the few people I’ve met in life I would say was an
amazing human being,” he said. A few months later, he and some other
workers smuggled themselves across the border to Turkey, crossed the
Mediterranean, and trekked to Germany. All say they are now considered
fugitives for abandoning state posts.
Officials at the plant have been unable to find someone willing to
replace Mr Ali. But the deal goes on.
Isis enforcement
Isis installs “emirs” who monitor operations and negotiate with the
regime through mediators. There is an emir for the plant, a religious
emir and another from the Hisba, the group’s morality police. Workers
say the Hisba emir at Tuweinan, known as Sheikh Haseeb, patrolled the
plant to enforce strict Islamic practice. Anyone breaking the rules
would receive 75 lashes.
Sheikh Haseeb also allowed gunmen to threaten employees. They
particularly targeted the plant’s two dozen Christians, even though
workers say Hesco had already paid Isis a poll tax for them in gold.
“One guy pointed his knife at an engineer saying, ‘By God we will
slaughter you like a sheep,’” one Hesco employee recalled in an
interview via WhatsApp. “I never saw him or any of the other Christian
employees again.”
The director of operations at Tuweinan, Taha al-Ali, was known as the
Syrian Gas Company’s mediator with Isis. A pious man, he was popular
with his colleagues, but workers say Isis members suspected him of being
a regime collaborator.
When the emir discovered that gas was being diverted to Arak, a plant
then held by the regime but now under Isis control, he accused Mr Ali of
stealing for the Assad government. He was dragged away by guards.
Workers say he returned disheveled three months later, on the day they
were forced to witness his execution.
“He was accused of mocking Islam and being a loyalist of the regime,”
said one colleague who recounted the event in a telephone interview.
“The gunmen shot him in the head, one bullet each. Then Sheikh Haseeb
came up and shot him in the stomach. It was terrifying.”
Workers say Tuweinan has continued to function despite the violence. But
slowly the number of workers has dropped from 1,500 to about 300 as many
have fled.
Many regime supporters insist these dealings are necessary to preserve
infrastructure and keep the lights on, and some agreements are
extensions of pre-existing deals made with rebel groups that controlled
the areas before Isis took over last summer. “There’s no conspiracy, but
as the regime guys say, it’s necessary complicity,” said the Syrian
energy company owner.
Another oil company official who works with the Syrian regime, says
juggling these deals has become a preoccupation for the oil ministry.
“Before it was [rebel groups] Jabhat al-Nusra or the Islamic Front.
Nowadays it’s representatives for Isis,” he told the FT in Beirut.
Not all Isis-controlled plants are as miserable as Tuweinan. Employees
say treatment is better at the “Conoco” plant in eastern Deir Ezzor.
Syria’s biggest gas producer, the plant was named for the US company
that first developed it. Employees say its emir, Abu Abdulrahman
al-Jazrawi, is a Saudi Arabian with years of experience who holds
training sessions and gives workers a barrel of condensate each month in
addition to the state salary. A barrel can sell for about $100 — often
more than their wages.
Many workers also say that even finding work at regime-controlled
facilities is no guarantee of safety, because they are targeted by the
jihadis. Marwan worked at the Ebla plant in government-controlled
Faruqlus, near Homs, where Isis blew up pipelines and set off a car bomb
that killed his manager in April.
“Every day, we went over evacuation plans,” he said. “I’m Sunni — if I
fled too quickly, the Alawites would accuse me of being a conspirator.
If I waited too long, Isis could catch me.”
The nearby Shaer gasfield, which produces nearly half Syria’s
electricity, was taken over by Isis twice in 2014 before the regime
recaptured it. Everyone working there disappeared and is presumed dead,
according to Marwan and other employees.
When nearby Palmyra fell to Isis this summer, Marwan says many of his
friends working at Hayyan, near Shaer, wanted to flee. “The army wouldn’t
let them. They said who ever tried to run will be shot dead.”
Back at Tuweinan, Ahmed found events like Mr Ali’s killing too much to
bear. “He was one of the few people I’ve met in life I would say was an
amazing human being,” he said. A few months later, he and some other
workers smuggled themselves across the border to Turkey, crossed the
Mediterranean, and trekked to Germany. All say they are now considered
fugitives for abandoning state posts.
Officials at the plant have been unable to find someone willing to
replace Mr Ali. But the deal goes on.
