Ask Onix
Kurdish commander bears scars of war and perceived betrayal
Commander Azad, a veteran Syrian Kurdish fighter, walks with a pronounced limp-a remnant of a 2018 airstrike by Turkish forces. His body carries the marks of multiple battles: shrapnel wounds from a suicide bomber, injuries from four separate Islamic State (IS) attacks, and a deeper, unseen wound-what he describes as a betrayal by the United States.
"History will hold them accountable," Azad says, his voice steady beneath a handlebar moustache and a green fringed scarf. "Morally, it's not right. But we will keep fighting until our last breath. We are not cry-babies."
Alliance shattered as Damascus tightens grip
For years, the U.S. and Kurdish forces, including Azad's Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF), fought side by side to dismantle IS after the group seized vast swaths of Syria and Iraq in 2014. That partnership has since unraveled. In recent weeks, Syrian government troops, backed by the White House, have seized resource-rich territories long held by the SDF, pushing Kurdish forces out of areas they controlled for a decade.
The shift in U.S. support has left the Kurds reeling. The SDF lost 11,000 fighters in the battle against IS, and now face a new adversary: Syria's interim president, Ahmed al-Sharaa, a former jihadi leader whom Azad compares to IS founder Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi.
"They are the same thing. After Jolani took over, Syria will always be a war zone,"
Commander Azad, referring to President al-Sharaa by his fighting name, Abu Mohammed al-Jolani
From jihadi to president: A controversial rise
Al-Sharaa, who once fought U.S. troops in Iraq, founded an al-Qaeda affiliate in Syria before breaking ties with the group. Despite his past, he ascended to power in Damascus in December 2024, ousting Bashar al-Assad. For the Kurds, his leadership symbolizes a continuation of extremist ideology-now dressed in a suit rather than fatigues.
Standing atop a rooftop in Hassakeh province, Azad gestures toward the horizon, where Syrian government forces have advanced to within seven kilometers of the SDF's last checkpoint. "So far, there is no danger," he says. "I hope there will be no war, but if it comes, 'Let it be welcome,'" he adds, quoting Che Guevara.
Ceasefire hangs by a thread
A fragile truce between the SDF and Damascus is set to expire on 7 February, though negotiations continue. Siyamend Ali, a leader in the People's Protection Units (YPG)-the Kurdish militia backbone of the SDF-warns that while they seek peace, they are prepared for war.
"We don't want war, but if we are forced down that path, we will fight back. Every neighborhood will turn into a hell for them."
Siyamend Ali, YPG
Ali's resolve is hardened by personal loss. Hundreds of his friends-classmates, neighbors, and family-have died fighting IS. "They rose to martyrdom," he says quietly. "Now I walk in their footsteps."
IS detainees: A ticking time bomb
The Kurdish-administered region holds roughly 8,000 suspected IS fighters in prisons and 34,000 of their family members in camps. With Damascus gaining ground, concerns mount over the fate of these detainees. If the region becomes a battleground, will the gates remain locked?
The Syrian government has already taken control of al-Hol camp, where detainees celebrated the shift in power. During a visit last October, veiled women clad in black issued threats, one miming a slit throat. The remaining Kurdish-run camp, Roj, houses over 2,000 foreign women and children, including 25 British minors.
Camp manager Hekmiya Ibrahim describes a surge in defiance among detainees. "When news reached them [of the government takeover], everyone immediately came out of their tents, chanting 'Allahu Akbar,'" she says. Photos on her phone show IS flags freshly painted on camp walls, alongside threats like "We will return" and "ISIS will end you."
Voices from behind the wire
Amid the tension, some detainees plead for mercy for their children. Two North African women, speaking anonymously, describe a life of deprivation. "I want to leave this place," one says, "so my daughter can study and live her life. She has the right to an education, to visit a park, to get medical care."
A Bosnian woman breaks down as she recounts her journey to Syria. "I feel so bad because I came here with my husband, and I destroyed my life," she weeps. "I can't explain how I was stupid enough to come here. It was a mistake."
Forty British citizens remain trapped in Roj, including 25 children. One boy, polite and fluent in English, greeted a journalist with a handshake. Others, like Shamima Begum-who left London as a schoolgirl to join IS-refused to speak, hiding in their tents.
Global implications of a looming war
As the standoff intensifies, countries like the UK may face pressure to repatriate their citizens. The Bosnian woman's plea echoes a broader dilemma: "We really hope they will fix this issue peacefully and that finally we can go back to our countries."
For now, the Kurds stand at a crossroads-facing a resurgent Damascus, a wavering ally in Washington, and the specter of IS remnants waiting in the wings. The question remains: Will the world act before the next battle begins?
