US and regional countries team up to resolve the issue of IS prisoners in Syria
ISTANBUL — Turkey, the United States, Syria and Iraq have formed a working group to try to resolve the issue of Islamic State group prisoners held in Syria, Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan said in comments published Thursday.
The Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces, or SDF, control large parts of northeast Syria bordering Turkey and Iraq and oversee more than a dozen prison camps holding thousands of suspected IS fighters and their families.
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New York Times
6 hours ago
- New York Times
Syrians Rejoice at Being Exempted from Trump Travel Ban
During his first term, President Trump included Syria in a series of travel bans targeting mostly Muslim-majority nations, branding refugees from the war-ravaged country as requiring 'extreme vetting' to protect national security. The impact was immediate: flights were canceled, refugee resettlements were halted, and families were separated. But on Wednesday, Syria was exempted from Mr. Trump's new travel ban, representing another sign of the seismic shift in U.S. foreign policy toward the country after the overthrow of Bashar al-Assad, the former president, in December. Syria was one of only four countries that were blacklisted in Mr. Trump's first term that were excluded this time around, alongside Iraq, North Korea and Nigeria. For many Syrians, the news added to a growing sense of optimism about the country's future as it emerges from years of war and decades of authoritarian dictatorship. 'This is something that brings hope for the future, especially for the younger generation,' said Lina Habshi as she shopped in Damascus to prepare for Eid al-Adha, a major religious holiday. 'My daughter was studying chemistry, but opportunities were limited here. Now she might be able to travel and grow in her field.' Her 16-year-old daughter, Rama, echoed Ms. Habshi's sentiment. 'I feel like the government's actions are changing how Syrians are viewed,' she said. 'Now we have a presence outside our country.' For decades, the United States treated Syria as a pariah. That position hardened following the outbreak of the Syrian civil war in 2011 and the subsequent rise of the Islamic State, a terrorist group that seized parts of the country and carried out attacks overseas. But in recent months, the Trump administration has sought better relations. Mr. Trump lifted some sanctions on Syria last month and held talks with the new president, Ahmed al-Shara, a former rebel commander with past links to Al Qaeda. It was the first time the leaders of the two countries had met in 25 years. The new Syrian government has pledged to restore stability after more than a decade of war. In return, Washington has sought to leverage the promise of a rapprochement with a number of demands, including the expulsion of 'foreign terrorists' from Syria and guarantees that the Islamic State will not be allowed to gain more power, according to the White House. For many Syrians, the travel ban exemption was another sign that the country was once again being accepted by the wider world after decades of isolation. 'We're so happy,' said Tahani Madani, an employee at Syria's largest commercial bank. 'Honestly, it's hard to even describe our joy. Thank God, things are getting better.'
7 hours ago
5 mayors are suspended from duty as authorities expand the crackdown on Turkey's opposition
ISTANBUL -- Turkish authorities suspended five elected mayors from duty Thursday as part of an ongoing crackdown on the country's opposition. Separately, prosecutors launched an investigation into the leader of the opposition Republican People's Party, or CHP, over comments made in a speech Wednesday evening. Ozgur Ozel had criticized Istanbul's chief prosecutor following the jailing of the mayors the previous day as part of a corruption investigation. Officials from municipalities controlled by the CHP have faced waves of arrests this year, including Istanbul Mayor Ekrem Imamoglu, who was detained in March over allegations of corruption. Many consider the cases to be politically motivated although President Recep Tayyip Erdogan's government insists the courts are impartial and free of political involvement. Imamoglu is widely viewed as the main challenger to Erdogan's two-decade rule and is the CHP's candidate for a presidential election due in 2028, but which could be held earlier. Istanbul and a clutch of major cities fell to the CHP in 2019, with the opposition extending its control in last year's municipal elections. The five suspended mayors represent the Istanbul districts of Avcilar, Buyukcekmece and Gaziosmanpasa, as well as Seyhan and Ceyhan in the Mediterranean province of Adana. Their suspensions were announced by the Interior Ministry after they were detained over claims of bribery and extortion. A total of 11 mayors, including Imamoglu, have now been removed from office as part of investigations into CHP municipalities. Dozens of other officials have been imprisoned awaiting trial. Imamoglu's jailing led to the largest protests in Turkey for more than a decade, with demonstrators complaining of judicial abuses and wider democratic backsliding under Erdogan. Speaking in Gaziosmanpasa on Wednesday evening, Ozel criticized Istanbul Chief Prosecutor Akin Gurlek, who has been the focus of opposition claims of political interference. This led to Gurlek's office launching an investigation into charges of 'threatening a judicial officer' and 'insulting a public official.'
Washington Post
8 hours ago
- Washington Post
Returning to Syria to reckon with the ghosts of my father's past
In an Assad torture prison, I saw my father's poem still on the wall. As my father watched the news, his breath caught. A video of the inside of a prison cell was on the television. Tears streamed down his face. On one of the walls he could make out a poem, one he had written with his own hands. He watched as the Assad regime, which had imprisoned him in the notorious Palestine Branch, collapsed; watched as thousands fled the dungeons where Syrians had been starved, tortured, killed. These were memories I longed to forget: the days without my father, the stories of what he endured. But now, as a photographer on assignment in Syria, I had no choice but to confront them. Story continues below advertisement Advertisement The return I never imagined I'd return to Syria — especially not after my family and I left in 2004, and certainly not after the civil war. What began in 2011 as peaceful demonstrations — part of a broader wave of uprisings across the Middle East — was met with unsparing brutality by the Assad regime. The scars of its aftermath were everywhere. Crossing into Syria from Turkey, I felt disoriented. As I drove through the scorched countryside toward Aleppo — the first major city to fall in the final days of Bashar al-Assad's regime — we passed through towns that looked suspended in ruin. New revolutionary flags fluttered above the crumbling walls. Posters of Assad and his father, Hafez, had been torn down by those they had oppressed. Tanks and military uniforms were scattered along the road, evidence of a regime that had fled in haste. We drove past Aleppo, then Hama, where I remembered taking youth group trips to the old city. Story continues below advertisement Advertisement As we neared the capital, we stopped at Mezzeh military airport, once a tightly guarded area. During Assad's reign, approaching it had been unthinkable. Now, I walked freely through the wreckage there: destroyed helicopters, twisted steel, shattered cockpits — all reduced to rubble by Israeli airstrikes in the chaotic hours after the regime's collapse. Damascus, though, felt frozen in an earlier time: the narrow alleyways, the ancient stone, the scent of jasmine in the air. Here, I had walked as a boy, laughed with friends, built a thousand memories. But there were also pangs at what lay ahead — I knew had to see the Palestine Branch with my own eyes. The prison I found myself standing alone in a dark corridor. I walked through the cells, each more haunting than the last. The stench was suffocating. On one wall, a man had etched: 'I wish the reality was a dream, and the dream was a reality.' That man was my father. I had found his cell. More than two decades had passed, but his words remained — a haunting reminder of what he had endured. Story continues below advertisement Advertisement The Palestine Branch was one of the most feared security centers in Syria, infamous for its brutal interrogations, arbitrary detentions and systematic torture. For decades, it stood as a symbol of repression. My father was imprisoned there for seven months in 2000, at a time when Syria was gripped by paranoia and deep mistrust. We had come to Syria as refugees from Iraq, where my father had served in the military, which was mandatory during Saddam Hussein's rule. That was enough for the Assad regime to be suspicious. My father spent the first few months in Cell No. 4, a space meant for about three people. He recalled being there with 11 others. Later, he was moved to Cell No. 8, where he spent the bulk of his detention and endured severe torture. Living in Damascus After my father's release from prison, we settled in a neighborhood called Dwela, a modest working-class suburb of Damascus. I started sweeping up hair clippings and making tea at a barbershop nearby. Later, I worked in the basement of our building, where the landlord — a man named Abu John — ran a tailoring workshop. It was in that neighborhood that I experienced my first protest. The mass uprisings of 2011 were still years away, but you could already feel the growing anger. The government had announced plans to demolish homes in our area to make way for a highway and a bridge. One afternoon, we gathered in the street, chanting against the demolition. Riot police soon arrived, and before we knew it, we were surrounded by tear gas. Story continues below advertisement Advertisement When I returned to the neighborhood this year, the open fields where we once played were gone, buried beneath layers of concrete and makeshift buildings. Trash spilled into alleyways. After decades of war, residents' faces were etched with grief and exhaustion. The monastery One of the places I was most eager to revisit was the monastery where I had spent a significant part of my childhood — St. Ephraim, nestled in the village of Maarat Sednaya, just outside Damascus. We had lived in the capital for nearly a year when the government intensified its crackdown on undocumented refugees like us. Our Orthodox church stepped in, offering us shelter in the monastery. We spent about four years there. My parents helped with the cooking, and I worked in the fields alongside a monk named Hanna. Together, we tended to nearly a thousand olive trees that covered the hillside. Returning after two decades, I felt time had paused. Story continues below advertisement Advertisement I wandered among the olive trees that I had once watered, whose fruit I had once harvested and cleaned. I ate meals with the monks, joined them for morning and evening prayers, walked among the ancient books, and stood once again inside the small room where I had spent years of my life. A few miles away, across the mountain, a new monastery had been built. The Holy Cross Monastery reminded me of how the place once felt: sacred and untouched by the chaos below. When I visited, I was stunned to find Monk Hanna there. It was a bittersweet reunion. He barely remembered me. After my family left, hundreds of other Iraqi refugees sought shelter at the monastery. To him, I was one of many — a fading memory buried in decades of faces and names. When I showed him a photo of the two of us in the olive fields, something flickered, a faint recognition. I held on to that moment. I didn't need more. The departure In 2004, I sat in the departure hall of Damascus airport. We were leaving the home we had known for years. I didn't know if I'd return, but I still remember my heart pounding with excitement for what might come next. Two decades later, walking through the same halls, I was overwhelmed by a flood of memories — of uncertainty, of longing, of a younger version of myself who didn't yet know how long the journey ahead would be. As our plane lifted off, I looked down at the landscape of Syria — the cities and towns, the valleys and ridges, the scars of war and the quiet strength still holding the country together. I tried to stay in the moment, to reflect on everything I had seen over the past few months: the fall of the regime, the devastation, the resistance, the resilience. I thought of the people I was leaving behind — the shopkeepers, the mothers, the children, the former detainees, the elderly survivors who held their stories like heirlooms. They had endured so much under the iron grip of the Assad regime. Story continues below advertisement Advertisement I thought, too, about how rare it is for refugees to return. Most never do. But I had been blessed twice: once to return to my homeland, Iraq, and now to my second home, Syria.
