‘I Want My Legs Back’: The Child Amputees of Gaza’s War

Thirteen year-old amputee Layan al-Baz receives treatment at the Nasser hospital in Khan Yunis in the southern Gaza Strip on October 31, 2023. (AFP)
Thirteen year-old amputee Layan al-Baz receives treatment at the Nasser hospital in Khan Yunis in the southern Gaza Strip on October 31, 2023. (AFP)
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‘I Want My Legs Back’: The Child Amputees of Gaza’s War

Thirteen year-old amputee Layan al-Baz receives treatment at the Nasser hospital in Khan Yunis in the southern Gaza Strip on October 31, 2023. (AFP)
Thirteen year-old amputee Layan al-Baz receives treatment at the Nasser hospital in Khan Yunis in the southern Gaza Strip on October 31, 2023. (AFP)

Layan al-Baz cries in agony when the effect fades of the painkillers she receives after her legs were amputated -- the result of a strike on Gaza as Israel fights Hamas.

"I don't want a false leg," the 13-year-old Palestinian tells AFP in Khan Yunis's Nasser hospital, in the southern Gaza Strip, where getting artificial limbs was nearly impossible anyway.

The impoverished Palestinian territory, under a crippling Israeli-led blockade for years and besieged since war erupted on October 7, suffers severe shortages of food, water and fuel, and medical supplies are scarce.

"I want them to put my legs back, they can do it," Baz says in desperation from her bed at Nasser's pediatric ward.

Every time she opens her eyes as the painkillers wear off, she sees her bandaged stumps.

Her mother, Lamia al-Baz, 47, says Layan was wounded last week in a strike on Al-Qarara district of Khan Yunis, part of Israel's unrelenting military campaign in response to bloody Hamas attacks on October 7 that Israeli officials say killed more than 1,400 people, most of them civilians.

According to the Hamas-run health ministry, nearly 9,500 people have been killed in Gaza since the war erupted, including at least 3,900 children.

Four of them were Baz's relatives, killed in the strike that cost the 13-year-old's legs, her mother says.

Lamia says two of her daughters, Ikhlas and Khitam, and two grandchildren including a newborn baby were killed when the Israeli strike hit Ikhlas's home. The family were there to support Ikhlas who had just given birth.

"Their bodies were in shreds," says Lamia, who had to identify her daughters' bodies at a morgue. "I identified Khitam by her earrings and Ikhlas by her toes."

Layan, her face and arms dotted with injuries, asks: "How will I return to school when my friends walk and I can't?"

Lamia tries to reassure her: "I will be by your side. It will all be fine. You still have a future ahead of you."

'I'm still alive'

At the hospital's burns unit, 14-year-old Lama al-Agha and her sister Sara, 15, lie in adjacent beds.

They are treated after an October 12 strike that killed Sara's twin Sama and brother Yahya, 12, says their mother, sitting between the two hospital beds and struggling to hold back tears.

Stitches and burn scars are visible on Lama's half-shaved head and her forehead.

"When they transferred me here, I asked the nurses to help me sit up and I discovered that my leg was amputated," the 14-year-old recalls.

"I've been through a lot of pain, but I thank God that I'm still alive."

Lama is determined not to let her injury decide her future.

"I'll get an artificial leg and continue my studies, so I can achieve my dream of becoming a doctor. I will be strong for me and for my family," she says.

Hospital director Nahed Abu Taaema explains that due to the massive number of casualties and dwindling resources, medics are often left with no choice but to amputate limbs to prevent life-threatening complications.

"We have to choose between saving a patient's life or putting it at risk while trying to save their injured leg," says Abu Taaema.

Dashed football dream

Sporting a green football jersey and matching shorts, Ahmad Abu Shahmah, 14, uses crutches to walk around the ruins of his family's home in Khan Yunis.

Now surrounded by several of his cousins, Abu Shahmah is at the courtyard where he used to play football.

But the building was destroyed in a strike that killed six of his cousins and an aunt.

"When I woke up (after surgery) I asked my brother, 'where is my leg?'" he recalls.

"He lied to me and said it was right there, and that I couldn't feel it because of the anesthetics."

The following day, "my cousin told me the truth", says Abu Shahmah.

"I cried a lot. The first thing I thought about was that I will no longer be able to walk or play football like I would every day. I signed up to an academy one week before the war."

Abu Shahmah supports FC Barcelona, while his cousins are die-hard fans of Real Madrid.

One of them, Farid Abu Shahmah, says that if he "could turn back time and return Ahmad his leg, I'd be ready to give up Real and become a Barcelona fan like him."



The End of a Forced Coexistence: Arab Tribes Turn Against the Syrian Democratic Forces in Eastern Syria

Armed clashes between Arab tribal fighters and the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) and the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) in the Manbij area of northern Syria in September 2023 (Getty)
Armed clashes between Arab tribal fighters and the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) and the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) in the Manbij area of northern Syria in September 2023 (Getty)
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The End of a Forced Coexistence: Arab Tribes Turn Against the Syrian Democratic Forces in Eastern Syria

Armed clashes between Arab tribal fighters and the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) and the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) in the Manbij area of northern Syria in September 2023 (Getty)
Armed clashes between Arab tribal fighters and the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) and the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) in the Manbij area of northern Syria in September 2023 (Getty)

In Syria’s vast northeastern areas, a brittle arrangement has for years held together an uneasy coexistence between the Arab tribes and the Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF). But today, that arrangement appears closer than ever to unraveling, as mounting grievances and shifting regional dynamics converge to end what many tribal leaders now call a “forced coexistence.”

Over the past months, prominent Arab tribal leaders have stepped up their denunciations of the SDF, accusing it of discrimination, repression, and siphoning off the region’s natural wealth. These tensions have erupted into public declarations, including a striking statement in early July, in which elders from major tribes in Deir ez-Zor, Raqqa, and al-Hasakah demanded that the US-led international coalition end its support for the SDF.

From Tactical Alliance to Deep Estrangement

When the SDF first emerged in 2015 - formed largely by the Kurdish People’s Protection Units (YPG) but incorporating Arab and Christian militias - many Arab tribes regarded it as a necessary partner against ISIS. After all, the militant group had rampaged through tribal lands, massacring communities and imposing draconian rule. For a time, this partnership worked: from 2015 to 2017, tribes like the Shammar, Baggara, and parts of the Aqeedat fought shoulder-to-shoulder with Kurdish forces in a shared struggle against ISIS.

But as the warfronts cooled, new frictions emerged. Arab leaders began to accuse the SDF of marginalizing them politically and economically, imposing ideologically charged school curricula, conscripting young men and boys, and monopolizing oil and wheat revenues.

By 2018 and 2019, large protests against mandatory conscription and perceived ethnic bias erupted across the region. Still, the SDF retained an aura of indispensability, its American backing and battlefield record insulating it from more serious challenges.
Today, that insulation is wearing thin.

The most recent wave of anger began in June 2025, when an SDF fighter shot and killed 11-year-old Farid al-Hureish in the town of Abu Hardoub. Days later, another boy, Ali al-Awni, died after SDF forces opened fire as he gathered wheat near a checkpoint. Such incidents are far from isolated. Local monitors and human rights groups have documented kidnappings, forced recruitment of minors through the Revolutionary Youth organization, and heavy financial levies on families seeking exemptions from military service.

In a recent interview, Nasser Hammoud al-Faraj, a prominent sheikh from the Boushaban tribe, said these abuses had created a “boiling point” across the region: “The people have lived for years under repression, exclusion, and humiliation,” he said. “This is not a foreign agenda; our tribes themselves demanded this declaration.”

Indeed, the July statement signed by 14 tribal dignitaries did not mince words. It accused the SDF of “systematic oppression,” destabilization, and theft of resources. Addressed to the US government, the declaration called for an end to military and political support for the SDF and for Syria’s central government to reassert sovereignty over the entire northeast.

Though much Western coverage portrays the SDF as a unified Kurdish force, it is in fact a complex coalition. Alongside the YPG, it includes Arab formations such as the Sanadid Forces - historically loyal to the Shammar tribe - and the Deir ez-Zor Military Council, which incorporated Arab fighters from the Aqeedat and Baggara. Yet these same tribal networks are now fracturing.

A dramatic illustration came in 2023, when the SDF arrested Ahmed al-Khabil (Abu Khawla), leader of the Deir ez-Zor Military Council. That move shattered remaining loyalty among many Arab factions. “From that moment, the last shreds of trust began to disappear,” says al-Faraj.

To complicate matters further, some tribes and sub-clans remain aligned with the SDF, while others are in contact with Damascus. Even within a single tribe, families may be divided: some serving in SDF structures, others quietly supporting the Syrian government, and still others advocating autonomy or neutrality.

This tangle of loyalties is not new. For generations, tribal allegiances have shifted according to local interests, personal rivalries, and broader geopolitical currents. But according to tribal leaders, the balance is tipping decisively away from cooperation with the SDF.

While recent tribal declarations have emphasized peaceful solutions, the language has also grown more menacing. Sheikh al-Faraj said plainly that if diplomatic avenues fail, tribes may pursue military action: “We do not seek conflict for its own sake,” he said. “But we cannot accept the occupation of our lands. We will act if necessary, with our own forces and with others who share our vision.”

To that end, tribal networks have quietly reorganized self-defense groups and explored links with Damascus. While the SDF still controls the bulk of the region militarily, the Syrian government has positioned itself as a potential guarantor of tribal rights and national unity.

In the past year, official Syrian media - long restrained in its references to the SDF - has begun openly condemning it as an occupying force. Even Governor Ghassan al-Sayyed Ahmad of Deir ez-Zor, typically cautious in public remarks, confirmed that Damascus retains military options: “If negotiations fail,” he warned in late June, “we have three fully prepared divisions ready to intervene.”

Strategic Calculations: Damascus, Washington, and Ankara

For the United States, this tribal rupture represents a profound dilemma. The SDF has been Washington’s main counterterrorism partner against ISIS. US officials, including Special Envoy Thomas Barrack, have repeatedly stressed that their cooperation is based on combating extremism rather than endorsing any project of Kurdish autonomy. But tribal grievances are testing this posture.

While the Biden administration has so far avoided any direct condemnation of the SDF, it has privately urged Kurdish commanders to moderate their policies. According to multiple regional sources, US diplomats have warned that continued abuses could undermine the entire anti-ISIS coalition and trigger Turkish or Syrian intervention.

Türkiye, for its part, has consistently opposed any Kurdish-led administration along its border. Turkish leaders have threatened new incursions if the SDF attempts to formalize autonomy or establish closer ties with the PKK. Analysts believe that any large-scale tribal uprising would likely draw tacit Turkish support, especially if it further weakens Kurdish positions.

To contain the crisis, the SDF has resorted to tactical concessions. In the aftermath of the 2023 clashes, it released waves of detainees, some of whom were arrested for allegedly supporting ISIS, others simply for joining tribal protests. The releases continued sporadically into mid-2025, culminating in a large-scale exchange in April: 140 SDF captives for 100 prisoners held by Syrian government forces.

While these deals have bought time, they have not erased deep resentment. Many tribes now insist that only the full restoration of Syrian state authority can bring stability.

Beyond military options, Arab tribes have begun constructing new political frameworks. In April, tribal elites announced the creation of the “Council for Cooperation and Coordination in Jazira and the Euphrates,” aimed at unifying tribal voices against what they called SDF “hegemony.” In founding statements, council leaders vowed to reject any attempt by the SDF to claim representation of Arab communities in negotiations with Damascus or in international forums.

This reflects a broader evolution in tribal political consciousness. Where once many leaders accepted limited accommodation with the SDF, they now see prolonged Kurdish-led rule as an existential threat to Arab identity, economic rights, and local governance.

The northeastern region is a mosaic. In Deir ez-Zor and Raqqa, Arabs form overwhelming majorities, organized in centuries-old confederations like the Aqeedat, Baggara, and Jubur. In al-Hasakah, the picture is more mixed: Arabs dominate much of the countryside, while Kurds are concentrated in urban centers such as Qamishli and Ras al-Ain. Christian Assyrian and Syriac communities add further complexity, as do smaller minorities of Turkmen, Circassians, and Armenians.

Any future political arrangement - whether federal, autonomous, or unitary - will have to balance these identities. The head of the Research Unit at the London-based Abaad Center for Strategic Studies, Syrian researcher Firas Faham, said: “The region is a dormant volcano. If there is no comprehensive settlement, conflict is inevitable.”

End of the Era of Forced Coexistence

In recent weeks, this metaphorical volcano has rumbled ever louder. Syrian state media and official statements now refer openly to “the occupation” by SDF forces. Behind closed doors, discussions are underway among Damascus, Moscow, and even Ankara about a possible reconfiguration of control.

Mudar Hammoud al-Assad, chairman of the Supreme Council of Syrian Tribes and Clans, told Asharq al-Awsat that the SDF’s options are narrowing: “After the American envoy clearly stated that the only legitimate interlocutor is the Syrian government, the SDF is exposed. They may face military action with tacit American and Turkish approval.”

Even if open war does not break out, tribal consensus against the SDF has never been stronger. What once was a tactical alliance, born of necessity in the struggle against ISIS, has become a marriage of deep resentment.

Despite the historical differences among the tribes, the growing resentment over marginalization, arbitrary arrests, and other grievances appears to have unified a tribal discourse demanding the return of the Syrian Army. Options remain suspended between negotiations and military confrontation, especially in light of official Syrian statements about the readiness of government forces.

This escalation places the international coalition in a delicate balancing act between supporting its ally, the Syrian Democratic Forces - whose local legitimacy is increasingly contested - and responding to tribal pressures warning of a potential explosion of unrest, something Washington does not want and is actively trying to prevent.