THE WALL STREET JOURNAL. Tuesday, November 26, 2019 |A
Tal Tamr, Syria
T
he sound of Turkish artil-
lery breaks the silence of
the morning in the village
of Umm Kaif, less than 2
miles from Tal Tamr near
the Syrian-Turkish border. Despite
the proclamation of a cease fire last
month, the Turkish army and its
Syrian rebel allies are still clashing
with the Kurdish-dominated Syrian
Democratic Forces, and lately also
the regime of Bashar al-Assad.
Kurdish mortars return fire a min-
ute or so after the shelling starts.
Umm Kaif’s defenders burn tires
and oil, creating a cloud of black
smoke intended to obscure the vi-
sion of the Turkish drones. It
doesn’t work. The drones extract a
steep price from the defending
forces.
The road rapidly fills with vehi-
cles as the remaining civilians in
these front-line villages make for
the relative safety of Tal Tamr and
towns farther south. Cars and
trucks overflow with whatever a
family can carry—mattresses, bed-
ding, tables, blankets.
The Turkish assault that began
on Oct. 9 has carved out a 75-mile-
long, 20-mile-deep zone of control
between the towns of Tel Abyad and
Ras al-Ain. The traditionally Chris-
The Kurds vow to defend
themselves—alone if
necessary—against Syria,
Turkey and Russia.
There’s No Safe Space for Ideas on Campus ‘Animal Farms’
M
ost Americans know that
higher education has for sev-
eral decades been in the grip
of a deeply intolerant, fanatical and
uncompromising strain of progressive
activism. Students and sometimes
even faculty members regularly chase
heterodox speakers off campus, de-
mand complete fealty from terrified
campus bureaucracies, and denounce
and destroy each other over the
slightest and most inconsequential
ideological deviations. The environ-
ment isn’t unlike George Orwell’s “An-
imal Farm,” a place where “no one
dared speak his mind, when fierce,
growling dogs roamed everywhere,
and when you had to watch your com-
rades torn to pieces after confessing
to shocking crimes.”
Yet an even more intolerant brand
of campus activism is taking shape.
This rising political philosophy isn’t
merely allergic to dissenting ideas but
is opposed even to ideas about dis-
senting ideas. It’s a bit like the con-
cept of metacognition in reverse:
These activists, gripped by zealotry
and inflexible dogmatism, are taking
pains to avoid even thinking about
thoughts with which they disagree.
Consider a recent controversy at
Washington College in Maryland. Stu-
dents there successfully lobbied to
shut down a campus production of a
play just one day before it was set to
open.
The aggrieved students were upset
that the play, Larry Shue’s “The For-
eigner,” depicts the evil antics of the
Ku Klux Klan. But the play doesn’t
show Klan members in a sympathetic
light—on the contrary, they’re the vil-
lains of the piece, and they get their
comeuppance in the end. Yet students
were deeply upset by the Klan cos-
tumes the actors would wear, so the
play had to go. (The theater depart-
ment was “unable to find a satisfac-
tory compromise” with the student
activists, a campus official dryly
noted.)
Several professors have also
landed in hot water recently simply
for speaking an offensive word while
students were around. At Emory Uni-
versity, law professor Paul Zwier is
facing major sanctions from his
school because, in a few instances, he
said the N-word. Mr. Zwier didn’t di-
rect the word at anyone or anything;
he merely mentioned it, first as part
of a discussion of case law and then
to illustrate a larger point during a
private conversation. Students
claimed Mr. Zwier threatened their
“safety and emotional well-being.”
Another student who heard Mr. Zwier
use the word was reportedly “visibly
shaken” after the experience, as if he
had suffered a near-death experience.
Faculty wanted Mr. Zwier barred
from school events, lest they be
forced to sit near him and risk their
own reputations.
An employee at the University of
North Texas lost her job after refer-
ring to the N-word as an example of
constitutionally protected speech.
Students demanded her firing, claim-
ing that her use of the word proved
she was racist. At Augsburg University
in Minneapolis, a professor uttered
the word while discussing a James
Baldwin text that itself used the word.
That professor was suspended after a
student outcry. A professor at the Uni-
versity of Kansas got booted off the
tenure track after referring to the
word during a class session.
More evidence of ideological in-
transigence can be found in the “bias
response teams” that are now regular
features at many universities. One
Michigan State student had a bias re-
port filed against him for watching a
Ben Shapiro video in a dorm. A fac-
ulty member at the University of Ne-
braska-Lincoln was reported for hav-
ing a Trump sticker in his office
window. Another professor was hit
with a bias report after discussing the
infamous Janet Jackson “nipplegate”
controversy. The offended student
said the professor had not couched
the discussion with enough moral
qualifiers.
These incidents don’t represent
the normal campus hysterics to which
we’ve become accustomed. A growing
and strident sect of campus activism
is coming to oppose not merely dif-
fering opinions but even talking
about differing opinions. This is a
new and far more uncompromising
brand of progressive politics, where
even an unsympathetic and progres-
sive depiction of the Ku Klux Klan is
too much to handle.
Administrators are partly to
blame. University leaders have been
far too quick in recent years to yield
ground to political zealots, with the
result that zealots feel that they more
or less run the show on campus. They
aren’t wrong.
But the real responsibility for this
mess belongs to the student activists.
Nobody forced them to become hy-
perpartisan fanatics; they did that on
their own, and they now find them-
selves enmeshed in a silly, thought-
free ideology, the consequences of
which will surely come crashing down
one day soon.
Mr. Payne is an assistant editor
with the College Fix.
By Daniel Payne
Zealous student activists
find ways to punish those
who make them think
uncomfortable thoughts.
The Fighting Continues in Northern Syria
tian (but now largely deserted)
town of Tal Tamr stands in the way
of further Turkish advances.
“Erdogan wants to attack fur-
ther,” says SDF Gen. Mazloum Abdi.
I interviewed the Kurdish com-
mander at an SDF base near the
town of Hasakah. “Everything now
depends on the U.S. and the inter-
national community. If they apply
pressure, the Turks won’t dare at-
tack again.”
The conflict here has metasta-
sized several times since hostilities
began during the Arab Spring of
- From the chaos and fragmen-
tation of the war between the
Assad regime and various Sunni
Arab rebel groups came the Islamic
State. The U.S.-led war against
ISIS, in turn, enabled the advance
of Kurdish power in northeastern
Syria, which has now led to a Turk-
ish war to reverse Kurdish gains.
Seven armies of various kinds are
currently active in the triangle of
Syrian soil east of the Euphrates
River.
When President Trump an-
nounced the withdrawal of U.S.
forces from northeast Syria in Octo-
ber, a Turkish invasion swiftly and
predictably followed. The Syrian
Kurds were faced with the choice of
meeting the Turkish onslaught
alone, or inviting regime and Rus-
sian forces into their area. They
chose the latter course. This ap-
peared initially likely to herald the
rapid demise of the Kurdish autono-
mous authority in Rojava, which
had been carved starting in
mid-2012.
The current reality on the
ground, however, belies this simple
picture. The Assad regime is de-
crepit and lacking in manpower. The
Kurdish-led SDF, meanwhile, re-
mains vigorous and strong. For this
reason the regime has yet to at-
tempt to establish control on the
ground in cities such as Derik, Ha-
sakah and Qamishli, where check-
points and daily security control re-
mains in the hands of the Kurds and
their allies.
In the front-line areas, Mr.
Assad’s troops are poorly equipped,
their uniforms threadbare. I
watched in a village outside Tal
Tamr as a regime medical officer
petitioned representatives of an
American nongovernmental organi-
zation for a long list of basic medi-
cines that he lacked. SDF fighters
report that regime soldiers beg for
food because their rations are so
meager.
Mr. Assad’s forces aren’t the con-
quering army of a powerful state.
Rather, it is a force whose survival
depends on the power of its allies.
In northeast Syria, the real power is
Russia, which is mediating between
the Assad regime and the Kurds,
and between the regime and the
Turks.
Moscow would prefer to see Da-
mascus re-exert control over all of
Syria. But Russia’s considerations
are complex. It also wants to widen
the wedge between Turkey and the
North Atlantic Treaty Organization.
But Moscow has no special animus
toward the Syrian Kurds, and sees
no benefit in a renewed and bloody
conflict between Mr. Assad’s forces
and the SDF.
“The Russians are mediating,”
says Gen. Mazloum, the Kurdish
commander. “They are trying to in-
duce us to move closer to the re-
gime by using Turkey as a threat.”
That is, Moscow is trying methodi-
cally to induce Kurdish acquies-
cence to a growing role for the
Assad regime east of the Euphrates
by threatening to permit a further
Turkish assault on Kurdish popula-
tion centers if the Kurds prove re-
calcitrant.
Gen. Mazloum is having none of
it. “If the regime insists on a return
to 2011, there will be a conflict,” he
says, meaning the situation as it
was before the emergence of the
Kurdish autonomous authority. “We
hope they don’t insist.”
In Brussels last week, Turkish
Foreign Minister Mevlut Cavusoglu
told U.S. Secretary of State Mike
Pompeo that the Oct. 17 cease-fire
agreement has “yet to be fulfilled,”
by which he meant that SDF forces
are still present in the area. Else-
where, the foreign minister said
that, “If we do not achieve any re-
sult, as we had started the opera-
tion before...wewilldowhatever
is necessary in northern Syria.”
The Kurds remains defiant. “If
the Turks attack again, we will
fight. And depend on our forces. We
know it will be hard. But we’ll
fight,” says Gen. Mazloum.
It may be a long time before dis-
placed people from Umm Kaif, Ras
al-Ain, Tal Tamr and the other bor-
der towns can return to their
homes. Normal life remains a dis-
tant dream here. Syria’s civil war,
now in its ninth year, is far from
over.
Mr. Spyer is director of the Mid-
dle East Center for Reporting and
Analysis and a research fellow at
the Jerusalem Institute for Strategy
and Security and at the Middle East
Forum. He is author of “Days of the
Fall: A Reporter’s Journey in the
Syria and Iraq Wars.”
By Jonathan Spyer
JONATHAN SPYER
A Syrian Democratic Forces fighter in Qamishli on Nov. 19.
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I Never Should Have Gotten Involved With the MOB
W
riter Martin Amis, the son of
novelist Kingsley Amis, said
it is somewhat disreputable
to be in the same business as your fa-
ther. “Being a hereditary novelist is a
freaky thing, and people do find it a
bit creepy,” Martin said.
I’m a hereditary landlord and can
say the reaction is much the same. I
inherited four apartment buildings
from my father, and now own six. I
own walk-up apartment buildings in
an inner-ring Cleveland suburb, and
I used to own an office building in an
outer suburb. I’m essentially Queens-
era Trump, but Midwestern and so
more civil.
Real estate is strictly nonfiction:
eviction notices, water leaks and
noise complaints like: “They’re liter-
ally stomping in the apartment above
me. I’m having palpitations right
now! If I die, it’s on your head.”
These delightful exchanges are
outweighed by the boom in the multi-
family residential market. Demand
for retail and office buildings, how-
ever, isn’t quite as high. I sold my of-
fice building three years ago. “You’re
lucky you got out of your office build-
ing when you did,” a commercial real-
estate broker told me recently.
My building was a medical office
building, or MOB. That’s what com-
mercial real-estate brokers call it.
Healthcare Trust of America Inc., a
real-estate investment trust, is the
biggest owner of MOBs, with 24-mil-
lion square feet of gross leasable area.
I had one structure: a three-story,
1970s-era medical office building next
to a Pizza Hut, Burger King and Bos-
ton Market. Every time I went to the
medical building I felt crappy.
My MOB was filled with dentists,
massage therapists, chiropractors
and doctors—pediatrics, gastroenter-
ology, internal medicine. I ran a
30,000 square-foot mini-hospital. A
hazardous-waste company picked up
surgical needles. The HVAC filters
were hospital-grade so the patients
wouldn’t breathe anything but the
purest air. Most of the windows
didn’t open—on purpose. It wasn’t a
cheerful environment. One chiroprac-
tor said he banked on harsh winters:
“I need snowstorms for people to pull
their backs shoveling.”
I was 63 when I bought the MOB.
My wife was into it. “This building will
be a good challenge and you’ll learn
something,” she said. The selling price
was $1.325 million—significant money
by my standards. Looking back, I
might have been better off learning
Spanish at Cleveland State University.
But I thought I had at least one more
real-estate transaction in me.
I hung oil paintings in the building
lobby. A friend had painted them.
They were scenes of hollyhocks and
pansies, and swans in a lagoon.
Soothing and calming pastorals, just
like what is up in the hallways at the
Cleveland Clinic—the point of refer-
ence for MOB brokers in Ohio. A doc-
tor-tenant texted me: “If you can put
that up, how about painting my
wall?” So we painted his wall. That
doctor was picky. His vanity plates
read “DDS MD.” The real-estate bro-
ker had warned me: “Doctors are the
worst tenants because they think
they’re God.”
The medical employees loved to
complain about the temperature. The
air-conditioning bill for my building
was about $2,500 a month in the
summer. That’s some air. Also, I paid
the snowplow guy an extra $125 per
push for salt because I didn’t want
any of the infirm visitors falling in
the parking lot. Don’t forget the ele-
vator guy and the security company,
and we had a phone line to the eleva-
tor in case anybody got stuck in
there. One day the elevator went out
completely. That was bad. There was
only one elevator in the building.
“How are my elderly patients go-
ing to get to the third floor?” a doc-
tor asked.
“They aren’t,” I replied. And they
didn’t.
My company, Acorn Management,
is a sole proprietorship, although my
older son, a lawyer, is now in business
with me. I started Acorn Management
when I was in my 20s and lived on
Oak Road in Cleveland Heights. My
dad thought I was nuts going with
“Acorn.” This was before Silver Lake-
this and Iron Mountain-that.
For my MOB, Acorn hired an assis-
tant, who was in charge of installing
air filters, replacing the rooftop
floodlights with energy-saving LED
lamps, and dealing with late payers.
Who knew doctors—just like the bar-
tenders and hairdressers at my apart-
ment buildings—would be late with
their rent? Pediatricians were the
worst.
Some people probably think build-
ings are just there, like trees. But ev-
ery Dollar General Store, Burger King,
medical office building and car lot in
the world is owned by somebody. I
took a risk on that medical office
building; I wasn’t sure the doctors
would re-sign their leases. Indepen-
dent doctors were moving into hospi-
tal-run buildings.
I sold the MOB after two years,
when a national commercial real-es-
tate brokerage cold-called me from
San Diego. I sold to an out-of-towner
and made some money to boot. Now
I never go by the medical building. I
only bought it because I couldn’t find
an apartment building at a reason-
able price.
Now I realize what I need is pa-
tience, not patients.
Mr. Stratton is the author of the
blog Klezmer Guy: Real Music & Real
Estate.
By Bert Stratton
Owning a medical office
building proved too much
to handle for this simple
residential landlord.
John Simon, who died Sunday at
94, writing in the New Criterion,
November 2018:
The good critic notes details that
might escape a lay viewer, in addi-
tion to pinpointing implications
and providing explications for what
is not immediately apparent. He or
she shows how a work fits into the
history of its art form, and how it
reflects and comments on its social
context. If it is of performing art,
he or she evaluates writers, direc-
tors,andactors....
But there is something else, too,
and it is supreme. We also read a
critic for the writing, as we read
for their writing practitioners of
other art forms: fiction, poetry, es-
say, drama. This is scarcely less
important than the critic’s yea or
nay: Kenneth Tynan, with his wit
and elegance, his way with words
and paragraphs, is vastly preferable
to most of his more plodding col-
leagues, however dedicated—and, if
you will, empathetic—they may be.
“The critic is a man who knows the
way, but cannot drive the car,”
Tynan has said. As oversimplifica-
tions go, not a bad epigram....
Criticism should also be compre-
hensible, which is to say not writ-
ten by Frenchmen with esoteric
theories and befuddling jargon. And
it should not present itself as writ-
ten on Mosaic tablets by the likes
of Harold Bloom. Above all, it
should not be the voice of a pub-
lisher or editor or anybody else,
but independently the critic’s own.
Notable&Quotable: John Simon