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.



Guantanamo Detention Camp: The 'Exception' that Became the Rule

General view of Camp X-Ray, where security was tight (AFP)
General view of Camp X-Ray, where security was tight (AFP)
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Guantanamo Detention Camp: The 'Exception' that Became the Rule

General view of Camp X-Ray, where security was tight (AFP)
General view of Camp X-Ray, where security was tight (AFP)

On the 25th anniversary of the September 11 attacks, the Guantanamo detention camp appears less like a prison that remained open by mistake and more like an entrenched institution that has learned how to withstand the passage of time.

The detention camp, which opened at the US naval base at Guantanamo Bay in January 2002, was supposed to be a temporary solution to an exceptional situation: detaining captured fighters in the “war on terror” far from the US mainland and, according to the logic of the US administration at the time, outside the legal rules governing conventional prisons or prisoners of war.

But the temporary became prolonged.

After a quarter century, the question is no longer simply: Why was Guantanamo never closed? It is also: What happened to the idea that gave rise to it? And how could a legal and political exception, born in a moment of “collective trauma” following the September 11 terrorist attacks, become an institution capable of enduring and continuing even after administrations in the White House changed, wars on the ground shifted, the nature of the threats evolved, and the names of those behind them changed?

After the attacks, the United States entered a new war that it called the “war on terror.” Within the framework of that war, a broad system of detention outside the ordinary legal framework emerged, relying on secrecy and indefinite detention, as well as an attempt to separate the military “war” from the legislative framework that would normally govern it.

Guantanamo became the clearest example of a contradiction that gradually came to light. While several secret detention sites operated by the Central Intelligence Agency emerged in multiple countries, relying on coercive and inhumane interrogation programs that later became part of one of the most controversial chapters of America’s war on terror, Guantanamo remained different. It had an additional advantage.

It was a living place. It grew, evolved and expanded across a larger geographic area over the years, from the moment it opened in early January 2002 to the present. As it adapted to successive US administrations, Republican and Democratic alike, and developed its methods and practices, it never strayed an inch from the idea on which it was founded and from the vast sphere of political power that underpinned it: that under exceptional circumstances, the US government could create an exceptional space; that a detainee could be an “enemy combatant” without being a prisoner of war in the traditional sense and without being charged before a criminal court; and that a war could last long enough for detention itself to have no defined end. That remains the reality for some Guantanamo prisoners today, nearly a quarter century later.

Guantanamo as an Archive

Perhaps in the first days after September 11, the logic of the exception was easy to understand. America was still reeling from the attacks, and the US administration viewed Al Qaeda as a threat that transcended the boundaries of states and conventional armies.

But the dilemma lies in the exception itself, not merely in the moment when it was created. The problem is its ability to survive after the moment that gave rise to it has passed.

This is where the entire story of Guantanamo lies.

The men initially sent there were considered part of the new war and its new tools. But over the years, it became clear that many of the detainees were not senior Al Qaeda leaders, and that some had been sent there on the basis of false information, marginal connections or financial rewards, only to find themselves trapped in a system that was difficult to escape.

Over the years, roughly 800 men passed through the detention camp. Only a small number remain today. At the beginning of 2025, the official number was 15 detainees, including some awaiting transfer to other countries, others facing proceedings before military commissions, and three who remained in detention without criminal charges or approval for their transfer.

But the decline in numbers did not mean the end of the problem.

On the contrary, the fewer detainees there were, the less Guantanamo resembled a mass prison detached from the broader context and the more it came to resemble a living archive of the war on terror: unresolved legal cases, confessions obtained under coercive conditions, military trials delayed for years, and people with whom the US government still struggles to determine how to deal and how to bring their detention to an end.

A Valuable Catch in a Dark Hole

It may be unfair to reduce the story of a detention camp as significant as Guantanamo to a single individual. But Khalid Sheikh Mohammed is a stark example of the enormous contradictions surrounding this case.

The man accused of being the mastermind of the September 11 attacks did not arrive at Guantanamo immediately. Years of pursuit and secret detention preceded it, including detention by the Central Intelligence Agency and harsh interrogations, before he was transferred to Guantanamo in 2006 along with a number of “high-value detainees,” as they were known at the time, who had been held at the previously mentioned secret sites known as the “black sites.”

Here, the man’s story intersects with the story of the place: Where does war end and justice begin? And can a case involving a crime on the scale of September 11 be built on evidence that was, in part, developed within a secret system that used torture and coercion?

More than two decades after the attacks, the case is still searching for its conclusion. Finally, in August, a military judge set a tentative date of June 5, 2028, for the trial of Khalid Sheikh Mohammed and three other defendants before a military commission at Guantanamo, following years of legal setbacks.

But then came the surprise. After the rules governing the trials changed, prosecutors decided to proceed with the case without using a key confession made by Khalid Sheikh Mohammed in 2007, in which he admitted responsibility for the attacks, after it was deemed involuntary and obtained through coercion.

Ironically, prosecutors did not appeal the decision, fearing that it would delay the trial even further.

The detention camp had thus become part of the very problem it was supposed to solve. After having condemned hundreds of innocent people, it may now end up acquitting a guilty man.

Washington now faces an even greater dilemma. On the one hand, it wants to put those responsible for the largest terrorist attack ever carried out on US soil on trial and close this chapter. On the other, it is forced to confront the predicament of its own making: What happens to evidence when the process that produced it is itself subject to legal challenge?

For this reason, the Khalid Sheikh Mohammed case is no longer simply the case of a man accused of terrorism. It is also the case of a state that sought to deliver justice without paying its full legal price.

Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, the “mastermind” of the September 11 attacks, shortly after the CIA captured him in Pakistan in 2003 (AP)

A Countdown... to No End

In 2009, when the newly elected Obama administration announced its intention to close the detention camp, which had been one of his campaign promises, with a target date of January 22, 2010, I traveled to Guantanamo on a journalistic assignment. It was eight years old at the time, and during those years it had undergone one expansion after another, along with numerous “improvements” to its services. Trials had also begun there, in courtrooms with wooden arches, seating for spectators and all the elements of a courtroom designed to project the appearance of justice.

At the time, the camp administration brought journalists in to show them its conditions. It had come to resemble federal prisons, with kitchens serving halal meat, sports fields, various activities and prayer times, in the hope of making up, however slightly, for the images of rows of cages standing in the heat of a tropical island.

At the same time, the political leadership in Washington was negotiating with various countries to transfer detainees there. The practical question was simple: How could those held there be moved out and the facility closed?

But the place, its inhabitants and the volunteer lawyers defending them there in New York... they all said otherwise.

During those tightly organized and closely monitored visits, it was possible to see many parts of the detention camp and its updated and improved facilities, but other parts remained beyond view. And there was a phrase that military personnel repeatedly told visitors, carrying a promise that exceeded the place’s ability to fulfill it: “Here, you will see the truth naked,” they said.

But can the truth really be seen naked from behind a curtain?

For example, there was “Camp 7,” the most secretive section, designated for the “high-value detainees” among Al Qaeda’s senior leaders. Its existence was known, and its building overlooked the other facilities from a nearby hill. But its details were shrouded in absolute secrecy.

In “Camp 6,” for example, detainees would look out, or try to look out, through narrow openings in the windows, and their voices reached us from a distance before we could make out their faces. “Liars! Liars!” was the cry that repeatedly came from behind those walls. It was not possible to see the faces clearly, as looking up at the prisoners was prohibited, but the accusation could be heard loud and clear.

That, in itself, was a small lesson in the nature of the facility: its doors could be open enough for you to see it, and closed enough to keep you from knowing everything inside it.

At the time, Rear Adm. Tom Copeman, commander of the joint forces at the base, also described closing the detention camp as a difficult task, “but not an impossible one.”

A logical statement in the context of 2009.

At the time, the difficulty of closing it was not technical. It did not require ending a war or dismantling a state. What was required was to transfer hundreds of men and make political and legal decisions about who would be tried, who would be released and who would be transferred to a third country, and then close a facility like any other. Each decision led to another.

Would a detainee return to his home country? Would a third country accept him? Would he appear before a civilian or military court? Could he be released if there was insufficient evidence to prosecute him? And what about intelligence agencies that considered him a threat? What does a state do with someone it cannot convict but does not trust itself to release?

In this sense, Guantanamo became less about the number of detainees and their “improved” detention conditions than about the decision-making structure within the US administration and the complex chain of command that had developed around them.

Welcome sign at the entrance to the Guantanamo detention camp base following renovations (file, AFP)

What Did Guantanamo Do to America?

Perhaps the mistake was to view Guantanamo solely as an external human rights problem.

In an important sense, it was an American domestic experiment in the limits of power.

After September 11, the executive branch acquired enormous power in the name of national security. The judiciary then imposed limits on that power through a series of landmark cases, from Rasul v. Bush to Hamdan v. Rumsfeld and then Boumediene v. Bush. Each time, the same question returned in a different form: Can war create a zone outside the law?

The answer is undoubtedly complicated.

Congress passed laws, administrations changed their policies, the courts intervened, the military revised its detention rules, and the United States transferred or released a large number of detainees. But the institution that emerged in a moment of exception remained, and remains, and could be repurposed to continue indefinitely with new missions.

That is why the latest developments at the base carry significance beyond that of a passing news story.

In January 2025, the administration of President Donald Trump directed the Departments of Defense and Homeland Security to expand the Migrant Operations Center at the Guantanamo naval base to its full capacity, with the aim of providing additional space for detaining migrants. Since then, ICE documents have confirmed special procedures for detaining migrants at the base, including at “Camp 6” and the Migrant Operations Center.

Two US soldiers enter Camp Delta 1, a high-security facility (Getty)

Accordingly, Adam Abdullah, a 31-year-old Somali man detained by immigration authorities in Minnesota, was transferred to Guantanamo without clear charges. He has lawful status and is subject to periodic reviews with immigration authorities. US media reported that he had been held in “Camp 6” for about two weeks and was one of eight Somali nationals detained there.

This does not mean that the “war on terror” detention camp and migrant detention centers are the same legal institution, nor that the people held in them are subject to the same system. But reusing the same facility to carry out detentions outside the legal framework and far from the US mainland raises a question that cannot be ignored:

Are the tools of the “war on terror” being revived to wage a “war on migrants”? And is the notorious detention camp being repurposed again and again depending on who occupies the White House?

The two wars do not need to be identical for the question to be worth asking.

Guantanamo is no longer simply a product of what happened on September 11. It has become a daily test of what can happen to the tools states create in moments of fear, only to discover later that they are easier to invent than to abolish.

It is simply the story of an exception that became the rule.


Doomsday Tech: Could AI Really Kill Us All?

A banner shows message reading "AI" during the London Tech Week at Olympia, in London, Britain, June 8, 2026. (Reuters)
A banner shows message reading "AI" during the London Tech Week at Olympia, in London, Britain, June 8, 2026. (Reuters)
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Doomsday Tech: Could AI Really Kill Us All?

A banner shows message reading "AI" during the London Tech Week at Olympia, in London, Britain, June 8, 2026. (Reuters)
A banner shows message reading "AI" during the London Tech Week at Olympia, in London, Britain, June 8, 2026. (Reuters)

Stark warnings from artificial intelligence researchers that advanced forms of the technology could wipe out humanity have raised questions over whether governments are moving fast enough to regulate it.

What are the potential dangers of "superintelligent" computer systems, and should we be worried?

- What's the worst-case scenario? -

AI experts have long described the threat as critical.

In 2023, hundreds of AI scientists and industry figures, including the heads of top US labs, signed a "statement on AI extinction risk" calling for the issue to be treated as seriously as pandemics or nuclear war.

If an out-of-control future AI deems that humans are obstructing its goals, it could use robots to "synthesize and spread novel pathogens", said Stuart Russell, computer science professor at the University of California, Berkeley.

Or it could "convince people to initiate nuclear war, including by hacking into early warning systems", Russell, a prominent voice on AI safety, told AFP.

Such existential fears do not concern current AI systems, he stressed. But as the technology improves it could take lethal action beyond our understanding, such as by removing oxygen from the atmosphere.

"We are less intelligent than superintelligent AI. If you ask chimpanzees how humans could wipe them out, they probably wouldn't be able to give you all the right answers."

In the meantime, "in the next year or two I think the risk is higher from human misuse," Russell added -- such as an AI-enabled terror attack.

- Why don't AI labs stop? -

"The stakes are well-understood," Jacob Coxon, a 27-year-old researcher, wrote on X this week, announcing his resignation from US AI startup Anthropic.

"But they are locked in a race to get there first," he added, saying that Anthropic "believe no one else will act responsibly, so they must do it themselves".

Anthropic this year removed a pledge from its safety charter to halt development of its models if it failed to control their risks.

It argued that if it unilaterally paused its work, its less cautious rivals would dominate the industry, making it less safe overall.

"The people building AI earnestly believe that it could kill us all by the end of the decade," said Coxon, who previously worked at ChatGPT maker OpenAI.

He accused both companies of "gambling with our lives" as they strive to develop AI models capable of self-improvement.

Fears are heightened over rogue AI after OpenAI technology operating outside human supervision hacked into Hugging Face, a repository of AI models.

"We really do earnestly believe AI could kill all humans!" Anthropic safety executive Evan Hubinger chimed in on X, estimating the risk at more than 10 percent over the next decade.

- What's the hype factor? -

It's important to remember that doom-laden percentage predictions are "absolutely unscientific", said Hussein Abbass, a computing professor at UNSW Canberra.

"The situation is still controllable, and it can be managed," Abbass told AFP.

But governments should not sit on their hands when it comes to regulating AI, he added, urging an "agile" approach as AI development accelerates.

Both Anthropic and OpenAI are expected to go public soon, and some skeptics say scary warnings make AI appear powerful and worthy of large investments.

Others argue that focusing on the risk of extinction distracts from more pressing problems caused by AI, from job losses to machines discriminating against minorities.

In July, more than 1,000 tech employees, including Anthropic's CEO, called on Washington to support a coordinated slowdown in the development of the most advanced AI systems.

OpenAI halted training of its latest models for two weeks in August before resuming it under tighter controls.

- What will it take to regulate? -

So far, the United States has been firmly against global regulation of the sector that could stifle innovation.

But the unprecedented hacking capabilities of the most cutting-edge models have given Washington pause, with recent Anthropic and OpenAI releases delayed over national security concerns.

Even then, "we don't want to restrict them where all of a sudden we come in second to China", President Donald Trump has said.

"Maybe it will take a massive, Chernobyl-scale disaster to get governments to act," Russell said, urging them to establish a licensing regime for AI, as exists with aviation, medicine or water supply.

"Perhaps at some point governments will remember that their voters prefer not to be dead," he added.


Why Do ‘Temporary’ Weapons Depots Keep Exploding in Northwestern Syria?

Syrian White Helmets rescuers inspect the site of an explosion at a temporary depot for weapons and explosive remnants of war in Sarmada, Idlib province (AFP)
Syrian White Helmets rescuers inspect the site of an explosion at a temporary depot for weapons and explosive remnants of war in Sarmada, Idlib province (AFP)
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Why Do ‘Temporary’ Weapons Depots Keep Exploding in Northwestern Syria?

Syrian White Helmets rescuers inspect the site of an explosion at a temporary depot for weapons and explosive remnants of war in Sarmada, Idlib province (AFP)
Syrian White Helmets rescuers inspect the site of an explosion at a temporary depot for weapons and explosive remnants of war in Sarmada, Idlib province (AFP)

The latest explosion in the city of Sarmada in northern Idlib province has renewed attention on the threat posed by weapons depots and explosive remnants of war across northwestern Syria.

Such explosions have increasingly endangered civilians and undermined stability, prompting growing calls from residents and local groups to dismantle the depots that have long caused anxiety and move them away from populated areas.

Fourteen people were killed and 11 others wounded in Wednesday’s explosion in Sarmada, near the Syrian-Turkish border north of Idlib, according to the Idlib Media Directorate.

The toll remained preliminary as civil defense teams continued searching the site and dealing with the aftermath of the blast, the directorate said.

Civil defense teams from the Emergency and Disaster Management Directorate headed to the site after the explosion, which preliminary information suggested was linked to munitions stored in the Burj al-Nimra area near Sarmada.

The teams began assessing and securing the site, searching for casualties and taking measures to address any potential repercussions, the civil defense said.

Syria’s Defense Ministry said the incident was caused by an explosion at a temporary depot used to collect weapons and explosive remnants of war before their removal.

“The explosion injured a number of ministry personnel, and our units are working in coordination with the relevant authorities to secure the site,” the ministry said.

Investigation and penalties

Sources at the Defense Ministry said the facility was a temporary depot used to collect unexploded ordnance, mines and other remnants of war recovered from areas of northern Idlib province before they were transferred to designated sites for detonation or disposal.

The ministry launched an investigation immediately to rule out external involvement or the presence of anyone implicated in the incident, the sources said.

Legal action against those responsible for the storage site, including possible disciplinary measures and penalties, would be determined by the investigation’s findings, they added.

The ministry sources nevertheless said the blast was most likely caused by a mine or munition stored inside the depot, particularly as some of the remnants had lain undisturbed for years.

The ministry’s explanations and subsequent measures do not absolve it of responsibility or criticism, military experts contacted by Asharq Al-Awsat said. They cited inadequate safety and storage standards, delays in relocating the stockpiles and a failure to move weapons and ammunition depots away from civilian areas.

Idlib province in northwestern Syria has become a frequent site of explosions involving weapons depots and the transportation of munitions.

Earlier in September, five people were killed when a vehicle loaded with ammunition exploded in the center of the city of Binnish.

That incident was preceded by an explosion at a depot containing rockets and ammunition north of the town of Kafr Takharim in rural Idlib. Five people were killed and several civilians wounded in the blast, which was also linked to work being carried out by a crew near the site.

A series of similar incidents was recorded last year. The most notable occurred near the western entrance to Idlib city on Aug. 14, 2025, when an arms depot exploded, triggering successive blasts involving rocket and shell remnants. Four people were killed and several civilians were wounded, according to the civil defense.

Other explosions in the town of Maarat Misrin killed 11 civilians and wounded dozens, as well as causing extensive property damage. The town of al-Foua also witnessed a series of blasts that deepened civilians’ fears over the continued presence of depots established near residential areas during the war against the government of Bashar al-Assad.

Military expert Diaa Qaddour attributed the recurring explosions to the large quantities of weapons, ammunition and explosive remnants left scattered across the country after 14 years of war and the fall of Assad’s government in late 2024.

Some came from depots belonging to the former government, while others were left by former armed factions and foreign groups or seized as spoils of war, he said.

Qaddour said the Syrian government and the Defense Ministry had sought to address the issue and secure the weapons, but the process remained slow and complex because of the vast size of the stockpiles, the need for a comprehensive survey and the presence of temporary storage sites near residential areas.

He attributed delays in removing the stockpiles from civilian areas to a shortage of specialized personnel and equipment.

“The lack of adequate safety measures plays a major role in the recurrence of these explosions,” Qaddour said.

Weapons and ammunition were often stored in unsecured facilities or near populated areas without sufficient protection from heat or ignition sources, he said. Other contributing factors included inadequate equipment, the handling of munitions by unqualified personnel and high summer temperatures.

Qaddour also pointed to locally manufactured weapons and munitions that were not designed for long-term storage and could not withstand changing conditions, transportation or poor storage.

“They are less stable, their quality varies, and heat and humidity accelerate their deterioration, making them increasingly prone to problems over time,” he said.

Possible Israeli role

Brigadier General Imad Shehoud, a military expert, did not rule out possible Israeli involvement in the latest explosion in Sarmada, despite the lack of evidence and the absence of any Israeli claim of responsibility.

“Although there is no evidence, the possibility remains that an Israeli aircraft squadron entered Syrian airspace in stealth mode and carried out the operation,” Shehoud said.

“The Israeli government has not issued any statement so far, but the reported presence of Israeli aircraft over southern Syria means the possibility cannot be excluded.”

Shehoud said the explosion coincided with an “intelligence report” indicating extensive reconnaissance activity by Israel’s 122nd Squadron, involving Nachshon Shavit, Nachshon Oron and Gulfstream G550 aircraft over Syrian and Lebanese territory in the hours before the blast.