The race to protect Syria's heritage from the ravages of war and plunder has brought a new kind of warrior to the front lines.
These cultural rebels are armed with cameras and sandbags. They work in secret, sometimes in disguise, to outwit smugglers. They risk their lives to take on enemies that include the Syrian regime, Islamist militants and professional smugglers who loot for pay, sometimes using bulldozers.
Their backers, from prominent cultural institutions in the West, refer to them as the "Monuments Men" of Syria, based on the name given those who saved cultural heritage in Europe during World War II.
Academics On The Front Lines
"They are dedicated professionals," says Corine Wegener at the Smithsonian Institution. She leads a worldwide effort to protect cultural heritage. "This is a new situation," says Wegener, describing the war in Syria as a cultural emergency. "We are trying to help."
Abdul Rahman al-Yehiya and Ayman al-Nabu seem unlikely warriors. They are academics in suits. We meet them in a hotel in southern Turkey, near the Syrian border, after they made a grueling, 10-hour journey across Syria's dangerous frontier, including the last 5 miles on foot.
"We are a team of specialists in archaeology, engineering and artists," says Yehiya. He led the team in an emergency preservation of the Ma'arra museum in northern Syria's Idlib province, famous for a dazzling, world-class collection of Roman and Byzantine mosaics from the 3rd to 6th centuries A.D.
The eight-month project began last summer with an intense workshop on preservation techniques. Then the dangerous work began on the front lines of the war.
The team assessed the damage from Syrian air force strikes in an area contested by the regime and the rebels. They worked to fix what was damaged and protect the remaining mosaics.
"The mortars, the warplanes and the helicopters that drop barrel bombs" were only part of the risk, says Yehiya. "There was the danger of the snipers," he says: regime soldiers who targeted the work team in an active war zone.
In Syria, antiquities smuggling is now a multimillion-dollar business that has exploded in recent months in areas controlled by militants of the self-described Islamic State. This organized plunder has dwarfed the thieving by regime soldiers, opposition rebels and desperate civilians who mine Syria's heritage sites to pay for food.
The scale of the loss is heartbreaking, says Brian Daniels of the Penn Museum's Penn Cultural Heritage Center in Philadelphia, which is working with Syria's Heritage Task Force to support the preservation efforts.
Daniels calls the situation in Syria "the worst cultural disaster since the Second World War." He describes the heritage work as "cultural triage," protecting when possible and documenting what has been lost.
This documentation is where the Syrian team performs the most dangerous work, traveling across the war-torn country to photograph heritage sites on active battlefronts.
"We wear normal clothes but dress ready to run — jeans and sneakers, so we can be light on our feet," says Yehiya.
Nabu oversees a team of undercover volunteers who pose as buyers to snap pictures of ancient artifacts for sale.
The lost treasures are cataloged in a desperate hope that one day they can be recovered. One example is a mosaic, dated to around 330 BC, that depicts the ancient city of Apamea.
"All of these are gone," says Yehiya, as he shows the grainy photos, gathered at great risk, on his laptop.
But he and his colleagues have persuaded local civilians to support the work to save Syrian heritage. They have turned in more than 1,700 ancient artifacts for safekeeping.
Shielding Mosaics From Destruction And Theft
This week, too, the archaeologists can boast about their success at the Ma'arra museum.
The Heritage Task Force supplied materials, says the Smithsonian's Wegener, including digital cameras, packing and crating equipment and large rolls of Tyvek, a protective synthetic sheeting often used in home building.
The Syrian team had to keep the project secret so the Ma'arra museum wouldn't be targeted. They needed a cover story to explain why they were bringing in so much Tyvek.
"There are a lot of people dying in Syria, so we said it was burial shrouds," Yehiya says with a smirk. "We said it's to wrap the dead like mummies."
They used the protective sheeting to wrap 1,600 square feet of ancient mosaics. The next step was to protect the Ma'arra museum itself, says Amr al-Azm, a Damascus-trained archaeologist who now teaches Middle Eastern history in Ohio. Some of the "Monuments Men" of Syria are his former students.
"We decided the best way to do this was to actually use a technique that was very commonly employed during the Second World War in Europe and the First World War — and that's to sandbag," Azm says.
The sandbags are now stacked on the inside walls of the museum, shielding the mosaics from the blast of regime jets and opportunistic looting.
It is impossible to quantify the loss in Syria, says the Penn Museum's Brian Daniels.
"How do you define heritage?" he says. "It's a place, it's the 'oldness' of Syria. It's a feeling."
Still, the Ma'arra project is a small victory in a long war of illicit trade and damage, says Azm — and the team inside Syria stepped up to the challenge:
"In many ways, they are the heroes of our stories," says Azm. "They are the guys who risk their lives every day, visiting archaeological sites. This comes from their area — this is their hometown, this is their museum. The connection is there."
DAVID GREENE, HOST:
Next, we're going to meet some rebel fighters from Syria. They don't fight with guns, but with sandbags and cameras. They're on the front lines in a dangerous battle over Syria's cultural heritage. They face shelling and snipers. They have to outwit smugglers and jihadis, who have turned looting into a multimillion-dollar business. Some are calling them Monuments Men, for calling people who did the same kind of work during World War II. NPR's Deborah Amos reports from southern Turkey near the Syrian border.
DEBORAH AMOS, BYLINE: We meet Syria's Monuments Men in a hotel near the Syrian border. They are unlikely warriors, these academics in business suits. Before the war, they had quiet museum jobs with the government's antiquities department, and now they risk their lives to save Syria's heritage. Abdul Rahman al-Yehiya and Ayman al-Nabu lead a team of archaeologists and volunteers. They document damage to Syria's key heritage sites, protect what they can and track what's been lost, work that puts them in the line of fire.
ABDUL RAHMAN AL-YEHIYA: (Through interpreter) There was the danger of the snipers, the martyrs, the warplanes and the helicopters that drop barrel bombs.
AMOS: Dangerous work, says al-Yehiya, done in secret in rebel- and regime-controlled areas.
AL-YEHIYA: (Through interpreter) We wear normal clothes, but dress ready to run - jeans and sneakers so we can be light on our feet.
AMOS: And here's another disguise. Al-Nabu says his team often poses as antiquities dealers to document the looting.
AYMAN AL-NABU: (Through interpreter) I go to the smuggler. For example, say, I want to buy antiques. I go to him. I ask, what do you have? I want to grab them. I go take a picture of them.
AMOS: These lost treasures are catalogued on computer. One example, a mosaic dated to around 330 B.C., depicts the ancient city of Apamea in Syria. It's a desperate struggle to halt the enormous loss.
All of these things have been stolen.
AL-YEHIYA: (Foreign language spoken).
AMOS: "All of it is gone," says al-Yehiya, as he shows grainy photos gathered at great risk. But this week, something has been saved. For the first time, the Syrian team completed an emergency preservation of the Ma'arra museum. It's famous for an extensive collection of early Roman and Byzantine mosaics. The project has American partners, and one is the Smithsonian in Washington.
CORRIE WEGENER: I'm Corrie Wegener. I'm the cultural heritage preservation officer at the Smithsonian Institution.
AMOS: We met recently in the Great Hall of the Smithsonian Castle, where Wegener says she traveled to southern Turkey last summer for a workshop with the Syrian team, then shipped supplies across the Turkish frontier for the secret project - digital cameras, packing supplies and rolls of Tyvek, a protective synthetic sheeting often used in home building.
WEGENER: Large rolls to begin with and more has been purchased along the way.
AMOS: And so if some customs guy was looking of the Turkish border, would they say what are you guys doing?
WEGENER: I guess they would probably assume they were building a house. (Laughter).
AMOS: The Syrian team had to be quiet, too, so the museum wouldn't be targeted and looters wouldn't beat them to it. They needed a cover story why were they bringing in all this Tyvek.
AL-YEHIYA: (Through interpreter) There are a lot of people dying in Syria. So we said they are shrouds that you wrap the dead in.
AMOS: Tyvek? It's for housing.
AL-NABU: (Through interpreter) We said it's to wrap them like mummies.
AMOS: The protective sheeting was to wrap 1,600 square feet of ancient mosaics. The next step was to protect the museum itself, says Amr Azm, a Syrian archaeologist, who now teaches Middle East history in Ohio. He's another member of the team.
AMR AZM: We decide that the best way to do this would be to actually use a technique that was very commonly employed during the Second World War in Europe and the First World War and that's to sandbag.
AMOS: The sandbags are now stacked up the inside walls, shielding the mosaics along those walls from the blast of regime jets, barrel bombs and smugglers.
AZM: By covering them with tons of sand, essentially, it makes it that much harder for anyone to go into the museum and opportunistically loot it.
(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)
AMOS: To see what's at stake, step into a museum here on the Turkish side of the border, where artifacts are thousands of years old and the Roman- and Byzantine-era mosaics are bathed in soft light protected by museum guards. Just an hour's drive away in northern Syria, the mosaics are wrapped and sandbagged by archaeologists turned cultural warriors, fighting to preserve heritage against the ravages of war.
AZM: In many ways, they are the heroes of our story. They are the guys who risk their lives every day visiting archaeological sites. This comes from their era. This is their hometown. This is their museum. The connection is there. It's living.
AMOS: And it's a small victory in a long war of illicit trade and damage. By protecting what they can and documenting the loss, these Syrians hope that one day some of it can be recovered. Deborah Amos, NPR News, Gaziantep, Turkey. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.