'ISIS Brides’ Open up in Syria Camp Documentary

Shamima Begum features in ‘The Return: Life After ISIS.’  - AFP
Shamima Begum features in ‘The Return: Life After ISIS.’ - AFP
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'ISIS Brides’ Open up in Syria Camp Documentary

Shamima Begum features in ‘The Return: Life After ISIS.’  - AFP
Shamima Begum features in ‘The Return: Life After ISIS.’ - AFP

“Okay, um... My name’s Shamima. I’m from the UK. I’m 19.”

Spoken with a nervous laugh, the introduction to a room full of women and restless babies could be the start of any young mothers’ support group.

But the speaker is Shamima Begum, the teenage “ISIS bride” who left Britain for Syria in 2015 to join the group, and whose desire to return sparked a right-wing press frenzy that saw her stripped of her citizenship.

The footage is captured in “The Return: Life After ISIS,” a documentary premiering Wednesday at the online Texas-based South By Southwest festival.

Spanish director Alba Sotorra got rare, extensive access to Begum and other Western women over several months in Syria’s Kurdish-run Roj camp, where they remain following the so-called caliphate’s collapse in 2019.

“I would say to the people in the UK, give me a second chance because I was still young when I left,” Begum tells the filmmakers, AFP reported.

“I just want them to put aside everything they’ve heard about me in the media,” she adds.

Begum left her London home aged just 15 to travel to Syria with two school friends, and married an ISIS fighter.

She was “found” by British journalists, heavily pregnant at another Syrian camp, in February 2019 — and her apparent lack of remorse in initial interviews drew outrage.

But Begum and fellow Westerners including US-born Hoda Muthana strike a very different and apologetic tone in Sotorra’s film.

The documentary follows “workshop” sessions in which the women write letters to their younger selves expressing regret about their departures for Syria, and plant a tree to remember their loved ones.

“It was known that Syria was a warzone and I still traveled into it with my own children — now how I did this I really don’t know looking back,” says one Western woman.

Begum recalls feeling like an “outsider” in London who wanted to “help the Syrians,” but claims on arrival she quickly realized ISIS were “trapping people” to boost the so-called caliphate’s numbers and “look good for the (propaganda) videos.”

Sotorra, the director, gained camp access thanks to Kurdish fighters she had followed in Syria for her previous film.

She set out to document the Kurdish women’s sacrifices in running a camp filled with their former enemies’ wives and children, but soon pivoted to the Western women.

“I will never be able to understand how a woman from the West can take this decision of leaving everything behind to join a group that is committing the atrocities that ISIS is committing,” Sotorra told AFP.

“I do understand now how you can make a mistake.”

On Sotorra’s arrival in March 2019, the women — fresh from a warzone — were “somehow blocked... not thinking and not feeling.”

“Shamima was a piece of ice when I met her,” Sotorra told AFP.

“She lost the kid when I was there... it took a while to be able to cry,” she recalled.

“I think it’s just surviving, you need to protect yourself to survive.”

Another factor is the enduring presence of “small but very powerful” groups of even “more radicalized women” who remain loyal to ISIS and exert pressure on their campmates.

“We had (other) women who joined in the beginning, and then they received pressure from other women so they stopped coming,” said Sotorra.

In the film, Begum claims she “had no choice but to say certain things” to journalists “because I lived in fear of these women coming to my tent one day and killing me and killing my baby.”

The question of what can and should be done with these women — and their children — plagues Western governments, sowing divisions among allies.

Last month, Britain’s Supreme Court rejected Begum’s bid to return to challenge a decision stripping her citizenship on national security grounds.

How much the women knew about — and abetted — ISIS's rapes, tortures and beheadings may never be known.

In the documentary, Begum denies she “knew about” or “supported these crimes,” dismissing claims she could have been in ISIS's feared morality police as a naive 15-year-old who did not even “speak the language.”

“I never even had a parking ticket back in my own country before... I never harmed anybody, I never killed anybody, I never did anything,” says Canadian Kimberly Polman.

An incredulous Kurdish woman points out that “maybe your husband killed my cousin.”

Sotorra believes the women could be useful back home in preventing the same mistake in future generations, and points to the cruelty of raising young children in this environment.

“It took them a while to realize that they have responsibility for (their) choice... they cannot just think ‘Okay, I regret, I go back, as if nothing has happened,’” she said.

“No, it’s not about this... you have to accept the consequences.”



Cash Shortage Squeezes Gaza Residents

Palestinian children queue for a hot meal at a charity kitchen in Gaza City on April 30, 2025. (Photo by Omar AL-QATTAA / AFP)
Palestinian children queue for a hot meal at a charity kitchen in Gaza City on April 30, 2025. (Photo by Omar AL-QATTAA / AFP)
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Cash Shortage Squeezes Gaza Residents

Palestinian children queue for a hot meal at a charity kitchen in Gaza City on April 30, 2025. (Photo by Omar AL-QATTAA / AFP)
Palestinian children queue for a hot meal at a charity kitchen in Gaza City on April 30, 2025. (Photo by Omar AL-QATTAA / AFP)

Even when food is available, many in Gaza cannot afford to buy it, as the enclave suffers from a severe cash shortage. Israel has blocked the entry of new currency into the territory since October 7, 2023, leaving residents at the mercy of money changers who have hiked exchange rates on remittances to exorbitant levels.

Palestinians in Gaza primarily rely on the Israeli shekel for daily transactions, which used to enter the strip through banks operating under the Palestinian Monetary Authority, supplied by the Bank of Israel.

Banking operations in Gaza have ground to a halt since the start of the war, and no fresh banknotes have entered the enclave, worsening an already dire humanitarian situation. Residents say they have been left at the mercy of traders who exploit the cash shortage to impose arbitrary rules on currency use.

'The Traders’ Game'

Dubbed “the traders’ game” by many in Gaza, the practice began with merchants refusing to accept worn-out banknotes and certain coins, such as the 10-shekel piece (worth about $3), which have all but vanished from local markets. Some vendors now reject older versions of bills - like the brown-hued 100-shekel note (around $28) - insisting instead on the newer yellow ones. The same rules apply to various denominations.

Speaking to Asharq Al-Awsat, Hani Jahjouh, a resident of al-Shati Camp west of Gaza City, said vendors selling vegetables and essential goods - when available - often refuse worn banknotes or specific coins, claiming they are counterfeit or easily faked.

“This just adds to the burden of people already crushed by impossible living conditions,” said Jahjouh, 59. “We don’t have solutions. We don’t even know where to get the money they’re asking for.”

Only a very small number of traders accept digital payments, and even then, residents say, they impose tough conditions - such as inflated prices or demands for partial payment in cash.

Displaced Gazan Duaa Ismail, originally from Beit Hanoun in the north of the enclave, says even when goods are available, she cannot afford them due to a lack of cash.

“We’re suffering badly from a shortage of money, and that makes it even harder to get basic items like flour and sugar - when they’re even in stock,” she told Asharq Al-Awsat from a shelter in Gaza City’s Sheikh Radwan neighborhood.

Ismail said that during a brief ceasefire, some traders had accepted digital payments through mobile apps. “But once the war resumed, things worsened, and they stopped taking them altogether,” she said.

Salaries They Can’t Spend

The crisis has also hit public-sector employees, private workers, and international aid staff, many of whom receive salaries through bank transfers or mobile wallets but have no way of accessing their funds with banks shuttered. They are forced to rely on currency dealers or traders with access to physical cash.

Amjad Hasballah, an employee with the Palestinian Authority, said he has been cashing his monthly salary through mobile banking apps for over a year and a half, paying a steep commission to money traders in return.

“When I received my last salary in early April, the commission had reached 30%,” he said.

Speaking to Asharq Al-Awsat, Hasballah explained that at the start of the war, commissions hovered around 5%, but they spiked during Ramadan, peaking at 35% around Eid al-Fitr, before dipping slightly to 30%.

“My salary is just 2,800 shekels. When I pay a 30% fee, there’s barely anything left,” he said bitterly. “At this point, the traders might as well take the whole salary and just give us pocket money.”

Caught in a Trap

Jamal Al-Mashal, a father of six who lost two children in an Israeli airstrike, said he lives off 1,000 shekels (about $280) in monthly international aid. But even that amount is slashed by up to 30% when he exchanges it through local traders.

“People in Gaza have become a cash trap for currency dealers and big traders,” he said. “They’re exploiting our desperation, and it’s like a harvest season for them - raking in profits while we suffer.”

The poorest and most vulnerable are hit hardest. Many international agencies rely on electronic payment platforms to distribute aid to these groups, who often have no access to physical currency.

No Oversight, No Restraint

The Hamas-run government has made attempts to cap commission rates at 5%, but those efforts have largely failed. Officials blame ongoing Israeli targeting of personnel involved in regulating the process.

Money changers defend the high fees, arguing that the lack of currency entering Gaza leaves them with limited options.

“We raise commission rates because there’s simply no new cash coming in,” one trader told Asharq Al-Awsat. “Once money is distributed to the public, we have no way of getting it back. What goes out doesn’t return.”

He added that while ministries and law enforcement have tried to impose limits, traders view the rules as unfair. “There have been attempts to regulate us, but we haven’t complied - they’re asking too much from us under impossible conditions,” he said.

Some municipal leaders and community elders in Gaza have recently appealed to the Palestinian Monetary Authority in Ramallah to intervene in what they describe as unchecked profiteering by traders controlling access to scarce cash.

They have called for greater oversight, including monitoring and freezing the traders’ bank accounts.

The authority has repeatedly warned against exploitation of civilians and threatened to take action. But in practice, traders continue to charge hefty commissions on money transfers with little deterrence.

The Authority has urged residents to use its Instant Payment System available through mobile banking apps, which it says offers a practical alternative to cash, promotes digital payments, and enables real-time transactions.

Cash Squeeze Tightens Further

Despite the hardship, Israel is considering new measures that could further tighten the financial stranglehold on Gaza. One proposal involves withdrawing the 200-shekel banknote (worth about $55) from circulation, on the grounds that Hamas allegedly uses it to pay salaries to its fighters.

The suggestion was reportedly made by Israeli Foreign Minister Gideon Sa’ar to Bank of Israel Governor Amir Yaron, who rejected the move. Other proposals include voiding the serial numbers of banknotes believed to be inside Gaza, effectively rendering them worthless, a step that could deliver a significant financial blow to Hamas.

According to a report published Tuesday by the Israeli daily Maariv, the proposal has backing from several ministers and economists both within and outside the central bank.

The report estimated that around 10 billion shekels in high-denomination bills - 100 and 200 shekels - remain in circulation within Gaza. These notes entered the enclave over the years through official banking channels supplied by the Bank of Israel.

Economists told Maariv that Gaza residents receive an estimated 150 to 200 million shekels each month through digital transfers from aid organizations and the Palestinian Authority. That money is then converted into cash within markets dominated by Hamas and supported by a network of money changers.

Israeli security sources estimate that Hamas has accumulated up to five billion shekels since the war began and has spent nearly one billion shekels on salaries for fighters and new recruits. The sources claim Hamas has profited significantly by reselling aid and fuel at inflated prices during the conflict.