Kurds fear a resurgence of the Islamic State terrorist militia in Syria

As the new Syria struggles to take shape, old threats are resurfacing.

The chaos since the fall of Bashar al-Assad is “paving the way” for a comeback by the so-called Islamic State (IS), says a top Kurdish commander who helped defeat the jihadist group in Syria in 2019. The comeback has already begun.

“Daesh (IS) activity has increased significantly and the risk of a resurgence has doubled,” said General Mazloum Abdi, commander of the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF), a mainly Kurdish militia alliance backed by the US that has more capabilities and more options.”

Intelligence reports said IS fighters confiscated some weapons and ammunition left behind by Syrian regime troops.

And he warned that there was “a real danger” that the militants would try to break into the SDF-run prisons here in northeastern Syria, where about 10,000 of their men are being held. The SDF is also holding around 50,000 of their family members in camps.

Our interview with the general took place late at night, at a location we cannot name.

He welcomed the fall of the Assad regime, which arrested him four times. But he looked tired and admitted he was frustrated at having to fight old battles again.

“We fought against them (IS) and paid 12,000 souls,” he said, referring to the SDF’s losses. “I think at some point we have to go back to where we were before.”

The risk of an IS resurgence is increased, he says, because the SDF is increasingly exposed to attacks from neighboring Turkey – and the rebel factions it supports – and will have to withdraw some fighters to that fight. He tells us that the SDF had to halt its counterterrorism operations against ISIS and that hundreds of thousands of prison guards had returned home to defend their villages.

Ankara sees the SDF as an extension of the Kurdish separatists banned by the PKK, who have waged insurgencies for decades and are classified as terrorists by the US and EU. They have long called for a 30 km long “buffer zone” in the Kurdish region of northeastern Syria. Since the fall of Assad, they have been pushing harder to get it.

“The biggest threat now is Turkey because their airstrikes are killing our forces,” General Abdi said. “These attacks must stop because they distract us from focusing on prison security,” he said, “although we will always do our best.”

In Al-Sina, the largest prison for IS prisoners, we saw the security measures and felt the tension among the staff.

The former educational institute in the city of Al-Hasakah houses around 5,000 men – suspected fighters or followers of IS.

Each cell door is padlocked and secured with three bolts. The corridors are divided into sections by heavy iron gates. The guards are masked and have batons in their hands. Getting access here is rare.

We were allowed to look into two cells, but were not able to speak to the men inside. They were told that we were journalists and given the opportunity to hide their faces. Only a few did. Most sat in silence on blankets and thin mattresses. Two men were pacing back and forth.

According to Kurdish security sources, most of the prisoners in Al-Sina were with ISIS until their last stand and were deeply committed to its ideology.

We were taken to a 28-year-old prisoner – thin and soft-spoken – who did not want to be named. He said he spoke freely but would not say much on the core issues.

He told us that at the age of 19 he left his native Australia to visit his grandmother in Cyprus.

“From then on, one thing led to another,” he said, “and I ended up in Aleppo.” He claimed he was working with an NGO in the city of Raqqa when ISIS took power.

I asked if he had blood on his hands and if he had been involved in killing anyone. “No, I wasn’t,” he replied, barely audible.

And did he support what ISIS did? “I don’t want to answer that question because it could have an impact on my case,” he replied.

He hopes to return to Australia one day, but is unsure whether he will be welcomed there.

Even behind the protective fence of the Roj camp – about three hours’ drive away – there is hope that freedom will come. Somehow.

Almost 3,000 women and children live in this desolate tent site, surrounded by walls, fences and watchtowers. They were never tried or convicted, but they are families of ISIS fighters and supporters.

There are several British women in the camp. We met three of them briefly. All said their lawyers told them not to speak.

In a windswept corner, we met a woman willing to talk – Saida Temirbulatova, 47, a former tax inspector from Dagestan. Her nine-year-old son Ali stood calmly at her side. She hopes that the fall of Assad will mean freedom for both.

“The new leader Ahmed al-Sharaa (head of the Islamist group Hayat Tahrir al-Sham) gave a speech in which he said he would give everyone their freedom. We also want freedom. We want to go, most likely to Russia. This is the only country that will accept us.

The camp director tells us that others believe that IS will come to their aid and break them out. She asked us not to use her name because she feared for her safety.

“Since the fall of Assad, there has been calm in the camp. “When it’s so quiet, it usually means women are organizing,” she said. “They’ve packed their bags and are ready to go. They say: ‘We will soon come out of this camp and renew ourselves. We will come back as IS.’”

She says there is a visible change, even among the children chanting slogans and hurling insults at passers-by. “They say, ‘We’re coming back for you. It (IS) coming soon.’”

During our time in the camp, many children raised the index finger of their right hand. This gesture is used by all Muslims in daily prayer, but is also commonly used by IS fighters in propaganda images.

The women in the Roj camp are not the only ones packing their bags.

Some Kurdish civilians in the city of Al-Hasakah are doing the same, fearing a jihadist comeback and another Turkish ground offensive in northeastern Syria.

24-year-old Jewan, who teaches English, sets off – reluctantly.

“I have packed my bag and am preparing my ID and important documents,” he tells me. “I don’t want to leave my home and my memories, but we all live in a constant state of fear. The Turks threaten us and the doors are open to IS. You can attack their prisons. They can do whatever they want.”

Jewan was forced out of the northwestern city of Aleppo once before, at the start of the Syrian civil war in 2011. This time he is wondering where to go.

“The situation requires urgent international intervention to protect civilians,” he said. I ask if he thinks it will come. “No,” he answers quietly. But he asks me to mention his request.

Additional reporting by Michael Steininger and Matthew Goddard