Former Spy Chief and Assad’s Cousin Plot Syrian Uprisings from Russia

A member of Hayat Tahrir al-Sham stands guard near an image of Syria's Bashar al-Assad at the fourth division headquarters in Damascus, Syria, January 23, 2025 (Reuters)
A member of Hayat Tahrir al-Sham stands guard near an image of Syria's Bashar al-Assad at the fourth division headquarters in Damascus, Syria, January 23, 2025 (Reuters)
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Former Spy Chief and Assad’s Cousin Plot Syrian Uprisings from Russia

A member of Hayat Tahrir al-Sham stands guard near an image of Syria's Bashar al-Assad at the fourth division headquarters in Damascus, Syria, January 23, 2025 (Reuters)
A member of Hayat Tahrir al-Sham stands guard near an image of Syria's Bashar al-Assad at the fourth division headquarters in Damascus, Syria, January 23, 2025 (Reuters)

Two former loyalists to Bashar al-Assad who fled Syria after his fall are funneling millions of dollars to tens of thousands of potential fighters, hoping to stir uprisings against the new government and reclaim some of their lost influence, a Reuters investigation has found.

Assad, who escaped to Russia last December, is largely resigned to exile in Moscow, say four people close to the family. But other senior figures from his inner circle, including his brother, have not come to terms with losing power.

Reuters found that two of the men once closest to Assad, Maj. Gen. Kamal Hassan and billionaire Rami Makhlouf, are competing to form militias in coastal Syria and Lebanon made up of members of their minority Alawite sect, long associated with the Assad family.

All told, the two men and other factions jostling for power are financing more than 50,000 fighters in hope of winning their loyalty.

Assad’s brother, Maher, who is also in Moscow and still controls thousands of former soldiers, has yet to give money or orders, said the four people close to the Assads.

One prize for Hassan and Makhlouf is control of a network of 14 underground command rooms built around coastal Syria toward the end of Assad’s rule, as well as weapons caches.

Two officers and a Syrian regional governor confirmed the existence of these concealed rooms, details of which appear in photos seen by Reuters.

Hassan, who was Bashar’s military intelligence chief, has been tirelessly making calls and sending voice messages to commanders and advisors. In them, he seethes about his lost influence and outlines grandiose visions of how he would rule coastal Syria, home to the majority of Syria’s Alawite population and Assad’s former powerbase.

Makhlouf, a cousin of the Assads, once used his business empire to fund the ousted President during the civil war, only to run afoul of his more powerful relatives and wind up under years of house arrest. He now portrays himself in conversations and messages as a messianic figure who will return to power after ushering in an apocalyptic final battle.

Hassan and Makhlouf did not respond to requests for comment for this report. Bashar and Maher Assad couldn’t be reached. Reuters also sought comment from the Assad brothers through intermediaries, who didn’t reply.

From their exiles in Moscow, Hassan and Makhlouf envision a fractured Syria, and each wants control of the Alawite-majority areas.

Both have spent millions of dollars in competing efforts to build forces, Reuters found. Their deputies are located in several countries.

To counter the plotters, Syria’s new government is deploying another former Assad loyalist – a childhood friend of new President Ahmed al-Sharaa who became a paramilitary leader for Assad and then switched sides mid-war after the ousted President turned against him. The task of that man, Khaled al-Ahmad, is to persuade Alawite ex-soldiers and civilians that their future lies with the new Syria.

Details of the scheming are based on interviews with 48 people with direct knowledge of the competing plans. All spoke on condition of anonymity.

Reuters also reviewed financial records, operational documents, and exchanges of voice and text messages.

The governor of the coastal region of Tartous, Ahmed al-Shami, said Syrian authorities are aware of the outlines of the plans and ready to combat them. He confirmed the existence of the command-room network as well, but said it has been weakened.

“We are certain they cannot do anything effective, given their lack of strong tools on the ground and their weak capabilities,” al-Shami told Reuters in response to questions about the plotting.

The Lebanese Interior Ministry and the Russian Foreign Ministry did not respond to requests for comment. A UAE official said its government is committed to preventing the use of its territory for “all forms of illicit financial flows.”

For now, the prospects of a successful uprising seem low.

Chief plotters Hassan and Makhlouf are virulently at odds with one another.

Their hopes are fading to win backing from Russia, once Assad’s most powerful political and military supporter. Many Alawites in Syria, who also suffered under Assad, mistrust the pair. And the new government is working to stymie their plans.

In a brief statement in response to the Reuters findings, the government’s Alawite point man al-Ahmad said the “work of healing – of uprooting sectarian hatred and honoring the dead – remains the only path toward a Syria that can live with itself again.”

Hassan claims control of 12,000 fighters, while Makhlouf claims control of at least 54,000, according to their factions’ internal documents. Commanders on the ground said fighters are paid a pittance and taking money from both sides.

The exiles don't appear to have mobilized any forces yet. Reuters could not confirm the fighter figures or determine specific action plans. Tartous governor Al-Shami said potential fighters numbered in the tens of thousands.

In interviews, the people closest to the plotters said they’re aware that tens of thousands of Syrian Alawites could face violent retribution if they implement their plans against the new leadership.

In March, nearly 1,500 civilians were killed across the Mediterranean coast by government-affiliated forces after a failed uprising in an Alawite town.

Both Hassan and Makhlouf promise to protect Syria’s Alawites from the insecurity that has continued since March, including near-daily killings and kidnappings.

Neither Makhlouf nor Hassan were behind the protests, but rather a cleric who opposes both men and publicly called on people to demonstrate peacefully.

Makhlouf attacked the cleric the next day in a social media post, saying, “all these movements will only bring calamity, for the time is not yet right.”
One of Hassan’s top military coordinators told Reuters that fighting is the only way to restore Alawite dignity.

“We are lucky that only this number of our people have died so far,” said the coordinator, a former Assad-era military intelligence officer who is now in Lebanon. “Perhaps thousands more will die, but the sect must offer up sacrificial lambs” to defend the community.

According to January 2025 documents seen by Reuters, Assadist forces drew up initial plans to build a paramilitary force of 5,780 fighters and supply them from the subterranean command rooms. These are essentially large storerooms equipped with arms, solar power, internet, GPS units and walkie-talkies.

Nothing came of that early plan, and the command rooms – along a spine in coastal Syria about 180 kilometers from north to south – remain operational but essentially idle, according to two people with knowledge of them and photos seen by Reuters.

One photo showed a room with five stacked crates, three of which were open to reveal a collection of AK-47s, ammunition and hand grenades. The room also held three desktop computers, two tablets, a set of walkie-talkies, and a power bank. In the center was a wooden table topped with a large map.

For the plotters, “this network is Treasure Island, and they are all boats trying to reach it,” said one of the people, a commander who monitors the readiness of the rooms.

Al-Shami, the Tartous governor, said the network is real but poses little danger.

As senior military officials and ranking government figures escaped abroad in December 2024, many mid-level commanders remained in Syria. Most fled to the coastal regions dominated by Alawites, a Muslim minority that makes up a little over 10% of Syria’s population.

Those officers started recruiting fighters, according to a retired commander involved in the effort.

“The most fertile ground was the military,” the retired commander said. “Thousands of young men from the sect had been conscripted into the army, which was dissolved in December, and they suddenly found themselves exposed.”

Then came the failed uprising on March 6. An Alawite unit operating independently ambushed security forces from the new Syrian government in rural Latakia, killing 12 men and capturing more than 150, according to a brigadier general who was involved with the ambush and has since left for Lebanon.

The new Syrian government says hundreds of its security forces died in the fighting that followed – a claim largely echoed by the pro-Assad fighters.

The brigadier general said 128 pro-Assad forces died in the uprising, which was quelled by the new government. The insurgency sparked reprisals that killed nearly 1,500 Alawites.

The Assadist exiles neither started nor commanded the uprising, according to the officers who were there, but those days marked a turning point. They began to organize.

An Assad Family Feud
It was on March 9 that Makhlouf started calling himself “The Coast Boy,” declaring in a statement that he had been entrusted with a divine mission to help Alawites. “I’m back, and blessed be the return,” the statement read. It did not mention that he was in Moscow.

Makhlouf dominated Syria’s economy for more than two decades, with holdings estimated by the British government at well over a billion dollars in industries as varied as telecoms, construction and tourism. He used his money to fund Syrian army units and allied militias during the civil war, which broke out in 2011.

When Assad’s victory seemed assured in 2019, Makhlouf publicly claimed credit. Soon after, Assad seized Makhlouf’s businesses, ostensibly because they were indebted to the state, and put him under years of house arrest.

Makhlouf escaped to Lebanon in an ambulance the night of December 8, 2024, as Damascus fell to Sharaa’s rebels.

Makhlouf’s brother Ehab also tried to flee that night in his Maserati, but was shot to death near the border and robbed of millions of dollars he was carrying in cash, according to four close associates of the family and a customs officer with direct knowledge of the events. Reuters could not independently verify the events of that night.

Makhlouf now lives on a private floor in a luxurious Radisson hotel in Moscow under tight security, according to nine aides and relatives.

The Radisson in Moscow and group headquarters in Brussels did not respond to a request for comment.

According to Makhlouf’s Facebook posts and WhatsApp messages to associates, he believes God gave him money and influence so he can play a messianic role in a prophecy involving the battle of Armageddon in Damascus.
In his interpretation, the apocalypse will arrive after the end of US President Donald Trump’s term.

Using trusted business administrators three countries, Makhlouf is transferring money to Alawite officers for salaries and equipment, according to a financial manager and receipts and payroll tables seen by Reuters.

The documents show the money is funneled through two prominent Syrian officers who reunited with Makhlouf in Moscow: Suhail Hassan and Qahtan Khalil, who both held the rank of major general. Hassan and Khalil claimed to have created a force for Makhlouf totaling what they said were 54,053 willing fighters, including 18,000 officers, organized into 80 battalions and groups in and around the cities of Homs, Hama, Tartous and Latakia.

Many rank-and-file soldiers conscripted under Assad, however, gave up fighting when his government fell.

Hassan and Khalil didn’t reply to requests for comment about their role in transferring money.

An UAE official said the government maintains strict oversight over its economic sectors and fully “supports Syria’s efforts to safeguard its security, stability, and sovereignty over all territories.’

One of his financial managers told Reuters that Makhlouf has spent at least $6 million on salaries. Payroll tables and salary receipts created by financial aides to Makhlouf in Lebanon claimed he spent $976,705 in May, and that one group of 5,000 fighters received $150,000 in August.

The total force numbers are real, according to five leaders of military groups in Syria who are on Makhlouf’s payroll and lead about a fifth of his following. But Makhlouf’s funding falls short of their needs, amounting to just $20 to $30 a month per fighter.

In addition, Makhlouf’s staff has sought to provide weapons. They have mapped the possible location of dozens of caches hidden during the Assad era totaling a few thousand firearms, according to schematics Reuters viewed.

These stockpiles are separate from the hidden command rooms.

They have also been in discussions with smugglers in Syria for new weapons.

People familiar with the discussions said they didn’t know if new weapons were actually purchased or delivered.

Altogether, the five local military leaders said they command about 12,000 men in various stages of readiness. One of them told Reuters the time wasn’t yet right for action.

Another of the five commanders derided Makhlouf as trying to buy loyalty with “crumbs of money.”

All five said they had accepted money from both Makhlouf and Hassan, the spy chief. They saw no issue with overlapping paymasters.

Mass Grave and Hiding Atrocities
Hassan ran the Assad dictatorship’s military detention system, which was notorious for extorting money at scale from prisoners’ families, according to a 2024 United Nations report about the system.

A Reuters investigation this year found it was Hassan who proposed moving a mass grave containing thousands of bodies in 2018 to the Dhumair desert outside Damascus to hide the scope of the Assad government atrocities.

With Assad’s fall, Hassan took refuge in the Russian embassy in December 2024 for nearly two weeks.

He was infuriated at what he perceived as ill-treatment by his hosts, who provided a single room with just one hard chair to sit on, according to two people close to him.

“Kamal Hassan is not one to sit on a wooden chair for days!” he said in one WhatsApp voice message to his inner circle from this spring, reviewed by Reuters.

Hassan ultimately took up residence in a three-story villa in suburban Moscow, according to an officer who met him over the summer.

Since then, he has seen Maher al-Assad once and maintains close ties with Bashar’s Russian protectors, according to the two people aware of Hassan’s movements.

According to Hassan’s operations coordinator in Lebanon, Hassan has spent $1.5 million since March on 12,000 fighters in Syria and Lebanon.

“Be patient, my people, and don’t surrender your arms. I am the one who will restore your dignity,” he said in another WhatsApp voice message from April that appeared aimed at commanders. Two recipients confirmed the message was from him.

In mid-year, a charity called the “Development of Western Syria” announced its creation and said it was funded by “the Syrian citizen Maj. Gen. Kamal Hassan,” according to one of its initial Facebook posts.

Three officers linked to Hassan and a manager in the organization described it as a humanitarian cover so Hassan could build influence among Alawites.

In August, the charity paid $80,000 to shelter 40 Syrian Alawite families, according to an announcement of its first action. That same month, Hassan sent $200,000 in cash to 80 officers in Lebanon, according to a payroll document seen by Reuters.



Three Years Since ‘Daniel,’ Libya’s Derna Rebuilds as Families Await Redress

New homes built in Libya’s Derna after the storm (AFP)
New homes built in Libya’s Derna after the storm (AFP)
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Three Years Since ‘Daniel,’ Libya’s Derna Rebuilds as Families Await Redress

New homes built in Libya’s Derna after the storm (AFP)
New homes built in Libya’s Derna after the storm (AFP)

Three years after Storm Daniel devastated Libya’s Derna, sweeping reconstruction projects are reshaping the city. But some families are still waiting for housing and compensation, while court proceedings have yet to settle responsibility for the collapse of its two dams.

Authorities have begun handing new homes to survivors, but families left off beneficiary lists are renewing their appeals. Dilapidated houses still bear witness to the disaster, which killed or left missing thousands of people and destroyed large parts of the city.

Residents of the Al-Akwakh neighborhood in Derna’s eastern coastal area of Al-Istallat have repeatedly issued statements and video appeals demanding inclusion in housing and compensation projects.

They say their homes are crumbling and the infrastructure has deteriorated further since Storm Daniel. A committee had previously surveyed and numbered the houses, raising hopes that residents would receive new homes.

Civil society activist Nouh Oweiyan said the plight of Al-Akwakh residents should be reconsidered.

“The Libya Development and Reconstruction Fund has become a source of hope for many Libyans seeking solutions to long-standing housing and living problems,” he told Asharq Al-Awsat.

Storm Daniel struck Derna and several other areas of eastern Libya on Sept. 11, 2023. The collapse of the city’s two dams sent huge volumes of water surging into residential neighborhoods. Authorities issued varying figures for the dead and missing as the disaster response unfolded.

The Libya Development and Reconstruction Fund, headed by Belqasim Haftar, launched a sweeping rebuilding drive in Derna two years ago. Since the spring, it has distributed 2,500 fully equipped homes to survivors free of charge. Last month, it announced plans to build another 552 units under the “Mountain Apartment Blocks” project.

Among those still living with the disaster is the family of Marajea al-Ghazizi, whose brother Walid died inside the family home during the floods.

Al-Ghazizi said reconstruction had made visible progress outside the house, but his family was still living with the tragedy inside.

In a Facebook post, he shared a video showing the home’s dilapidated interior. He said court rulings issued in favor of some survivors had not been enforced and called for justice for families who had lost their homes.

“Appreciating the reconstruction effort does not diminish affected families’ right to receive their full entitlements,” he said.

In another account posted on a Facebook page under the name Abdelhalim Haf, a survivor said he received a message telling him his family was entitled to a new home, bringing joy to his children. He later discovered that his name was missing from the beneficiary lists.

The survey and compensation committee told him the message had been sent by mistake, he said, turning the family’s joy into shock. He questioned what would become of the property he had bought with his own money.

Abu Bakr al-Zawi, director of the fund’s Survey and Compensation Department, said in a video that a formal committee comprising Derna’s chief prosecutor and security director had opened a complaints process for anyone who believed they had suffered losses.

Official figures put reconstruction work in Derna at 80% complete.

In a statement on Friday, Belqasem Haftar said: “An even bigger surprise is coming to the city as it opens a new chapter in its history, with a major inauguration worthy of its achievements.”

The rebuilding drive has not closed the question of legal accountability, with victims’ families growing increasingly frustrated, according to local media reports.

A court convicted 12 officials and acquitted four others in July 2024, but the Supreme Court overturned the rulings. The convicted officials have been retried before the Benghazi Court of Appeal since October 2025.

At its latest public hearing on Aug. 9, the court adjourned the case until Oct. 4, leaving the proceedings without a final ruling.

Derna lawyer and activist Mohammed al-Lafi said the disaster was caused by “errors and negligence” under successive governments and political systems. He told Asharq Al-Awsat that he had represented victims seeking financial compensation for the harm suffered by their families.

The courts rejected those claims, al-Lafi said. He added that the interim Government of National Unity in western Libya, which controls the country’s financial decisions, had yet to propose an initiative to compensate victims’ families.

He praised the General Command of the Libyan National Army, however, for providing assistance and building homes for families whose houses were destroyed.

With compensation claims still unresolved, the disaster’s third anniversary was marked prominently at both official and public levels on Friday.

Presidential Council head Mohammed al-Menfi commemorated the victims of Storm Daniel, saying on Friday that “the tragedy united Libyans.”

He praised the rebuilding effort and the restoration of normal life in Derna and other affected areas.

House of Representatives Speaker Aguila Saleh said Derna’s reconstruction represented “a qualitative transformation that astonished everyone,” according to a statement issued on Friday.

Osama Hammad, the prime minister of the government appointed by parliament, said the city was moving toward recovery and reclaiming its role.

Residents and local institutions also marked the anniversary by sharing photographs and memories of victims on social media.


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.