Ahmed el-Jouri
Khaled (a pseudonym) never expected this interview to reopen a door to the past.
At first, he hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. But as he spoke, his tone felt strangely familiar. Then, as the conversation unfolded, a moment came that made my heart race.
"I was 13 when I became a prison guard. We had no choice. They gave orders, and if we refused, we were punished. I opened cell doors, brought food, and watched the prisoners. Some cried, some screamed, and some stayed silent. We treated them as enemies, though we didn’t know why they were there," Khaled recounted.
His words sent a chill down my spine. Al-Mayadeen Prison. 2015. A 13-year-old was guarding me and the other detainees. My mind flashed back to that dark time when I was arrested in Syria for refusing to work as a pharmacist for ISIS.
The group demanded total loyalty, especially from medical professionals. Those who resisted faced threats, arrests, or worse.
One night, they came for me. I later learned my neighbor, an ISIS member, had turned me in for listening to music. That was enough to send me to prison - where I met my young jailer.
As I conducted this interview - one of 17 testimonies I gathered on ISIS youth or the so-called "Cubs of the Caliphate" - questions filled my mind, but I held back. I didn’t want to be too direct, yet curiosity gnawed at me.
I asked careful questions, trying to confirm my suspicions without alarming Khaled, now in his mid-20s. But when he described the prison - the corridors, the meager meals, the way he was ordered to open and close cell doors - I knew the truth. He had been my jailer.
A wave of emotions hit me. Part of me wanted to tell him I had been there, that he had stood before me, holding the keys. But another part hesitated.
How could I say it? What difference would it make? I now see that Khaled was just a child, a pawn in a larger system. Any anger or resentment I felt couldn’t be directed at him. Still, I struggled to separate the man before me from his past.
"Were you cruel to the prisoners?" I finally asked.
He sighed, lowering his head. "Sometimes, I tried to be kind - giving extra food or leaving a door open a little longer. But other times... I was harsh. I was afraid. If I showed weakness, they would have locked me up too."
His words struck me.
I don’t know if Khaled remembers me or if I was just another prisoner. But I see now - he is still fighting his own battle.
Khaled’s story is just one of 17 firsthand accounts gathered over the past six months, revealing how past trauma collides with present and future struggles. This report follows two key figures: Khaled, a former prison guard trying to move on, and Sami (a pseudonym), who once faced his captor at his weakest moment.
Their experiences, along with others, highlight the lasting impact of violence and forced recruitment on a generation robbed of its childhood. But they also raise a crucial question: Has ISIS truly been defeated, or could it return?
With Syria’s shifting power dynamics - Bashar al-Assad’s downfall and Hayat Tahrir al-Sham taking control - young men like Khaled and Sami now face new challenges in an increasingly unstable country. The ongoing security chaos and power struggles among armed factions have fueled fears of ISIS regaining strength.
At the center of this uncertainty is the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF), which still controls thousands of ISIS detainees, including men, women, and children. This detainee issue has become a bargaining tool, with SDF using it to secure military and political support from global and regional powers.
Without clear solutions, these prisoners risk being used for political or military gain. The possible closure of Syria’s al-Hol camp, where many are held, only adds to concerns about what happens next - and where they will go.
ISIS threatens Syria’s new government
ISIS has warned Syria’s new government against "straying from the right path," fueling fears that its threats are more than just propaganda - they could be part of a plan to regain influence.
Though the group’s remnants remain active in Syria’s and Iraq’s deserts, launching occasional attacks, the real danger lies in its ability to exploit security gaps and rebuild.
Adding to concerns, some local forces - including remnants of the old regime and the SDF - might use the ISIS threat to their advantage. By keeping the danger alive, they could seek more support from international players, raising fears that ISIS operations might be tolerated or even leveraged in ongoing power struggles.
ISIS is determined to avenge its defeats, understanding that losing land doesn’t mean the end of its ideology. The group is rebuilding by taking advantage of local grievances, tribal divisions, economic decline, and the hopelessness of many former fighters, especially those recruited as children.
These young people, raised in a war-torn environment, now face rejection from their communities, lack of job opportunities, and a stigma they can’t escape. Without proper rehabilitation programs, the risk of them returning to ISIS remains high, as the group continues to exploit their isolation and lack of future prospects.
So, are these former child soldiers a threat to Syria’s stability? Or are they victims of tough circumstances, hoping for reintegration into society as part of the solution?
Despite the fall of its so-called "caliphate," ISIS is still trying to regain its power, using more complex and decentralized methods. These tactics make it harder to track or eliminate the group.
With tasks now handled outside the central leadership, recruits sometimes receive multiple offers from different ISIS factions, unaware of their true connections to the original group.
Khaled recalled: "After I was freed, a man I didn’t know approached me. He didn’t directly say he was from ISIS, but he hinted that the past wasn’t over and there was a chance to return to the group. He knew personal details about me, even things I’d never told anyone. How did he know?"
Like Khaled, Sami also received indirect offers, but through social media. ISIS uses fake accounts on Telegram and WhatsApp to reach young people. Sami said: "I got a message from an unknown person on Telegram. He said he knew my struggles and that there was a way for me to rebuild my life. He spoke about injustice, how we were used and abandoned. His words felt like a therapist exploiting my weaknesses."
In addition to traditional methods, ISIS is now using modern technology, video games that spread extremist ideas, and private forums. They sometimes send links disguised as educational offers or scholarships, but they are traps to recruit individuals.
At one point, the group also relied on civilians working in accepted jobs, like aid workers or logistics staff, to spread their influence. Khaled revealed: "A friend told me he was working with a man distributing food and supplies to poor villages. Later, I found out it was just a cover, and some of the workers were former ISIS members."
ISIS’ continued influence
The tough economic situation and social stigma faced by former ISIS members play a major role in the group's ongoing recruitment. Many young people from these backgrounds live in areas with few job opportunities and are marginalized by society, making them vulnerable to ISIS’s financial offers.
Sami said: "When I was released, I couldn’t find work. I tried to start over, but everyone saw me as a threat. I had nothing, no future. In my desperation, I thought, ‘What if I go back? At least I’d get something for the risk. No one will hire me here.’"
Khaled, like many others, feels isolated. "Society rejects us, and the government doesn’t trust us. We’re stuck, not knowing where to go. When someone says, ‘We haven’t forgotten you, you’re still one of us,’ you start thinking about it."
One witness added: "When there’s no food and no one will hire you because of your past, you start to consider your options. Some are strong enough to resist, but others may not be."
Psychological struggles persist
The survivors also feel as if ISIS is still watching them. It’s not just messages or attempts to meet; sometimes they are approached by people who know private details about their lives.
Khaled recalled: "After my release, I lived far from anything related to the group. But suddenly, a man appeared at the mosque where I prayed in. He spoke about how some of us had lost our way but could still return. When I asked him what he meant, he said, ‘You were there. You know what I mean.’"
Though ISIS’ physical caliphate has fallen, its ideology remains. The group’s tactics continue to change to adapt to new situations. For Khaled, Sami, and others, the fight is not just about weapons. It’s a psychological struggle to hold onto their new identities, while dealing with the past and the persistent attempts to bring them back into the fold, all in a Syria filled with uncertainty.
