The Iraqi government plans to accelerate the repatriation of its nationals with confirmed or suspected ties to Islamic State (IS) from north-east Syria, in a politically charged process that has ignited a struggle for power and money while highlighting the challenges of reintegrating a partly radicalised population.
After months of deadlock, about 650 civilians, mostly women and children, were transferred last week from Syria’s notorious al-Hawl camp to a closed facility in northern Iraq called Jeddah-1, where they will spend several months before they are allowed to leave. Though they have not committed crimes, many have relatives who joined the terrorist group and have for years been exposed to extremist ideology.
The Guardian gained rare and exclusive access to the Jeddah-1 camp last month and interviewed four families, all of whom have since been released to make space for the new arrivals. While the families voiced relief at leaving Syria, they now live on the margins of society and in fear of reprisals.
Unlike western nations that have resisted taking back individuals who travelled to Syria and Iraq to join IS, the Iraqi government plans to bring back all its nationals and wants more international support.
“Our vision isn’t just to transfer Iraqis. Al-Hawl camp must be closed. It’s a threat to Iraq’s national security. There’s extremism, it’s out of control and there’s no government,” said Saeed al-Jayashi, of Iraq’s National Security Advisory Council, the government agency spearheading the returns.
The process is mired in complexities, compounded by the sheer volume of people. Since 2021, Iraq has repatriated about 5,500 civilians via the Jeddah-1 camp. Iraqis still account for half of al-Hawl’s 50,000 residents, compared with only a few hundred European nationals. An additional 10,000 suspected IS fighters, around a third of whom are Iraqis, are held in separate detention facilities in north-east Syria.
Al-Hawl camp, located 8 miles (13km) from the Iraqi border, is guarded by the Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF), who control north-east Syria. For now, about 900 US troops remain based there to prevent IS from regrouping and to prop up the SDF against the Syrian government and the ever-looming threat of a Turkish ground invasion from the north.
In what the US-led coalition has described a ticking timebomb, al-Hawl has witnessed worsening humanitarian and security conditions, rising murder rates, widespread indoctrination by IS, prostitution, and extortion by local security forces. Iraqis rank at the bottom of the pecking order and bear the brunt.
While the SDF’s priority is to get rid of the civilians, the Iraqi government is keen to repatriate Iraqi fighters held in SDF prisons. As part of an unofficial deal struck in 2021, each batch of 150 al-Hawl families coincides with a separate, more secretive transfer of 50 fighters, who are referred for prosecution in Iraqi courts, where they are likely to face the death penalty in trials that the UN says fall short of basic standards.
Now the Iraqi government wants to step up the transfers amid growing international pressure. “We’re trying to repatriate as quickly as we can,” Matthew McFarlane, the commanding general of the US-led anti-IS coalition, told the Guardian. “It’s a strategic problem that requires an international solution, and if it’s not addressed it will become an even bigger security problem in Syria.”
In March, the UN secretary general, António Guterres, visited Jeddah-1 and praised Iraq’s efforts as an “example for the world”.
But extensive interviews with returnees, aid workers and UN staff, all of whom spoke on condition of anonymity, and Iraqi government officials raise questions about whether the repatriations meet the UN’s own principles for safe and voluntary returns, while also exposing failures to reintegrate returnees. The UN assistance mission in Iraq and the International Organization for Migration declined requests for interviews.
All four families the Guardian interviewed at Jeddah-1 left the camp without essential documentation such as IDs or marriage contracts, which is likely to hinder their movement and access to services. None had a place to live or the means to pay rent. Three families felt unsafe to return to their areas of origin, but two were nevertheless forced to do so.
“Our tribe doesn’t allow us to go back home,” said Suha (all returnees’ names have been changed). In a form of collective punishment commonly imposed by tribal custom, their tribe has banished the entire family because Suha’s brother-in-law joined IS.
Like many others, Suha’s family was separated during repatriation. First came her husband, Ahmed, who she says suffers from a mental health condition. “He couldn’t bear al-Hawl,” she said. “He is sick and I’m his wife, I should have come with him.” By the time Suha reached Jeddah-1 with her children, her husband had been discharged and left to fend for himself.
“I wanted to stay in the camp but they forced me to leave,” Ahmed said, visibly distraught, when the Guardian visited him in a nearby town, where he languished in a rundown home. Apart from a few cooking utensils scattered on the kitchen floor and a thin carpet to sit on, the house was unfurnished and it had no electricity.
Ahmed paid rent with money Suha sent him from Jeddah-1, where she earned a modest salary working for an NGO. But when Suha and the children were discharged at the end of May, the family were left penniless.
The migration and displacement ministry, which runs Jeddah-1, dismissed concerns over tribal issues as “lies” and released videos of discharged returnees thanking ministry employees.
“Until now, nobody has been killed by the tribes,” said Ali Abbas, the ministry’s spokesperson. “Most of them are lying because they want to stay in the camp as long as possible to benefit from the food and financial support provided there.”
While the government and the UN agree that confinement in Jeddah-1 cannot be indefinite, departures are supposed to be voluntary. “Voluntariness of return is a bedrock principle of international law and UN policy that is meant to protect IDPs [internally displaced persons] like those in Jeddah-1 from being forced to go home,” said Mara Revkin, a law professor at Duke University.
Another point of contention is how to deal with radicalised individuals, who will make up a growing share of future transfers. “The more we advance in the process, the more complications we will encounter,” said Hamid al-Shatri, who heads the National Security Apparatus, the body responsible for screening individuals prior to their return. “Now we have reached the point where every family in al-Hawl has at least one wanted individual.”
All civilian returnees must attend a “rehabilitation programme” in Jeddah-1 focused on psychosocial support and vocational training. Security officials regard it as superficial and want a more comprehensive deradicalisation programme supported by the international community. But humanitarians insist that returnees who have been cleared of crimes should not be forced to participate.
Donor interest has been further dampened by a continuing power struggle between different Iraqi government agencies vying for ownership of a high-profile issue and a general pivot towards other crises such as Ukraine, leaving international organisations to compete for a decreasing pool of funding. “Agencies are suffering from a lack of money. So they jump on this al-Hawl story because it’s a way to get some funding to keep the machine alive,” said a UN official.
The UN is requesting $96m (£76m) to support returns from al-Hawl for the next two years, according to an internal document obtained by the Guardian. Two-thirds of that is earmarked for “community reconciliation and reintegration” programmes, which aim to foster acceptance of returnees by, for example, rebuilding local infrastructure.
But there is scepticism even within UN ranks. “If we reconstruct the village health centre and offer access to temporary income through cash for work for 300 people, does it mean they’re more likely to accept people coming back from al-Hawl? No, full stop,” said a UN employee.
As part of a continuing UN community acceptance programme, local leaders gathered in a hotel in Baghdad last week, some favourable to returns, others demanding compensation for victims first. “How can I allow the son of an IS member to come back if his neighbour across the street still hasn’t been compensated for IS destroying his house,” said one of the sheikhs.
Even if the sheikhs acquiesce, the al-Hawl families do not always trust their authority. “The big sheikhs may not have a problem, but the people still want revenge,” said Nour, a mother of four the Guardian interviewed in Jeddah-1.
Nour’s sister-in-law Siham and her children returned home months ago and have since lived in hiding, despite assurances from tribal leaders. “The people don’t want us. I’m only staying temporarily,” Siham said by phone. She had sent her 18-year-old son away in fear that he might otherwise be killed.
When Nour departed Jeddah-1 a week later, she preferred to rent a house in a nearby town rather than return home, but authorities forced the family to go back anyway. Now Nour worries for her adolescent sons. It is not safe for them to roam the streets. They missed years of education. The stigma associated with al-Hawl will make it difficult to find work. “Their future is gone,” she said.
