Bashar al Assad started out as a doctor and ended up a mass murdering tyrant now on the run.
The man who trained to save lives in Damascus and London would go on to take them in their hundreds of thousands, bombing hospitals and gassing his own people.
He was a strangely unimpressive man to meet. Tall, slightly gauche, with a lisp and thin tufty moustache.
Christopher Hitchens called him the human toothbrush. The writer recalled Hannah Arendt’s phrase the “banality of evil” when he remembered meeting another dictator, Argentina’s General Videla. But it applied equally well to Mr Assad.
He was ordinary, more oddball than evil, with a high-pitched awkward laugh.
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In a 2009 interview with Sky’s Dominic Waghorn, Bashar al Assad said he feels ‘more optimistic’ about the situation in the Middle East, adding that people ‘are more convinced’ about achieving peace in the region.
It was a very different time in a very different Syria when Mr Assad and his wife invited Sky News to Damascus. We went on a walkabout with them on a warm spring evening in 2009.
Barack Obama had just been inaugurated president in America. In his reedy voice, Mr Assad said he would like to invite the young president to Syria, via Sky News. He almost giggled as he said it. His British-born wife beamed at his side.
Back then everything seemed possible but just two years later Syria erupted in protest caught up in the contagion of the Arab Spring. Mr Assad would respond with brutal force. That fateful decision put Syria on the path to a devastating civil war.
Mr Assad had become president unexpectedly and it seemed reluctantly.
His elder brother Bassel had been groomed for the job. He was everything Bashar wasn’t, good looking and confident, a special forces soldier, his father’s favourite. But Bassel died in a car crash.
Did Mr Assad’s ruthlessness later spring partly from sibling resentment? Was he needing to prove himself to his domineering dead father to be as strong as his brother? Did the weaker, overlooked Bashar overcompensate for his inadequacies with the mass slaughter of hundreds of thousands?
The Assads were quite the family. Take the Roys of Succession and add weapons, both chemical and biological.
Hafez, the cold calculating patriarch whose achievement of seizing power in Syria and dominating it for decades was threatened by his scheming, weaker children.
Bashar, the brooding heir, and Maher, his psychotic, deranged brother who has personally overseen much of the regime’s reign of terror.
When his father died in 2000, Mr Assad was called back from London, cutting short his career as an eye doctor to succeed him. At first he promised reform. The country seemed to be opening up.
Assad’s wife was part of the act
Mr Assad’s telegenic wife, Asma, brought up in West London by Syrian parents, was part of the act, presenting a modernising future. She was much better at it than her husband, a natural in front of the cameras.
She told me she had travelled the country incognito after her husband took power, to help him understand its needs.
They were a normal middle-class couple she said, who loved nothing better than surprising Damascenes by popping up in restaurants on date nights in the capital.
Vogue magazine was pilloried later for calling Ms Assad Syria’s “Desert Rose” but it was not the only one taken in. There was in those days a genuine sense Syria was on a new path. Perhaps Mr and Mrs Assad believed it too.
But in the background, repression and corruption never went away.
Mr Assad was handing out lucrative privatisation contracts to cronies and family. The Assads’ secret police were stifling dissent as brutally as before.
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Toppled Assad statue dragged through streets
The eruption of civil war
Two years after that invitation to Mr Obama, Mr Assad was forced to choose between a new way forward and the repressive ways of his father.
Children had been arrested in the southern city of Deraa for protests inspired by the Arab Spring sweeping the region. The police tortured them, killed them and returned their mutilated bodies.
Protests engulfed the south. The Assad regime seemed uncertain at first how to respond. If there was an attempt at conciliation, it was shortlived.
Mr Assad returned to old family tactics. In 1982, his father Hafez had slaughtered thousands in the city of Hama after an uprising there.
Peaceful protests erupted across the country. Mr Assad ordered his security forces to crush them, opening fire on peaceful unarmed crowds. His brother Maher was filmed doing so personally.
Ultimately, Syrians had little choice but to resort to arming themselves. The uprising mutated into armed rebellion. Then outside powers joined in, turning the conflict into both a proxy and civil war.
Assad could never afford to lose
Mr Assad was all in. From the minority Alawite sect, he could never afford to lose.
Desperate to prevail, he resorted to more and more desperate methods. Thousands of barrel bombs were dropped from helicopters. And then chemical weapons; chlorine gas, sarin and mustard.
Opponents disappeared in their tens of thousands into jails, where torture, sexual abuse and mass hangings were commonplace.
Mr Assad could never have held on without his allies. Russia in the air and Iran on the ground. Their support swung the war in his favour, the rebels kettled into the northwest of the country, a killing zone in the province of Idlib.
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Syrians react to Damascus being freed
Assad’s rotten and hollow regime has folded
The conflict seemed frozen for years but Mr Assad’s enemies have used the time to re-arm and learn new tactics and discipline.
His allies were distracted, Russia in Ukraine and Iran was weakened by events in Lebanon.
Mr Assad, the young eye doctor with the glamorous British wife, had become an evil murderous despot, perverted and corrupted utterly by power.
His rule lost all legitimacy years ago. Rotten and hollow, without external support, his regime has folded, a lesson to others, not least his allies, in Moscow and Tehran.
It has taken years and cost hundreds of thousands of lives but Syrians have finally overthrown their hated dictator. The dynasty Mr Assad’s father thought he was building has collapsed.
Mr and Mrs Assad may find refuge abroad, but the fate of the rest of their dreadful family remains unknown.
Speaking to reporters in front of his residence at Rideau Cottage, in the country’s capital, Ottawa, he said “internal battles” mean that he “cannot be the best option” in the next election.
“I don’t easily back down faced with a fight, especially a very important one for our party and the country. But I do this job because the interests of Canadians and the well-being of democracy is something that I hold dear.
“A new prime minister and leader of the Liberal Party will carry its values and ideals into that next election. I am excited to see that process unfold in the months ahead.”
Mr Trudeau, who has been prime minister since 2015, faced calls to quit from a chorus of his MPs amid poor showings in opinion polls.
He came under further pressure after his finance minister, Chrystia Freeland, resigned in December over clashes on policy.
The disagreements included how to handle possible US tariffs imposed by Donald Trump‘s incoming administration.
Mr Trudeau’s resignation comes as the polls show his party is likely to suffer a heavy defeat to the official opposition Conservatives in an election that must be held by late October.
The Liberals must now name an interim leader to take over as prime minister ahead of a special leadership convention.
Mr Trudeau came to power 10 years ago following a decade of Conservative Party rule and was initially praised for returning the country to its liberal past.
But he has become deeply unpopular with voters in recent years over a range of issues, including the soaring cost of food and housing and surging immigration.
He is the eldest son of Pierre Trudeau, one of Canada’s most famous prime ministers, who led the country from 1968 to 1979 and from 1980 to 1984.
The political upheaval comes at a difficult moment for Canada internationally.
US President-elect Donald Trump has threatened to impose 25% tariffs on all Canadian goods if Ottawa does not stem what Mr Trump calls a flow of migrants and drugs into the US.
Many fewer of each cross into the US from Canada than from Mexico, which Mr Trump has also threatened.
Few one-time golden boys manage to retain their lustre long into political office.
Barack Obama just about held on to his, leaving the US presidency with his approval rating high despite his party’s 2016 loss to Donald Trump.
But Emmanuel Macron is faltering in France and Justin Trudeau steps down as head of Canada’sliberal party with his popularity in shreds. So much for Western liberal values.
In the high tides of inflation and immigration, those who were their supposed flag-bearers are no longer what electorates want.
For Mr Trudeau, it is a dramatic reckoning. His approval ratings have dropped from 65% at their highest in September 2016 to 22% now, according to the “Trudeau Tracker” from Canada’s non-profit Angus Reid Institute.
The sudden departure of his finance minister and key political ally Chrystia Freeland last month dealt his leadership a body blow, just as Canada readies itself for a potential trade war with the US which, she argued in a bracing resignation letter, his government was not taking seriously enough.
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“Parliament has been paralysed for months,” Trudeau says
The man Mr Trump recently trolled as “Governor of the ‘Great State of Canada’ or ’51st (US) state'”, Mr Trudeau was as close to Canadian political royalty as it gets.
The son of the country’s 15th prime minister, Pierre Trudeau, he was famously toasted by US president Richard Nixon as “the future prime minister of Canada” when he joined his father on a state visit as a toddler.
Aged five, he met the late Queen for the first time. “Thank you for making me feel so old”, she remarked drily at a re-meet in Malta almost 40 years later.
He has led Canada’s liberal party since 2013 and served as the country’s 23rd prime minister for almost a decade.
Mr Trudeau won a resounding electoral victory in 2015 and secured the premiership through two subsequent elections, though as head of a minority government.
He made significant inroads against poverty in Canada, worked hard on nation to nation reconciliation with Canada’s indigenous communities, secured an effective trade deal with the US and Mexico in 2016 and managed to keep the public mostly on-side through the COVID-19 pandemic.
But he was a polarising figure. Holidays in exotic climes like a trip to the Bahamas in 2016 to an island belonging to the Aga Khan made him seem elitist and out of touch.
There was embarrassment when blackface images surfaced from his early years as a teacher, for which he apologised profusely.
His supposed liberal credentials smacked of double standards when he invoked emergency powers to crush truckers’ protests in 2022.
But it was the economic aftermath of the pandemic, with Canada suffering an acute housing shortage, immigration leaping under his premiership and the cost of living hitting households across the board which really piled on the pressure.
In those, Canada is not unique. But the opposition conservatives and the public at large clearly want change, and Mr Trudeau has responded.
He has announced his intention to resign as party leader and prime minister after the Liberals selects their next leader.
Mr Trudeau’s legacy may shine brighter with a little hindsight. But now is not that moment.
The question is whether his conservative opposition will fare any better in an increasingly combative geopolitical environment if, as seems likely, a candidate of their choosing wins a federal election due at some point this year.
Donkey karts loaded with wrapped parcels of unknown goods weave around the large puddles of water left in the dried riverbed.
Young men quickly hop over laid bricks to bridge the puddles followed by women treading carefully with babies on their backs.
The Limpopo River’s seasonal dryness is a natural pathway for those moving intoSouth Africa from Zimbabwe illegally.
A sandy narrow beach undisturbed by border patrols with crossers chatting peacefully under trees on both banks as men furiously load and unload smuggled goods on the roadside.
Against the anti-immigration rage and xenophobia boiling over in South Africa’s urban centres, the tranquillity and ease of the border jumping is astonishingly calm.
“You can’t stop someone who is suffering. They have to find any means to come find food,” one man tells us anonymously as he crosses illegally.
At 55 years old, he remembers the 3,500-volt electric fence called the“snake of fire” installed here by the Apartheid regime.
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Hundreds of women and children escaping conflict in the late 1980s and early 1990s were electrocuted.
Today, people fleeing drought and economic strife are smuggled across or walking through border blindspots like this one.
“Now, it’s easy,” he says. “There is no border authority here.”
He crosses regularly and always illegally. While he laughs at the lack of border agents, he says he has been stopped by soldiers in the past.
“They send us back but then the next day you try to come back and it is fine.”
We find a few soldiers on our way back to the main road. They look confused by our presence but unphased. It is hard to believe they are unaware of the streams of people and goods moving across the dried riverbed just a few hundred metres away.
Border ‘fence’ trampled and full of holes
We drive along the border fence to get to the official border post into Zimbabwe, Beitbridge.
“Fence” is a generous term for the knee-height barbed wire laid across 25 miles of South Africa’s northern edges in 2020. Some sections are completely trampled, and others are gaping with holes.
The concrete fortress is a drastic change to the soft, sandy riverbed. Queues dismantle and reassemble as eager crowds rush from one building to another as instructions change.
Zimbabweans can live, work and study in South Africa on a Zimbabwean exemption permit, but many like Precious, a mother-of-three, cannot even afford a passport.
When we meet her at a women’s shelter in the border town of Musina, she says she only has $30 (£23.90) to find work in South Africa and that a passport costs $50 (£39.80).
“My husband is disabled and can’t work or do anything. I’m the only one doing everything – school, food, everything. I’m the one who has to take care of the kids and that situation makes me come here to find something,” she says tearfully before breaking down.
The shelter next door is home to trafficked children that were rescued. Other shelters are full of men looking for work.
Musina is a stagnant sanctuary for Zimbabweans searching for a better life who become paralysed here – a sign of the declining state of Zimbabwe and the growing hostility deeper in South Africa.
In Johannesburg, South Africa’s economic centre, illegal immigrants are facing raids and deportations organised by the Ministry of Home Affairs at the behest of popular discontent.
The heavy-handed escalation in the interior sits in stark contrast to the lax border control.
“I wonder how serious our government is about dealing with immigration,” says Nomzamo Zondo, human rights attorney and executive director of the Socio-Economic Rights Institute of South Africa (SERI), as we walk through Johannesburg’s derelict inner city.
“I think part of it is that the South Africa we want to build is one that wants to welcome its neighbours and doesn’t forget the people that welcomed us when we didn’t have a home – and that is why I think they are so poor at maintaining the borders.”
She adds: “But then the call has to be one that says once you are here, how do we make sure you are regularised here, that you know who you are, and contribute to the economy at this point in time.”
Climate of anti-migrant hate
In 1994 as South Africa’s first democratically elected president, Nelson Mandela ordered that all electric fences be taken down.
His dream for South Africa to become a pan-African haven for civilians of neighbouring countries that provided sanctuary for fighters in the anti-Apartheid movement was criticised by local constituents back then.
Now in a climate of increasing anti-migrant hate, that vision is rejected outright.
“I think that is the highest level of sell-out. When South Africans were in exile, they were in camps and they were restricted to go to other parts of those countries,” says Bungani Thusi, a member of anti-immigrant movement Operation Dudula, at a protest in Soweto.
He is wearing faux military fatigues and has the upright position of an officer heading into battle.
“Why do you allow foreigners to go all over South Africa and run businesses and make girlfriends?” he adds, with all the seriousness of protest.
“South Africans can’t even have their own girlfriends because the foreigners have taken over the girlfriend space.”