The message arrived as a desperate plea from within Qamishli, the heart of Rojava: “The situation here is very bad. Within two days, Jolani forces will likely take control.” Jolani, a commander with a dark past linked to Al-Qaeda, now leads the Syrian army, and the warning painted a grim picture of impending collapse.
Barzan ISO, coordinating with humanitarian organizations and the Syrian Democratic Forces, echoed the urgency. He spoke of simultaneous attacks – from Syrian government troops, extremist groups, and Turkish bombings – a coordinated assault designed to overwhelm Kurdish-held areas. The very foundations of their autonomy were crumbling.
A chilling parallel to history was unfolding. Barzan warned of a looming betrayal, a repeat of past promises broken. He accused the United States and the international coalition of abandoning the Syrian Kurds at their most vulnerable moment, leaving them to face a resurgent ISIS and its allies.
“History is repeating itself,” Barzan wrote, his words laced with anguish. “Once again, the United States is abandoning its most important ally for democracy and human rights in the Middle East.” The Kurds, who sacrificed so much in the fight against ISIS, now found themselves victims of political maneuvering.
The situation at Raqqa prison was particularly dire. Roughly 600 guards, responsible for holding some of the world’s most dangerous ISIS prisoners, were completely besieged. Syrian government forces surrounded the facility, shelling the area and using snipers, creating a terrifying standoff.
Hopes for evacuation, for a lifeline from nearby U.S. forces, were dashed. Authorization to act was denied, leaving the guards trapped and the potential for a mass breakout looming large. This wasn’t an isolated incident; a similar scenario had played out in Shaddadi, with deadly consequences.
Kobani, the city that became a symbol of resistance against ISIS in 2014 and 2015, was now under siege. Barzan reported large convoys of fighters, including extremist groups from across borders, converging on the city, fueled by Turkish bombings that cleared the path for their advance.
The fear wasn’t just of defeat, but of retribution. Residents braced for a massacre, for revenge against a city that dared to defy ISIS. The specter of past atrocities hung heavy in the air, a terrifying premonition of what was to come.
“We fought together against the same enemy,” Barzan pleaded, his voice filled with disbelief. “Now we are left alone, and the people we put in prison are being freed to fight us, while the world watches.” The sense of betrayal was profound, a deep wound inflicted by those they once trusted.
The fall of Qamishli would mean the collapse of the Kurdish-led government, unleashing unimaginable suffering, particularly for the region’s vulnerable minorities – the Christians who had found safety and served alongside the Kurds. Their fate hung in the balance.
Barzan’s final appeal was a stark choice: “Are you standing with justice, or with what is yet to come, built on the suffering and blood of the Kurds?” It was a question directed not just at governments, but at all who claimed to uphold the values of humanity and truth.
